Quentin Durward

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XVIII: PALMISTRY

  When many a many tale and many a song Cheer'd the rough road, we wish'd the rough road long. The rough road, then, returning in a round, Mock'd our enchanted steps, for all was fairy ground.

  SAMUEL JOHNSON

  By peep of day Quentin Durward had forsaken his little cell, had rousedthe sleepy grooms, and, with more than his wonted care, seen thateverything was prepared for the day's journey. Girths and bridles, thehorse furniture, and the shoes of the horses themselves, were carefullyinspected with his own eyes, that there might be as little chance aspossible of the occurrence of any of those casualties, which, petty asthey seem, often interrupt or disconcert travelling. The horses werealso, under his own inspection, carefully fed, so as to render them fitfor a long day's journey, or, if that should be necessary, for a hastyflight.

  Quentin then betook himself to his own chamber, armed himself withunusual care, and belted on his sword with the feeling at once ofapproaching danger, and of stern determination to dare it to theuttermost.

  These generous feelings gave him a loftiness of step, and a dignity ofmanner, which the Ladies of Croye had not yet observed in him, thoughthey had been highly pleased and interested by the grace, yet naivete,of his general behaviour and conversation, and the mixture of shrewdintelligence which naturally belonged to him, with the simplicityarising from his secluded education and distant country. He let themunderstand that it would be necessary that they should prepare for theirjourney this morning rather earlier than usual, and, accordingly, theyleft the convent immediately after a morning repast, for which, as wellas the other hospitalities of the House, the ladies made acknowledgmentby a donation to the altar, befitting rather their rank than theirappearance. But this excited no suspicion, as they were supposed to beEnglishwomen, and the attribute of superior wealth attached at that timeto the insular character as strongly as in our own day.

  The Prior blessed them as they mounted to depart, and congratulatedQuentin on the absence of his heathen guide.

  "For," said the venerable man, "better stumble in the path than beupheld by the arm of a thief or robber."

  Quentin was not quite of his opinion, for, dangerous as he knew theBohemian to be, he thought he could use his services, and, at the sametime, baffle his treasonable purpose, now that he saw clearly to whatit tended. But his anxiety upon this subject was soon at an end, forthe little cavalcade was not an hundred yards from the monastery and thevillage before Maugrabin joined it, riding as usual on his little activeand wild looking jennet. Their road led them along the side of thesame brook where Quentin had overheard the mysterious conference thepreceding evening, and Hayraddin had not long rejoined them, ere theypassed under the very willow tree which had afforded Durward the meansof concealment, when he became an unsuspected hearer of what then passedbetwixt that false guide and the lanzknecht.

  The recollections which the spot brought back stirred Quentin to enterabruptly into conversation with his guide, whom hitherto he had scarcespoken to.

  "Where hast thou found night quarter, thou profane knave?" said theScot.

  "Your wisdom may guess, by looking on my gaberdine," answered theBohemian, pointing to his dress, which was covered with seeds of hay.

  "A good haystack," said Quentin, "is a convenient bed for an astrologer,and a much better than a heathen scoffer at our blessed religion and itsministers, ever deserves."

  "It suited my Klepper better than me, though," said Hayraddin, pattinghis horse on the neck, "for he had food and shelter at the same time.The old bald fools turned him loose, as if a wise man's horse couldhave infected with wit or sagacity a whole convent of asses. Lucky thatKlepper knows my whistle, and follows me as truly as a hound, or we hadnever met again, and you in your turn might have whistled for a guide."

  "I have told thee more than once," said Durward, sternly, "to restrainthy ribaldry when thou chancest to be in worthy men's company, a thing,which, I believe, hath rarely happened to thee in thy life before now,and I promise thee, that did I hold thee as faithless a guide as Iesteem thee a blasphemous and worthless caitiff, my Scottish dirk andthy heathenish heart had ere now been acquainted, although the doingsuch a deed were as ignoble as the sticking of swine."

  "A wild boar is near akin to a sow," said the Bohemian, withoutflinching from the sharp look with which Quentin regarded him, oraltering, in the slightest degree, the caustic indifference which heaffected in his language, "and many men," he subjoined, "find bothpride, pleasure, and profit, in sticking them."

