CHAPTER XX: THE BILLET
Go to--thou art made, if thou desirest to be so.-- If not, let me see thee still the fellow of servants, and not fit to touch Fortune's fingers.--
TWELFTH NIGHT
When the tables were drawn, the Chaplain, who seemed to have taken asort of attachment to Quentin Durward's society, or who perhaps desiredto extract from him farther information concerning the meeting of themorning, led him into a withdrawing apartment, the windows of which, onone side, projected into the garden, and as he saw his companion's eyegaze rather eagerly upon the spot, he proposed to Quentin to go downand take a view of the curious foreign shrubs with which the Bishop hadenriched its parterres.
Quentin excused himself as unwilling to intrude, and therewithalcommunicated the check which he had received in the morning. TheChaplain smiled, and said that there was indeed some ancient prohibitionrespecting the Bishop's private garden.
"But this," he added, with a smile, "was when our reverend father wasa princely young prelate of not more than thirty years of age, and whenmany fair ladies frequented the Castle for ghostly consolation. Needthere was," he said with a downcast look, and a smile, half simple andhalf intelligent, "that these ladies, pained in conscience, who wereever lodged in the apartments now occupied by the noble Canoness, shouldhave some space for taking the air, secure from the intrusion of theprofane. But of late years," he added, "this prohibition, although notformally removed, has fallen entirely out of observance, and remainsbut as the superstition which lingers in the brain of a superannuatedgentleman usher. If you please," he added, "we will presently descend,and try whether the place be haunted or no."
Nothing could have been more agreeable to Quentin than the prospect ofa free entrance into the garden, through means of which, according to achance which had hitherto attended his passion, he hoped to communicatewith, or at least obtain sight of, the object of his affections, fromsome such turret or balcony window, or similar "coign of vantage," as atthe hostelry of the Fleur de Lys, near Plessis, or the Dauphin's Tower,within that Castle itself. Isabelle seemed still destined, wherever shemade her abode, to be the Lady of the Turret.
[Coign of vantage: an advantageous position for observation or action.Cf. 'no jutty, frieze, buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this birdhath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle.' Macbeth, I, vi, 6.]
When Durward descended with his new friend into the garden, the latterseemed a terrestrial philosopher, entirely busied with the things of theearth, while the eyes of Quentin, if they did not seek the heavens,like those of an astrologer, ranged, at least, all around the windows,balconies, and especially the turrets, which projected on every partfrom the inner front of the old building, in order to discover thatwhich was to be his cynosure.
While thus employed, the young lover heard with total neglect, if indeedhe heard at all, the enumeration of plants, herbs, and shrubs which hisreverend conductor pointed out to him, of which this was choice, becauseof prime use in medicine, and that more choice for yielding a rareflavour to pottage, and a third, choicest of all, because possessed ofno merit but its extreme scarcity. Still it was necessary to preservesome semblance at least of attention, which the youth found sodifficult, that he fairly wished at the devil the officious naturalistand the whole vegetable kingdom. He was relieved at length by thestriking of a clock, which summoned the Chaplain to some official duty.
The reverend man made many unnecessary apologies for leaving his newfriend, and concluded by giving him the agreeable assurance thathe might walk in the garden till supper, without much risk of beingdisturbed.
"It is," said he, "the place where I always study my own homilies, asbeing most sequestered from the resort of strangers. I am now about todeliver one of them in the chapel, if you please to favour me with youraudience. I have been thought to have some gift.--But the glory be whereit is due!"
Quentin excused himself for this evening, under pretence of a severeheadache, which the open air was likely to prove the best cure for, andat length the well meaning, priest left him to himself.
It may be well imagined, that in the curious inspection which he nowmade, at more leisure, of every window or aperture which looked into thegarden, those did not escape which were in the immediate neighbourhoodof the small door by which he had seen Marthon admit Hayraddin, as hepretended, to the apartment of the Countesses. But nothing stirred orshowed itself, which could either confute or confirm the tale which theBohemian had told, until it was becoming dusky, and Quentin began to besensible, he scarce knew why, that his sauntering so long in the gardenmight be subject of displeasure or suspicion. Just as he had resolved todepart, and was taking what he had destined for his last turn under thewindows which had such attraction for him, he heard above him a slightand cautious sound, like that of a cough, as intended to call hisattention, and to avoid the observation of others. As he looked up injoyful surprise, a casement opened, a female hand was seen to drop abillet, which fell into a rosemary bush that grew at the foot of thewall. The precaution used in dropping this letter prescribed equalprudence and secrecy in reading it. The garden, surrounded, as we havesaid, upon two sides, by the buildings of the palace, was commanded,of course, by the windows of many apartments, but there was a sort ofgrotto of rock work, which the Chaplain had shown Durward with muchcomplacency. To snatch up the billet, thrust it into his bosom, andhie to this place of secrecy, was the work of a single minute. He thereopened the precious scroll, and blessed, at the same time, the memoryof the Monks of Aberbrothick, whose nurture had rendered him capable ofdeciphering its contents.
