Ivanhoe - Walter Scott (e ink ebook reader txt) 📗

silent streamlet.

The human figures which completed this landscape, were in number

two, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of that wild and

rustic character, which belonged to the woodlands of the

West-Riding of Yorkshire at that early period. The eldest of

these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His garment was

of the simplest form imaginable, being a close jacket with

sleeves, composed of the tanned skin of some animal, on which the

hair had been originally left, but which had been worn off in so

many places, that it would have been difficult to distinguish

from the patches that remained, to what creature the fur had

belonged. This primeval vestment reached from the throat to the

knees, and served at once all the usual purposes of

body-clothing; there was no wider opening at the collar, than was

necessary to admit the passage of the head, from which it may be

inferred, that it was put on by slipping it over the head and

shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, or ancient hauberk.

Sandals, bound with thongs made of boars’ hide, protected the

feet, and a roll of thin leather was twined artificially round

the legs, and, ascending above the calf, left the knees bare,

like those of a Scottish Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet

more close to the body, it was gathered at the middle by a broad

leathern belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side of which

was attached a sort of scrip, and to the other a ram’s horn,

accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of blowing. In the

same belt was stuck one of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and

two-edged knives, with a buck’s-horn handle, which were

fabricated in the neighbourhood, and bore even at this early

period the name of a Sheffield whittle. The man had no covering

upon his head, which was only defended by his own thick hair,

matted and twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the

sun into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a contrast with the

overgrown beard upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or

amber hue. One part of his dress only remains, but it is too

remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a

dog’s collar, but without any opening, and soldered fast round

his neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet

so tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the

use of the file. On this singular gorget was engraved, in Saxon

characters, an inscription of the following purport:---“Gurth,

the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.”

Beside the swine-herd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, was

seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, a person

about ten years younger in appearance, and whose dress, though

resembling his companion’s in form, was of better materials, and

of a more fantastic appearance. His jacket had been stained of a

bright purple hue, upon which there had been some attempt to

paint grotesque ornaments in different colours. To the jacket he

added a short cloak, which scarcely reached half way down his

thigh; it was of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined

with bright yellow; and as he could transfer it from one shoulder

to the other, or at his pleasure draw it all around him, its

width, contrasted with its want of longitude, formed a fantastic

piece of drapery. He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms,

and on his neck a collar of the same metal bearing the

inscription, “Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric

of Rotherwood.” This personage had the same sort of sandals with

his companion, but instead of the roll of leather thong, his legs

were cased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was red and the

other yellow. He was provided also with a cap, having around it

more than one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks,

which jingled as he turned his head to one side or other; and as

he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the sound might

be considered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap was a

stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open work,

resembling a coronet, while a prolonged bag arose from within it,

and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or

a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this

part of the cap that the bells were attached; which circumstance,

as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own half-crazed,

half-cunning expression of countenance, sufficiently pointed him

out as belonging to the race of domestic clowns or jesters,

maintained in the houses of the wealthy, to help away the tedium

of those lingering hours which they were obliged to spend within

doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip, attached to his

belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being probably considered

as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous to intrust

with edge-tools. In place of these, he was equipped with a sword

of lath, resembling that with which Harlequin operates his

wonders upon the modern stage.

The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce a stronger

contrast than their look and demeanour. That of the serf, or

bondsman, was sad and sullen; his aspect was bent on the ground

with an appearance of deep dejection, which might be almost

construed into apathy, had not the fire which occasionally

sparkled in his red eye manifested that there slumbered, under

the appearance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and

a disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on the other

hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of vacant

curiosity, and fidgetty impatience of any posture of repose,

together with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting his own

situation, and the appearance which he made. The dialogue which

they maintained between them, was carried on in Anglo-Saxon,

which, as we said before, was universally spoken by the inferior

classes, excepting the Norman soldiers, and the immediate

personal dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to give

their conversation in the original would convey but little

information to the modern reader, for whose benefit we beg to

offer the following translation:

