Ivanhoe: A Romance
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! 8 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-Bœuf 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-Bœuf, 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 mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now got his herd before him,
and, with the aid of Fangs, was driving them down one of the long dim
vistas which we have endeavoured to describe.
“Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered Wamba; “perhaps they are
come from Fairy-land with a message from King Oberon.”
“A murrain take thee,” rejoined the swine-herd; “wilt thou talk of such
things, while a terrible storm of thunder and lightning is raging
within a few miles of us? Hark, how the thunder rumbles! and for summer
rain, I never saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the
clouds; the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creak
with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. Thou canst play the
rational if thou wilt; credit me for once, and let us home ere the
storm begins to rage, for the night will be fearful.”
Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and accompanied his
companion, who began his journey after catching up a long quarter-staff
which lay upon the grass beside him. This second Eumaeus strode hastily
down the forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance of
Fangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge.
CHAPTER II
A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An outrider that loved venerie;
A manly man, to be an Abbot able,
Full many a daintie horse had he in stable:
And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
CHAUCER
Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chiding of his
companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet continuing to approach,
Wamba could not be prevented from lingering occasionally on the road,
upon every pretence which occurred; now catching from the hazel a
cluster of half-ripe nuts, and now turning his head to leer after a
cottage maiden who crossed their path. The horsemen, therefore, soon
overtook them on the road.
Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two who rode foremost
seemed to be persons of considerable importance, and the others their
attendants. It was not difficult to ascertain the condition and
character of one of these personages. He was obviously an ecclesiastic
of high rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian Monk, but composed of
materials much finer than those which the rule of that order admitted.
His mantle and hood were of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample,
and not ungraceful folds, around a handsome, though somewhat corpulent
person. His countenance bore as little the marks of self-denial, as his
habit indicated contempt of worldly splendour. His features might have
been called good, had there not lurked under the pent-house of his eye,
that sly epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary. In
other respects, his profession and situation had taught him a ready
command over his countenance, which he could contract at pleasure into
solemnity, although its natural expression was that of good-humoured
social indulgence. In defiance of conventual rules, and the edicts of
popes and councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned
up with rich furs, his mantle secured at the throat with a golden
clasp, and the whole dress proper to his order as much refined upon and
ornamented, as that of a quaker beauty of the present day, who, while
she retains the garb and costume of her sect continues to give to its
simplicity, by the choice of materials and the mode of disposing them,
a certain air of coquettish attraction, savouring but too much of the
vanities of the world.
This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling mule, whose
furniture was highly decorated, and whose bridle, according to the