  Astonished at the man's ready confidence, and uncertain whether he didnot know more of his own history and feelings than was pleasant forhim to converse upon, Quentin broke off a conversation in which he hadgained no advantage over Maugrabin, and fell back to his accustomed postbeside the ladies.

  We have already observed that a considerable degree of familiarity hadbegun to establish itself between them. The elder Countess treated him(being once well assured of the nobility of his birth) like a favouredequal, and though her niece showed her regard to their protector lessfreely, yet, under every disadvantage of bashfulness and timidity,Quentin thought he could plainly perceive that his company andconversation were not by any means indifferent to her.

  Nothing gives such life and soul to youthful gaiety as the consciousnessthat it is successfully received, and Quentin had accordingly, duringthe former period of their journey, amused his fair charge with theliveliness of his conversation and the songs and tales of his country,the former of which he sang in his native language, while his efforts torender the latter into his foreign and imperfect French, gave rise toa hundred little mistakes and errors of speech, as diverting as thenarratives themselves. But on this anxious morning, he rode beside theLadies of Croye without any of his usual attempts to amuse them, andthey could not help observing his silence as something remarkable.

  "Our young companion has seen a wolf," said the Lady Hameline, alludingto an ancient superstition, "and he has lost his tongue in consequence."

  [Vox quoque Moerim Jam fugit ipsa; lupi Moerim videre priores. Virgiliiix. Ecloga. The commentators add, in explanation of this passage, theopinion of Pliny: "The being beheld by a wolf in Italy is accountednoxious, and is supposed to take away the speech of a man, if theseanimals behold him ere he sees them." S.]

  "To say I had tracked a fox were nearer the mark," thought Quentin, butgave the reply no utterance.

  "Are you well, Seignior Quentin?" said the Countess Isabelle, in a toneof interest at which she herself blushed, while she felt that it wassomething more than the distance between them warranted.

  "He hath sat up carousing with the jolly friars," said the LadyHameline, "the Scots are like the Germans, who spend all their mirthover the Rheinwein, and bring only their staggering steps to the dancein the evening, and their aching heads to the ladies' bower in themorning."

  "Nay, gentle ladies," said Quentin, "I deserve not your reproach. Thegood friars were at their devotions almost all night, and for myself, mydrink was barely a cup of their thinnest and most ordinary wine."

  "It is the badness of his fare that has put him out of humour," said theCountess Isabelle. "Cheer up, Seignior Quentin, and should we ever visitmy ancient Castle of Bracquemont together, if I myself should stand yourcup bearer, and hand it to you, you shall have a generous cup of wine,that the like never grew upon the vines of Hochheim or Johannisberg."

  "A glass of water, noble lady, from your hand,"--Thus far did Quentinbegin, but his voice trembled, and Isabelle continued, as if she hadbeen insensible of the tenderness of the accentuation upon the personalpronoun.

  "The wine was stocked in the deep vaults of Bracquemont, by my greatgrandfather the Rhinegrave Godfrey," said the Countess Isabelle.

  "Who won the hand of her great grandmother," interjected the LadyHameline, interrupting her niece, "by proving himself the best son ofchivalry, at the great tournament of Strasbourg--ten knights were slainin the lists. But those days are now over
, and no one now thinks ofencountering peril for the sake of honour, or to relieve distressedbeauty."

  To this speech, which was made in the tone in which a modern beauty,whose charms are rather on the wane, may be heard to condemn therudeness of the present age, Quentin took upon him to reply that therewas no lack of that chivalry which the Lady Hameline seemed to consideras extinct, and that, were it eclipsed everywhere else, it would stillglow in the bosoms of the Scottish gentlemen.

  "Hear him!" said the Lady Hameline, "he would have us believe that inhis cold and bleak country still lives the noble fire which has decayedin France and Germany! The poor youth is like a Swiss mountaineer, madwith partiality to his native land--he will next tell us of the vinesand olives of Scotland."

  "No, madam," said Durward, "of the wine and the oil of our mountainsI can say little more than that our swords can compel these richproductions as tribute from our wealthier neighbours. But for theunblemished faith and unfaded honour of Scotland, I must now put to theproof how far you can repose trust in them, however mean the individualwho can offer nothing more as a pledge of your safety."

  "You speak mysteriously--you know of some pressing and present danger,"said the Lady Hameline.

  "I have read it in his eye for this hour past!" exclaimed the LadyIsabelle, clasping her hands. "Sacred Virgin, what will become of us?"

