Meantime the King and the Duke of Burgundy entered the city on horseback and through one of the breaches. They were both in complete armour, but the latter, covered with blood from the plume to the spur, drove his steed furiously up the breach, which Louis surmounted with the stately pace of one who leads a procession. They dispatched orders to stop the sack of the city, which had already commenced, and to assemble their scattered troops. The Princes themselves proceeded towards the great church, both for the protection of many of the distinguished inhabitants who had taken refuge there, and in order to hold a sort of military council after they had heard high mass.
Busied, like other officers of his rank, in collecting those under his command, Lord Crawford, at the turning of one of the streets which leads to the Maes, met Le Balafre sauntering composedly towards the river, holding in his hand, by the gory locks, a human head with as much indifference as a fowler carries a game pouch.
"How now, Ludovic!" said his commander; "what are ye doing with that carrion?"
"It is all that is left of a bit of work which my nephew shaped out and nearly finished and I put the last hand to," said Le Balafre, "a good fellow that I dispatched yonder and who prayed me to throw his head into the Maes. -- Men have queer fancies when old Small Back (a cant expression in Scotland for Death, usually delineated as a skeleton. S.) is gripping them, but Small Back must lead down the dance with us all in our time."
"And you are going to throw that head into the Maes?" said Crawford, looking more attentively on the ghastly memorial of mortality.
"Ay, truly am I," said Ludovic testily. "If you refuse a dying man his boon, you are likely to be haunted by his ghost, and I love to sleep sound at nights."
"You must take your chance of the ghaist, man," said Crawford; "for, by my soul, there is more lies on that dead pow than you think for. Come along with me -- not a word more -- Come along with me."
"Nay, for that matter," said Le Balafre, "I made him no promise; for, in truth, I had off his head before the tongue had well done wagging; and as I feared him not living, by St. Martin of Tours, I fear him as little when he is dead. Besides, my little gossip, the merry Friar of St. Martin's, will lend me a pot of holy water."
When high mass had been said in the Cathedral Church of Liege and the terrified town was restored to some moderate degree of order, Louis and Charles, with their peers around, proceeded to hear the claims of those who had any to make for services performed during the battle. Those which respected the County of Croye and its fair mistress were first received, and to the disappointment of sundry claimants, who had thought themselves sure of the rich prize, there seemed doubt and mystery to involve their several pretensions. Crevecoeur showed a boar's hide, such as De la Marck usually wore; Dunois produced a cloven shield with his armorial bearings; and there were others who claimed the merit of having dispatched the murderer of the Bishop, producing similar tokens -- the rich reward fixed on De la Marck's head having brought death to all who were armed in his resemblance.
There was much noise and contest among the competitors, and Charles, internally regretting the rash promise which had placed the hand and wealth of his fair vassal on such a hazard, was in hopes he might find means of evading all these conflicting claims, when Crawford pressed forward into the circle, dragging Le Balafre after him, who, awkward and bashful, followed like an unwilling mastiff towed on in a leash, as his leader exclaimed, "Away with your hoofs and hides and painted iron! -- No one, save he who slew the Boar, can show the tusks!"
So saying, he flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known as that of De la Marck by the singular conformation of the jaws, which in reality had a certain resemblance to those of the animal whose name he bore, and which was instantly recognized by all who had seen him.
(We have already noticed the anachronism respecting the crimes of this atrocious baron; and it is scarce necessary to repeat, that if he in reality murdered the Bishop of Liege in 1482, the Count of La Marck could not be slain in the defence of Liege four years earlier. In fact, the Wild Boar of Ardennes, as he was usually termed, was of high birth, being the third son of John I, Count of La Marck and Aremberg, and ancestor of the branch called Barons of Lumain. He did not escape the punishment due to his atrocity, though it did not take place at the time, or in the manner, narrated in the text. Maximilian, Emperor of Austria, caused him to be arrested at Utrecht, where he was beheaded in the year 1485, three years after the Bishop of Liege's death. S.)
"Crawford," said Louis, while Charles sat silent in gloomy and displeased surprise, "I trust it is one of my faithful Scots who has won this prize?"