The first line contained the injunction, "Read this in secret,"--andthe contents were as follows: "What your eyes have too boldly said, minehave perhaps too rashly understood. But unjust persecution makes itsvictims bold, and it were better to throw myself on the gratitude ofone, than to remain the object of pursuit to many. Fortune has herthrone upon a rock but brave men fear not to climb. If you dare do aughtfor one that hazards much, you need but pass into this garden at primetomorrow, wearing in your cap a blue and white feather, but expectno farther communication. Your stars have, they say, destined youfor greatness, and disposed you to gratitude.--Farewell--be faithful,prompt, and resolute, and doubt not thy fortune."
Within this letter was enclosed a ring with a table diamond, on whichwere cut, in form of a lozenge, the ancient arms of the House of Croye.
The first feeling of Quentin upon this occasion was unmingled ecstasy--apride and joy which seemed to raise him to the stars--a determinationto do or die, influenced by which he treated with scorn the thousandobstacles that placed themselves betwixt him and the goal of his wishes.
In this mood of rapture, and unable to endure any interruption whichmight withdraw his mind, were it but for a moment, from so ecstatica subject of contemplation, Durward, retiring to the interior of thecastle, hastily assigned his former pretext of a headache for notjoining the household of the Bishop at the supper meal, and, lightinghis lamp, betook himself to the chamber which had been assigned him, toread, and to read again and again, the precious billet, and to kiss athousand times the no less precious ring.
But such high wrought feelings could not remain long in the sameecstatic tone. A thought pressed upon him, though he repelled it asungrateful--as even blasphemous--that the frankness of the confessionimplied less delicacy on the part of her who made it, than wasconsistent with the high romantic feeling of adoration with which hehad hitherto worshipped the Lady Isabelle. No sooner did this ungraciousthought intrude itself, than he hastened to stifle it, as he would havestifled a hissing and hateful adder that had intruded itself intohis couch. Was it for him--him the Favoured--on whose account she hadstooped from her sphere, to ascribe blame to her for the very act ofcondescension, Without which he dared not have raised his eyes towardsher? Did not her very dignity of birth and of condition reverse, in hercase, the usual rules which impose silence on the lady until her lovershall have first spoken? To these arguments, w
hich he boldly formed intosyllogisms and avowed to himself, his vanity might possibly suggest onewhich he cared not to embody even mentally with the same frankness--thatthe merit of the party beloved might perhaps warrant, on the part of thelady, some little departure from common rules, and, after all, as in thecase of Malvolio [Olivia's steward in Twelfth Night], there was examplefor it in chronicle. The Squire of low degree, of whom he had just beenreading, was, like himself, a gentleman void of land and living, and yetthe generous Princess of Hungary bestowed on him, without scruple, moresubstantial marks of her affection than the billet he had just received:
"'Welcome,' she said, 'my swete Squyre, My heart's roots, my soul's desire, I will give thee kisses three, And als five hundrid poundis in fee.'"
And again the same faithful history made the King of Hongrie himselfavouch--
"I have yknown many a page, Come to be Prince by marriage."
So that, upon the whole, Quentin generously and magnanimously reconciledhimself to a line of conduct on the Countess's part by which he waslikely to be so highly benefited.
But this scruple was succeeded by another doubt, harder of digestion.The traitor Hayraddin had been in the apartments of the ladies, foraught Quentin knew, for the space of four hours, and, considering thehints which he had thrown out of possessing an influence of the mostinteresting kind over the fortunes of Quentin Durward, what shouldassure him that this train was not of his laying? And if so, was it notprobable that such a dissembling villain had set it on foot to concealsome new plan of treachery--perhaps to seduce Isabelle out of theprotection of the worthy Bishop? This was a matter to be closely lookedinto, for Quentin felt a repugnance to this individual proportioned tothe unabashed impudence with which he had avowed his profligacy, andcould not bring himself to hope that anything in which he was concernedcould ever come to an honourable or happy conclusion.