  "Nothing, I hope, but what you would desire," answered Durward. "And nowI am compelled to ask--gentle ladies, can you trust me?"

  "Trust you?" answered the Countess Hameline. "Certainly. But why thequestion? Or how far do you ask our confidence?"

  "I, on my part," said the Countess Isabelle, "trust you implicitly, andwithout condition. If you can deceive us, Quentin, I will no more lookfor truth, save in Heaven!"

  "Gentle lady," replied Durward, highly gratified, "you do me butjustice. My object is to alter our route, by proceeding directly bythe left bank of the Maes to Liege, instead of crossing at Namur. Thisdiffers from the order assigned by King Louis and the instructions givento the guide. But I heard news in the monastery of marauders on theright bank of the Maes, and of the march of Burgundian soldiers tosuppress them. Both circumstances alarm me for your safety. Have I yourpermission so far to deviate from the route of your journey?"

  "My ample and full permission," answered the younger lady.

  "Cousin," said the Lady Hameline, "I believe with you that the youthmeans us well--but bethink you--we transgress the instructions of KingLouis, so positively iterated."

  "And why should we regard his instructions?" said the Lady Isabelle. "Iam, I thank Heaven for it, no subject of his, and, as a suppliant, hehas abused the confidence he induced me to repose in him. I would notdishonour this young gentleman by weighing his word for an instantagainst the injunctions of yonder crafty and selfish despot."

  "Now, may God bless you for that very word, lady," said Quentin,joyously, "and if I deserve not the trust it expresses, tearing withwild horses in this life and eternal tortures in the next were e'en toogood for my deserts."

  So saying, he spurred his horse, and rejoined the Bohemian. This worthyseemed of a remarkably passive, if not a forgiving temper. Injury orthreat never dwelt, or at least seemed not to dwell in his recollection,and he entered into the conversation which Durward presently commenced,just as if there had been no unkindly word betwixt them in the course ofthe morning.

  The dog, thought the Scot, snarls not now, because he intends to clearscores with me at once and for ever, when he can snatch me by the verythroat, but we will try for once whether we cannot foil a traitor at hisown weapons.

  "Honest Hayraddin," he said, "thou hast travelled with us for ten days,yet hast never shown us a specimen of your skill in fortune telling,which you are, nevertheless, so fond of practising that you must needsdisplay your gifts in every convent at which we stop, at the risk ofbeing repaid by a night's lodging under a haystack."

  "You have never asked me for a specimen of my skill," said the gipsy."You are, like the rest of the world, contented to ridicule thosemysteries which they do not understand."

  "Give me then a present proof of your skill," said Quentin and,ungloving his hand, he held it out to the gipsy.

  Hayraddin carefully regarded all the lines which crossed each other onthe Scotchman's palm, and noted, with equally Scrupulous attention, thelittle risings or swellings at the roots of the fingers, which werethen believed as intimately connected with the disposition, habits, andfortunes of the individual, as the organs of the brain are pretended tobe in our own time.

  "Here is a hand," said Hayraddin, "which speaks of toils endured, anddangers encountered. I read in it an early acquaintance with the hiltof the sword, and yet some acquaintance also with the clasps of the massbook."

  "This of my past life you may have learned elsewhere," said Quentin,"tell me something of the future."

  "This line from the hill of Venus," said the Bohemian, "not broken offabruptly, but attending and accompanying the line of life, argues acertain and large fortune by marriage, whereby the party shall be raisedamong the wealthy and the noble by the influence of successful love."

  "Such promises you make to all who ask your advice," said Quentin, "theyare part of your art."

  "What I tell you is as certain," said Hayraddin, "as that you shallin brief space be menaced with mighty danger, which I infer fromthis bright blood red line cutting the table line transversely, andintimating stroke of sword, or other violence, from which you shall onlybe saved by the attachment of a faithful friend."

  "Thyself, ha?" said Quentin, somewhat indignant that the chiromantistshould thus practise on his credulity, and endeavour to found areputation by predicting the consequences of his own treachery.

  "My art," replied the Zingaro, "tells me naught that concerns myself."