"It is Ludovic Lesly, Sire, whom we call Le Balafre," replied the old soldier.
"But is he noble?" said the Duke; "is he of gentle blood? -- Otherwise our promise is void."
"He is a cross, ungainly piece of wood enough," said Crawford, looking at the tall, awkward, embarrassed figure of the Archer; "but I will warrant him a branch of the tree of Rothes for all that -- and they have been as noble as any house in France or Burgundy ever since it is told of their founder that --
"'Between the less-lee and the mair, He slew the Knight, and left him there.'"
(An old rhyme by which the Leslies vindicate their descent from an ancient knight, who is said to have slain a gigantic Hungarian champion, and to have formed a proper name for himself by a play of words upon the place where he fought his adversary. S.)
"There is then no help for it," said the Duke, "and the fairest and richest heiress in Burgundy must be the wife of a rude mercenary soldier like this, or die secluded in a convent -- and she the only child of our faithful Reginald de Croye! -- I have been too rash."
And a cloud settled on his brow, to the surprise of his peers, who seldom saw him evince the slightest token of regret for the necessary consequences of an adopted resolution.
"Hold but an instant," said the Lord Crawford, "it may be better than your Grace conjectures. Hear but what this cavalier has to say. -- Speak out, man, and a murrain to thee," he added, apart to Le Balafre.
But that blunt soldier, though he could make a shift to express himself intelligibly enough to King Louis, to whose familiarity he was habituated, yet found himself incapable of enunciating his resolution before so splendid an assembly as that before which he then stood; and after having turned his shoulder to the princes, and preluded with a hoarse chuckling laugh, and two or three tremendous contortions of countenance, he was only able to pronounce the words, "Saunders Souplejaw" -- and then stuck fast.
"May it please your Majesty and your Grace," said Crawford, "I must speak for my countryman and old comrade. You shall understand that he has had it prophesied to him by a seer in his own land, that the fortune of his house is to be made by marriage; but as he is, like myself, something the worse for the wear -- loves the wine house better than a lady's summer parlour, and, in short, having some barrack tastes and likings, which would make greatness in his own person rather an encumbrance to him, he hath acted by my advice, and resigns the pretentions acquired' by the fate of slaying William de la Marck, to him by whom the Wild Boar was actually brought to bay, who is his maternal nephew."
"I will vouch for that youth's services and prudence," said King Louis, overjoyed to see that fate had thrown so gallant a prize to one over whom he had some influence. "Without his prudence and vigilance, we had been ruined. It was he who made us aware of the night sally."
"I, then," said Charles, "owe him some reparation for doubting his veracity."
"And I can attest his gallantry as a man at arms," said Dunois.
"But," interrupted Crevecoeur, "though the uncle be a Scottish gentillatre, that makes not the nephew necessarily so."
"He is of the House of Durward," said Crawford, "descended from that Allan Durward who was High Steward of Scotland."
"Nay, if it be young Durward," said Crevecoeur, "I say no more. -- Fortune has declared herself on his side too plainly for me to struggle farther with her humoursome ladyship -- but it is strange, from lord to horseboy, how wonderfully these Scots stick by each other."
"Highlander shoulder to shoulder," answered Lord Crawford, laughing at the mortification of the proud Burgundian.
"We have yet to inquire," said Charles thoughtfully, "what the fair lady's sentiments may be towards this fortunate adventurer."
"By the mass" said Crevecoeur, "I have but too much reason to believe your Grace will find her more amenable to authority than on former occasions. -- But why should I grudge this youth his preferment? Since, after all, it is sense, firmness, and gallantry which have put him in possession of WEALTH, RANK, and BEAUTY!"