These various thoughts rolled over Quentin's mind like misty clouds, todash and obscure the fair landscape which his fancy had at first drawn,and his couch was that night a sleepless one. At the hour of prime--ay,and an hour before it, was he in the castle garden, where no one nowopposed either his entrance or his abode, with a feather of the assignedcolour, as distinguished as he could by any means procure in such haste.No notice was taken of his appearance for nearly two hours, at lengthhe heard a few notes of the lute, and presently the lattice opened rightabove the little postern door at which Marthon had admitted Hayraddin,and Isabelle, in maidenly beauty, appeared at the opening, greeted himhalf kindly, half shyly, coloured extremely at the deep and significantreverence with which he returned her courtesy--shut the casement, anddisappeared.
Daylight and champaign could discover no more! The authenticity of thebillet was ascertained--it only remained what was to follow, and ofthis the fair writer had given him no hint. But no immediate dangerimpended--the Countess was in a strong castle, under the protection ofa Prince, at once respectable for his secular and venerable for hisecclesiastical authority. There was neither immediate room nor occasionfor the exulting Squire interfering in the adventure, and it wassufficient if he kept himself prompt to execute her commands whensoeverthey should be communicated to him. But Fate purposed to call him intoaction sooner than he was aware of.
It was the fourth night after his arrival at Schonwaldt, when Quentinhad taken measures for sending back on the morrow, to the Court ofLouis, the remaining groom who had accompanied him on his journey, withletters from himself to his uncle and Lord Crawford, renouncing theservice of France, for which the treachery to which he had been exposedby the private instructions of Hayraddin gave him an excuse, both inhonour and prudence, and he betook himself to his bed with all the rosycoloured ideas around him which flutter about the couch of a youth whenhe loves dearly, and thinks his love is as sincerely repaid.
But Quentin's dreams, which at first partook of the nature of thosehappy influences under which he had fallen asleep, began by degrees toassume a more terrific character.
He walked with the Countess Isabelle beside a smooth and inland lake,such as formed the principal characteristic of his native glen, and hespoke to her of his love, without any consciousness of the impedimentswhich lay between them. She blushed and smiled when she listened--evenas he might have expected from the tenor of the letter, which, sleepingor waking, lay nearest to his heart. But the scene suddenly changed fromsummer to winter--from calm to tempest, the winds and the waves rosewith such a contest of surge and whirlwind as if the demons of the waterand of the air had been contending for their roaring empires in rivalstrife. The rising waters seemed to cut off their advance and theirretreat--the increasing tempest, which dashed them against each other,seemed to render their remaining on the spot impossible, and thetumultuous sensations produced by the apparent danger awoke the dreamer.
He awoke, but although the circumstances of the vision had disappeared,and given place to reality, the noise, which had probably suggestedthem, still continued to sound in his ears.
Quentin's first impulse was to sit erect in bed and listen withastonishment to sounds, which, if they had announced a tempest, mighthave shamed the wildest that ever burst down from the Grampians, andagain in a minute he became sensible that the tumult was not excited bythe fury of the elements, but by the wrath of men. He sprang from bed,and looked from the window of his apartment, but it opened into thegarden, and on that side all was quiet, though the opening of thecasement made him still more sensible from the shouts which reached hisears that the outside of the castle was beleaguered and assaulted, andthat by a numerous and determined enemy. Hastily collecting his dressand arms, and putting them on with such celerity as darkness andsurprise permitted, his attention was solicited by a knocking at thedoor of his chamber. As Quentin did not immediately answer, the door,which was a slight one, was forced open from without, and the intruder,announced by his peculiar dialect to be the Bohemian, HayraddinMaugrabin, entered the apartment. A phial which he held in his hand,touched by a match, produced a dark flash of ruddy fire, by means ofwhich he kindled a lamp, which he took from his bosom.
"The horoscope of your destinies," he said energetically to Durward,without any farther greeting, "now turns upon the determination of aminute."
"Caitiff!" said Quentin, in reply, "there is treachery around us, andwhere there is treachery thou must have a share in it."
"You are mad," answered Maugrabin. "I never betrayed any one but to gainby it--and wherefore should I betray you, by whose safety I can takemore advantage than by your destruction? Hearken for a moment, if it bepossible for you, to one note of reason, ere it is sounded into your earby the death shut of ruin. The Liegeois are up--William de la Marck withhis band leads them.--Were there means of resistance, their numbers andhis fury would overcome them, but there are next to none. If you wouldsave the Countess and your own hopes, follow me, in the name of her whosent you a table diamond, with three leopards engraved on it."