  "In this, then, the seers of my land," said Quentin, "excel your boastedknowledge, for their skill teaches them the dangers by which they arethemselves beset. I left not my hills without having felt a portion ofthe double vision with which their inhabitants are gifted, and I willgive thee a proof of it, in exchange for thy specimen of palmistry.Hayraddin, the danger which threatens me lies on the right bank of theriver--I will avoid it by travelling to Liege on the left bank."

  The guide listened with an apathy, which, knowing the circumstances inwhich Maugrabin stood, Quentin could not by any means comprehend.

  "If you accomplish your purpose," was the Bohemian's reply, "thedangerous crisis will be transferred from your lot to mine."

  "I thought," said Quentin, "that you said but now, that you could notpresage your own fortune?"

  "Not in the manner in which I have but now told you yours," answeredHayraddin, "but it requires little knowledge of Louis of Valois, topresage that he will hang your guide, because your pleasure was todeviate from the road which he recommended."

  "The attaining with safety the purpose of the journey, and ensuring itshappy termination," said Quentin, "must atone for a deviation from theexact line of the prescribed route."

  "Ay," replied the Bohemian, "if you are sure that the King had in hisown eye the same termination of the pilgrimage which he insinuated toyou."

  "And of what other termination is it possible that he could have beenmeditating? or why should you suppose he had any purpose in his thought,other than was avowed in his direction?" inquired Quentin.

  "Simply," replied the Zingaro, "that those who know aught of the MostChristian King, are aware that the purpose about which he is mostanxious, is always that which he is least willing to declare. Let ourgracious Louis send twelve embassies, and I will forfeit my neck tothe gallows a year before it is due, if in eleven of them there is notsomething at the bottom of the ink horn more than the pen has written inthe letters of credence."

  "I regard not your foul suspicions," answered Quentin, "my duty is plainand peremptory--to convey these ladies in safety to Liege, and I takeit on me to think that I best discharge that duty in changing ourprescribed route, and keeping the left
side of the river Maes. It islikewise the direct road to Liege. By crossing the river, we should losetime and incur fatigue to no purpose--wherefore should we do so?"

  "Only because pilgrims, as they call themselves, destined for Cologne,"said Hayraddin, "do not usually descend the Maes so low as Liege, andthat the route of the ladies will be accounted contradictory of theirprofessed destination."

  "If we are challenged on that account," said Quentin, "we will say thatalarms of the wicked Duke of Gueldres, or of William de la Marck, or ofthe Ecorcheurs [flayers; a name given to bands of wandering troops onaccount of their cruelty] and lanzknechts, on the right side of theriver, justify our holding by the left, instead of our intended route."

  "As you will, my good seignior," replied the Bohemian. "I am, for mypart, equally ready to guide you down the left as down the right side ofthe Maes. Your excuse to your master you must make out for yourself."

  Quentin, although rather surprised, was at the same time pleased withthe ready, or at least the unrepugnant acquiescence of Hayraddin intheir change of route, for he needed his assistance as a guide, and yethad feared that the disconcerting of his intended act of treachery wouldhave driven him to extremity. Besides, to expel the Bohemian from theirsociety would have been the ready mode to bring down William de laMarck, with whom he was in correspondence, upon their intended route,whereas, if Hayraddin remained with them Quentin thought he could manageto prevent the Moor from having any communication with strangers unlesshe was himself aware of it.

  Abandoning, therefore, all thoughts of their original route, the littleparty followed that by the left bank of the broad Maes, so speedily andsuccessfully that the next day early brought them to the proposed end oftheir journey. They found that the Bishop of Liege, for the sake ofhis health, as he himself alleged, but rather, perhaps, to avoid beingsurprised by the numerous and mutinous population of the city, hadestablished his residence in his beautiful Castle of Schonwaldt, about amile without Liege.

  Just as they approached the Castle, they saw the Prelate returningin long procession from the neighbouring city, in which he had beenofficiating at the performance of High Mass. He was at the head of asplendid train of religious, civil and military men, mingled together,or, as the old ballad maker expresses it,

  "With many a cross bearer before, And many a spear behind."

  The procession made a noble appearance, as winding along the verdantbanks of the broad Maes, it wheeled into, and was as it were devouredby, the huge Gothic portal of the Episcopal residence.

  But when the party came more near, they found that circumstances aroundthe Castle argued a doubt and sense of insecurity, which contradictedthat display of pomp and power which they had just witnessed. Strongguards of the Bishop's soldiers were heedfully maintained all around themansion and its immediate vicinity, and the prevailing appearances inan ecclesiastical residence seemed to argue a sense of danger in thereverend Prelate, who found it necessary thus to surround himself withall the defensive precautions of war.