* * * * *
I had already sent these sheets to the press, concluding, as I thought, with a moral of excellent tendency for the encouragement of all fair haired, blue eyed, long legged, stout hearted emigrants from my native country, who might be willing in stirring times to take up the gallant profession of Cavalieros of Fortune. But a friendly monitor, one of those who, like the lump of sugar which is found at the bottom of a tea cup, as well as the flavour of the souchong itself, has entered a bitter remonstrance, and insists that I should give a precise and particular account of the espousals of the young heir of Glen Houlakin and the lovely Flemish Countess, and tell what tournaments were held, and how many lances were broken, upon so interesting an occasion; nor withhold from the curious reader the number of sturdy boys who inherited the valour of Quentin Durward, and of bright damsels, in whom were renewed the charms of Isabelle de Croye. I replied, in course of post, that times were changed, and public weddings were entirely out of fashion. In days traces of which I myself can remember, not only were the "fifteen friends" of the happy pair invited to witness their Union, but the bridal minstrelsy still continued, as in the "Ancient Mariner," to "nod their heads" till morning shone on them. The sack posset was eaten in the nuptial chamber -- the stocking was thrown -- and the bride's garter was struggled for in presence of the happy couple whom Hymen had made one flesh. The authors of the period were laudably accurate in following its fashions. They spared you not a blush of the bride, not a rapturous glance of the bridegroom, not a diamond in her hair, not a button on his embroidered waistcoat; until at length, with Astraea, "they fairly put their characters to bed." (the reference is to the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn. "The stage how loosely doth Astraea tread, who fairly puts each character to bed.") But how little does this agree with the modest privacy which induces our modern brides -- sweet bashful darlings! -- to steal from pomp and plate, and admiration and flattery, and, like honest Shenstone ((1714-1763): an English poet best known by The Schoolmistress),
"Seek for freedom at an inn!"
To these, unquestionably, an exposure of the circumstances of publicity with which a bridal in the fifteenth century was always celebrated, must appear in the highest degree disgusting. Isabelle de Croye would be ranked in their estimation far below the maid who milks, and does the meanest chores; for even she, were it in the church porch, would reject the hand of her journeyman shoemaker, should he propose faire des noces (to celebrate a wedding festivity), as it is called on Parisian signs, instead of going down on the top of the long coach to spend the honeymoon incognito at Deptford or Greenwich. I will not, therefore, tell more of this matter, but will steal away from the wedding, as Ariosto from that of Angelica, leaving it to whom it may please to add farther particulars, after the fashion of their own imagination.