“The curse of St Withold upon these infernal porkers!” said the

swine-herd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, to collect

together the scattered herd of swine, which, answering his call

with notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste to remove

themselves from the luxurious banquet of beech-mast and acorns on

which they had fattened, or to forsake the marshy banks of the

rivulet, where several of them, half plunged in mud, lay

stretched at their ease, altogether regardless of the voice of

their keeper. “The curse of St Withold upon them and upon me!”

said Gurth; “if the two-legged wolf snap not up some of them ere

nightfall, I am no true man. Here, Fangs! Fangs!” he ejaculated

at the top of his voice to a ragged wolfish-looking dog, a sort

of lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which ran limping about

as if with the purpose of seconding his master in collecting the

refractory grunters; but which, in fact, from misapprehension of

the swine-herd’s signals, ignorance of his own duty, or malice

prepense, only drove them hither and thither, and increased the

evil which he seemed to design to remedy. “A devil draw the

teeth of him,” said Gurth, “and the mother of mischief confound

the Ranger of the forest, that cuts the foreclaws off our dogs,

and makes them unfit for their trade!*

Note A. The Ranger of the Forest, that cuts the fore-claws off our dogs.

Wamba, up and help me an thou be’st a man; take a turn round the

back o’ the hill to gain the wind on them; and when thous’t got

the weather-gage, thou mayst drive them before thee as gently as

so many innocent lambs.”

“Truly,” said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, “I have

consulted my legs upon this matter, and they are altogether of

opinion, that to carry my gay garments through these sloughs,

would be an act of unfriendship to my sovereign person and royal

wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee to call off Fangs, and

leave the herd to their destiny, which, whether they meet with

bands of travelling soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering

pilgrims, can be little else than to be converted into Normans

before morning, to thy no small ease and comfort.”

“The swine turned Normans to my comfort!” quoth Gurth; “expound

that to me, Wamba, for my brain is too dull, and my mind too

vexed, to read riddles.”

“Why, how call you those grunting brutes running about on their

four legs?” demanded Wamba.

“Swine, fool, swine,” said the herd, “every fool knows that.”

“And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “but how call you the

sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and quartered, and hung up by

the heels, like a traitor?”

“Pork,” answered the swine-herd.

“I am very glad every fool knows that too,” said Wamba, “and

pork, I think, is good Norman-French; and so when the brute

lives, and is in the charge of a Saxon slave, she goes by her

Saxon name; but becomes a Norman, and is called pork, when she is

carried to the Castle-hall to feast among the nobles; what dost

thou think of this, friend Gurth, ha?”

“It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however it got into

thy fool’s pate.”

“Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba, in the same tone; there

is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his Saxon epithet, while he

is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou, but

becomes Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives before the

worshipful jaws that are destined to consume him. Mynheer Calf,

too, becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner; he is Saxon

when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name when he

becomes matter of enjoyment.”

“By St Dunstan,” answered Gurth, “thou speakest but sad truths;

little is left to us but the air we breathe, and that appears to

have been reserved with much hesitation, solely for the purpose

of enabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon our shoulders.

The finest and the fattest is for their board; the loveliest is

for their couch; the best and bravest supply their foreign

masters with soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones,

leaving few here who have either will or the power to protect the

unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on our master Cedric, he hath

done the work of a man in standing in the gap; but Reginald

Front-de-Boeuf is coming down to this country in person, and we

shall soon see how little Cedric’s trouble will avail him.

---Here, here,” he exclaimed again, raising his voice, “So ho! so

ho! well done, Fangs! thou hast them all before thee now, and

bring’st them on bravely, lad.”

“Gurth,” said the Jester, “I know thou thinkest me a fool, or

thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into my mouth.

One word to Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, or Philip de Malvoisin, that

thou hast spoken treason against the Norman, ---and thou art but

a cast-away swineherd,---thou wouldst waver on one of these trees

as a terror to all evil speakers against dignities.”

“Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “after having led

me on to speak so much at disadvantage?”

“Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that were the trick of a

wise man; a fool cannot half so well help himself---but soft,

whom have we here?” he said, listening to the trampling of

several horses which became then audible.

“Never