  The Ladies of Croye, when announced by Quentin, were reverently usheredinto the great Hall, where they met with the most cordial reception fromthe Bishop, who met them there at the head of his little Court. He wouldnot permit them to kiss his hand, but welcomed them with a salute, whichhad something in it of gallantry on the part of a prince to fine women,and something also of the holy affection of a pastor to the sisters ofhis flock.

  Louis of Bourbon, the reigning Bishop of Liege, was in truth a generousand kind hearted prince, whose life had not indeed been always confined,with precise strictness, within the bounds of his clerical profession,but who, notwithstanding, had uniformly maintained the frank andhonourable character of the House of Bourbon, from which he wasdescended.

  In latter times, as age advanced, the Prelate had adopted habits morebeseeming a member of the hierarchy than his early reign had exhibited,and was loved among the neighbouring princes, as a noble ecclesiastic,generous and magnificent in his ordinary mode of life, though preservingno very ascetic severity of character, and governing with an easyindifference, which, amid his wealthy and mutinous subjects, ratherencouraged than subdued rebellious purposes.

  The Bishop was so fast an ally of the Duke of Burgundy that the latterclaimed almost a joint sovereignty in his bishopric, and repaid thegood natured ease with which the Prelate admitted claims which he mighteasily have disputed, by taking his part on all occasions with thedetermined and furious zeal which was a part of his character. Heused to say he considered Liege as his own, the Bishop as his brother(indeed, they might be accounted such, in consequence of the Duke'shaving married for his first wife, the Bishop's sister), and that he whoannoyed Louis of Bourbon, had to do with Charles of Burgundy, a threatwhich, considering the character and the power of the prince who usedit, would have been powerful with any but the rich and discontented cityof Liege, where much wealth had, according to the ancient proverb, madewit waver.

  The Prelate, as we have said, assured the Ladies of Croye of suchintercession as his interest at the Court of Burgundy, used to theuttermost, might gain for them, and which, he hoped, might be the moreeffectual, as Campobasso, from some late discoveries, stood rather lowerthan formerly in the Duke's personal favour. He promised them also suchprotection as it was in his power to afford, but the sigh with which hegave the warrant seemed to allow that his power was more precarious thanin words he was willing to admit.

  "At every event, my dearest daughters," said the Bishop, with an airin which, as in his previous salute, a mixture of spiritual unctionqualified the hereditary gallantry of the House of Bourbon, "Heavenforbid I should abandon the lamb to the wicked wolf, or noble ladiesto the oppression of faitours. I am a man of peace, though my abode nowrings with arms, but be assured I will care for your safety as for myown, and should matters become yet more distracted here, which, with OurLady's grace, we trust will be rather pacified than inflamed, we willprovide for your safe conduct to Germany, for not even the will of ourbrother and protector, Charles of Burgundy, shall prevail with us todispose of you in any respect contrary to your own inclinations. Wecannot comply with your request of sending you to a convent, for, alas!such is the influence of the sons of Belial among the inhabitants ofLiege, that we know no retreat to which our authority extends, beyondthe bounds of our own castle, and the protection of our soldiery. Buthere you are most welcome, and your train shall have all honourableentertainment, especially this youth whom you recommend so particularlyto our countenance, and on whom in especial we bestow our blessing."

  Quentin kneeled, as in duty bound, to receive the Episcopal benediction.

  "For yourselves," proceeded the good Prelate, "you shall reside herewith my sister Isabelle, a Canoness of Triers, with whom you may dwellin all honour, even under the roof of so gay a bachelor as the Bishop ofLiege."

  He gallantly conducted the ladies to his sister's apartment, as heconcluded the harangue of welcome, and his Master of the Household,an officer who, having taken Deacon's orders, held something betweena secular and ecclesiastical character, entertained Quentin with thehospitality which his master enjoined, while the other personages ofthe retinue of the Ladies of Croye were committed to the inferiordepartments.

  In this arrangement Quentin could not help remarking that the presenceof the Bohemian, so much objected to in the country convents, seemed, inthe household of this wealthy, and perhaps we might say worldly prelate,to attract neither objection nor remark.