"Some better bard shall sing, in feudal state How Bracquemont's Castle op'd its Gothic gate, When on the wand'ring Scot, its lovely heir Bestow'd her beauty and an earldom fair."
(Ariosto (1474-1533): an Italian poet, the author of the poem Orlando Furioso, whose popularity was due largely to the subject -- combats and paladins, lovers' devotion and mad adventures. Angelica is the heroine. Scott is sometimes called the Ariosto of the North.)
他一望，只见那可数的变成了多不胜数，
人们潮水般地涌出了城门。
《复乐园》
驻扎在列日城前的勃艮第大军很快陷入死一般的沉寂。士兵们回答口令的声音以及他们摸索着返回各自营地时发出的声音延续了很长的时间，听起来就像是迷路的狗在寻找它们的主人。最后，由于被当天的疲劳弄得困乏不堪，士兵们都散乱地挤在他们所能找到的房舍里睡觉，而那些找不到房舍的，则由于实在太疲乏，干脆倒在墙壁、篱笆底下或别的临时栖身处靠着，等待天明——其中有些则再也没能见到天明。除开在国王和公爵的住处士兵们困倦而马虎地站着岗以外，几乎所有的人都已沉人酣睡。明天将带来的危险和希望——甚至是年轻的贵族们着眼于为遇害的主教复仇所悬的那一高贵奖赏而建立起来的种种辉煌计划——全都在疲劳的酣睡中，从他们脑海里消失得无影无踪。但昆丁•达威特却不是这样，因为，只有他掌握着在战场上如何辨认德拉马克的那个情报。当他想到是她送给他的这个情报，而她把它送给他也象征着一种吉兆——总之，当他想到，命运之神诚然使他正面临人生中一个危险而又捉摸不定的关键时刻，但毕竟也给他留有得胜的机会——所有这些思绪自然使他毫无睡意，只觉神经兴奋，一点不觉疲劳。
按照国王的密令，他被派到法军距城最近的一个阵地去站岗，已深入到我们提到过的那个郊区的右后方。他敏锐地张着眼睛，像是想要他的目光穿透他面前这堵厚厚的城墙；他也兴奋地张着耳朵，像是想抓住城里有任何动静的微小声音。然而，城里的大钟相继报了凌晨三点，一切却仍然是坟墓般的寂静。
最后，昆丁寻思袭击也许会推迟到天明。他高兴地想到，那时光线明亮，他完全可以辨认出奥尔良百合花纹章左边的庶出标志。但正在这时，他觉得他听到城里有一片嗡嗡的人声，仿佛是一群受惊扰的蜜蜂正在聚集起来保卫它们的蜂巢。他倾听着——声音还在继续，但说不出它属于任何明确而特定的声音，以致既可以当作是远处林中飒飒的风声，也可以当作是雨后暴涨的溪水注入徐缓的马埃斯河时比往常更喧哗的水声。由于这些考虑，昆丁没有立即告警，因为告警失误将是一种严重的罪过。
这时喧声越来越大，似乎同时在向他自己涌来，也向这郊区涌来。他认为他有责任尽可能静悄悄地退回去，把负责支援他的苏格兰射手小分队的指挥官，也就是他的舅父，立刻叫醒。这些射手顿时尽量小声地站起来，作好准备。顷刻之间克劳福德大公已出现在他们前头，率领他们。他连忙派遣一名射手去报告国王及其大本营，同时把他这一小股人马撤到他们烧的那堆簧火后面一个地方隐蔽起来，以免火光使他们暴露。那潮涌般的声音在离他们更近时，似乎突然停了下来。但他们仍能清晰地听到在较远的地方一大队人马向郊区开来的沉重脚步声。
“那些勃艮第懒鬼都在站岗时睡觉，”克劳福德轻声说道，“坎宁安，你赶快跑去把那些蠢牛叫醒。”
“你最好抄在这些人的后面走，”达威特说道，“根据我所听到的脚步声来看，在我们和郊区之间有一支很大的人马。”
“昆丁，我的好小伙子，你说得很对，”克劳福德讲道，“你是一个聪明超过年龄的好武士。这些人停下来，是要让另一些人赶向前去。我真想知道，他们究竟在什么地方。”
“大人，我想潜到前面去，”昆丁说道，“设法给您搞一点情报。”
“行，我的好小伙子。你眼睛和耳朵都很机灵，而且心地好。不过你得小心——我不想让你轻易送命。”
昆丁带着装好火药的火统枪穿过昨天黄昏时他曾仔细侦察过的这块地方，悄悄走上前去。摸到的情况是，他不仅可以肯定附近有大批人马就聚集在国王的大本营和那郊区之间，而且在紧靠着他的地方还有一支人数较少的先头部队。他们像在互相耳语，不知道下一步如何办好。最后，有两三个离队的散兵竟走到离他只有两根长矛远的地方。看到他已无法悄悄往回走而不被发现，昆丁便大声喊道：“Qui vive？”回答是“vive Li—Li—ege—cest-a dire”那说话的人马上又改口说是，“ Vive la France！”——昆丁立即开火。只听见一个人呻吟了一声，倒了下去。顷刻便有许多支枪从对方的队列里盲目开火，说明他们人数十分众多。在这一片枪声下昆丁急忙撤回自己的部队。
“好小伙子，你干得真好！”克劳福德说道，“伙计们，让我们进院子去吧——他们人数太多，和他们在旷野里打仗对我们不利。”
于是他们进到那个别墅的庭园，发现里面秩序井然，国王正准备上马。
“陛下要到哪儿去？”克劳福德问道，“您和自己人在一起岂不最安全？”
“不行，”路易说道，“我得马上到公爵那儿去。在这个关键时刻，必须让他确信我的诚意，否则我们就会遭到列日人和勃艮第人的夹击。”他跳上马，在马上吩咐克劳福德指挥苏格兰卫队和其他御林军保卫别墅及其围场。他还命令他们把留在后面约半英里远的两门火炮及两门野战炮拖上来，并命令他们坚守岗位，不管取得多大战果，都不得开向前去。在下达了这些命令之后，他便带领一小队卫士骑着马向公爵的大本营走去。