"Lead the way," said Quentin, hastily. "In that name I dare everydanger."
"As I shall manage it," said the Bohemian, "there is no danger, if youcan but withhold your hand from strife which does not concern you,for, after all, what is it to you whether the Bishop, as they call him,slaughters his flock, or the flock slaughters the shepherd?--Ha! ha! ha!Follow me, but with caution and patience, subdue your own courage, andconfide in my prudence and my debt of thankfulness is paid, and you havea Countess for your spouse.--Follow me."
"I follow," said Quentin, drawing his sword, "but the moment in whichI detect the least sign of treachery, thy head and body are three yardsseparate!"
Without more conversation the Bohemian, seeing that Quentin was nowfully armed and ready, ran down the stairs before him, and windedhastily through various side passages, until they gained the littlegarden. Scarce a light was to be seen on that side, scarce any bustlewas to be heard, but no sooner had Quentin entered the open space,than the noise on the opposite side of the castle became ten times morestunningly audible, a
nd he could hear the various war cries of "Liege!Liege! Sanglier! Sanglier! [the Wild Boar: a name given to William dela Marck]" shouted by the assailants, while the feebler cry of "OurLady for the Prince Bishop!" was raised in a faint and faltering tone bythose of the prelate's soldiers who had hastened, though surprised andat disadvantage, to the defence of the walls.
But the interest of the fight, notwithstanding the martial character ofQuentin Durward, was indifferent to him, in comparison with the fateof Isabelle of Croye, which, he had reason to fear, would be a dreadfulone, unless rescued from the power of the dissolute and cruel freebooterwho was now, as it seemed, bursting the gates of the castle. Hereconciled himself to the aid of the Bohemian, as men in a desperateillness refuse not the remedy prescribed by quacks and mountebanks, andfollowed across the garden, with the intention of being guided by himuntil he should discover symptoms of treachery, and then piercing himthrough the heart, or striking his head from his body.
Hayraddin seemed himself conscious that his safety turned on a featherweight, for he forbore, from the moment they entered the open air, allhis wonted gibes and quirks, and seemed to have made a vow to act atonce with modesty, courage, and activity.
At the opposite door, which led to the ladies' apartments, upon a lowsignal made by Hayraddin, appeared two women, muffled in the black silkveils which were then, as now, worn by the women in the Netherlands.Quentin offered his arm to one of them, who clung to it with tremblingeagerness, and indeed hung upon him so much, that had her weight beengreater, she must have much impeded their retreat. The Bohemian, whoconducted the other female, took the road straight for the postern whichopened upon the moat, through the garden wall, close to which the littleskiff Was drawn up, by means of which Quentin had formerly observedHayraddin himself retreating from the castle.
As they crossed, the shouts of storm and successful violence seemed toannounce that the castle was in the act of being taken, and so dismalwas the sound in Quentin's ears, that he could not help swearing aloud,"But that my blood is irretrievably devoted to the fulfilment of mypresent duty, I would back to the wall, take faithful part with thehospitable Bishop, and silence some of those knaves whose throats arefull of mutiny and robbery!"
The lady, whose arm was still folded in his, pressed it lightly as hespoke, as if to make him understand that there was a nearer claim on hischivalry than the defence of Schonwaldt, while the Bohemian exclaimed,loud enough to be heard, "Now, that I call right Christian frenzy,which would turn back to fight when love and fortune both demand that weshould fly.
"On, on--with all the haste you can make.--Horses wait us in yonderthicket of willows."
"There are but two horses," said Quentin, who saw them in the moonlight.
"All that I could procure without exciting suspicion--and enough,"replied the Bohemian. "You two must ride for Tongres ere the way becomesunsafe--Marthon will abide with the women of our horde, with whom she isan old acquaintance. Know she is a daughter of our tribe, and only dweltamong you to serve our purpose as occasion should fall."
"Marthon!" exclaimed the Countess, looking at the veiled female with ashriek of surprise, "is not this my kinswoman?"
"Only Marthon," said Hayraddin. "Excuse me that little piece of deceit.I dared not carry off both the Ladies of Croye from the Wild Boar ofArdennes."
"Wretch!" said Quentin, emphatically--"but it is not--shall not be toolate--I will back to rescue the Lady Hameline."
"Hameline," whispered the lady, in a disturbed voice, "hangs on thy arm,to thank thee for her rescue."
"Ha! what!--How is this?" said Quentin, extricating himself from herhold, and with less gentleness than he would at any other time haveused towards a female of any rank. "Is the Lady Isabelle then leftbehind!--Farewell--farewell."
As he turned to hasten back to the castle, Hayraddin laid hold ofhim.--"Nay, hear you--hear you--you run upon your death! What the foulfiend did you wear the colours of the old one for?--I will never trustblue and white silk again. But she has almost as large a dower--hasjewels and gold--hath pretensions, too, upon the earldom."
While he spoke thus, panting on in broken sentences, the Bohemianstruggled to detain Quentin, who at length laid his hand on his dagger,in order to extricate himself.
"Nay, if that be the case," said Hayraddin, unloosing his hold, "go--andthe devil, if there be one, go along with you!"
And, soon as freed from his hold, the Scot shot back to the castle withthe speed of the wind.
Hayraddin then turned round to the Countess Hameline, who had sunk downon the ground, between shame, fear, and disappointment.
"Here has been a mistake," he said, "up, lady, and come with me--I willprovide you, ere morning comes, a gallanter husband than this smockfaced boy, and if one will not serve, you shall have twenty."
The Lady Hameline was as violent in her passions, as she was vain andweak in her understanding. Like many other persons, she went tolerablywell through the ordinary duties of life, but in a crisis like thepresent, she was entirely incapable of doing aught, save pouring forthunavailing lamentations, and accusing Hayraddin of being a thief, a baseslave, an impostor, a murderer.
"Call me Zingaro," returned he, composedly, "and you have said all atonce."
"Monster! you said the stars had decreed our union, and caused me towrite--Oh, wretch that I was!" exclaimed the unhappy lady.
"And so they had decreed your union," said Hayraddin, "had both partiesbeen willing--but think you the blessed constellations can make any onewed against his will?--I was led into error with your accursed Christiangallantries, and fopperies of ribbons and favours--and the youth prefersveal to beef, I think--that 's all.--Up and follow me, and take notice,I endure neither weeping nor swooning."
"I will not stir a foot," said the Countess, obstinately.
"By the bright welkin, but you shall, though!" exclaimed Hayraddin. "Iswear to you, by all that ever fools believed in, that you have to dowith one, who would care little to strip you naked, bind you to a tree,and leave you to your fortune!"
"Nay," said Marthon, interfering, "by your favour she shall not bemisused. I wear a knife as well as you, and can use it.--She is a kindwoman, though a fool.--And you, madam, rise up and follow us.--Here hasbeen a mistake, but it is something to have saved life and limb. Thereare many in yonder castle would give all the wealth in the world tostand where we do."
As Marthon spoke, a clamour, in which the shouts of victory were mingledwith screams of terror and despair, was wafted to them from the Castleof Schonwaldt.
"Hear that, lady!" said Hayraddin, "and be thankful you are not addingyour treble pipe to yonder concert. Believe me, I will care for youhonestly, and the stars shall keep their words, and find you a goodhusband."
Like some wild animal, exhausted and subdued by terror amid fatigue, theCountess Hameline yielded herself up to the conduct of her guides, andsuffered herself to be passively led whichever way they would. Nay, suchwas the confusion of her spirits and the exhaustion of her strength,that the worthy couple, who half bore, half led her, carried on theirdiscourse in her presence without her even understanding it.
"I ever thought your plan was folly," said Marthon. "Could you havebrought the young people together, indeed, we might have had a hold ontheir gratitude, and a footing in their castle. But what chance of sohandsome a youth wedding this old fool?"
"Rizpah," said Hayraddin, "you have borne the name of a Christian, anddwelt in the tents of those besotted people, till thou hast become apartaker in their follies. How could I dream that he would have madescruples about a few years' youth or age, when the advantages of thematch were so evident? And thou knowest, there would have been no movingyonder coy wench to be so frank as this coming Countess here, who hangson our arms as dead a weight as a wool pack. I loved the lad too, andwould have done him a kindness: to wed him to this old woman was to makehis fortune, to unite him to Isabelle were to have brought on him Dela Marck, Burgundy, France--every one that challenges an interest indisposing
of her hand. And this silly woman's wealth being chiefly ingold and jewels, we should have had our share. But the bow string hasburst, and the arrow failed. Away with her--we will bring her to Williamwith the Beard. By the time he has gorged himself with wassail, asis his wont, he will not know an old Countess from a young one. Away,Rizpah--bear a gallant heart. The bright Aldebaran still influences thedestinies of the Children of the Desert!"