only turned his head as far back as he could, to peer at them, but that, with a singular sort of agility, more resembling that of a monkey than of a man, he had screwed his whole person around on the saddle, so as to sit almost sidelong upon the horse, for the convenience, as it seemed, of watching them more attentively.
Not greatly pleased with this manoeuvre, Quentin rode up to the Bohemian, and said to him, as he suddenly assumed his proper position on the horse, 'Methinks, friend, you will prove but a blind guide, if you look at the tail of your horse rather than his ears.'
'And if I were actually blind,' answered the Bohemian, 'I could not the less guide you through any country in this realm of France, or in those adjoining to it.'
'Yet you are no Frenchman born,' said the Scot.
'I am not,' answered the guide.
'What countryman, then, are you?' demanded Quentin.
'I am of no country,' answered the guide.
'How! of no country?' repeated the Scot.
'No,' answered the Bohemian, 'of none. I am a Zingaro, a Bohemian, an Egyptian, or whatever the Europeans, in their different languages, may choose to call our people; but I have no country.'
'Are you a Christian?' asked the Scotchman.
The Bohemian shook his head.
'Dog!' said Quentin, (for there was little toleration in the spirit of Catholicism in those days,) 'dost thou worship Mahoun?'
'No,' was the indifferent and concise answer of the guide, who neither seemed offended or surprised at the young man's violence of manner.
'Are you a Pagan then, or what are you?'
'I have no religion[30],' answered the Bohemian.
Durward started back; for though he had heard of Saracens and Idolaters, it had never entered into his ideas or belief, that any body of men could exist who practised no mode of worship whatever. He recovered from his astonishment, to ask his guide where he usually dwelt.
'Wherever I chance to be for the time,' replied the Bohemian. 'I have no home.'
'How do you guard your property?'
'Excepting the clothes which I wear, and the horse I ride on, I have no property.'
'Yet you dress gaily, and ride gallantly,' said Durward. 'What are your means of subsistence?'
'I eat when I am hungry, drink when I am thirsty, and have no other means of subsistence than chance throws in my way,' replied the vagabond.
'Under whose laws do you live?'
'I acknowledge obedience to none, but as it suits my pleasure or my necessities,' said the Bohemian.
'Who is your leader, and commands you?'
'The Father of our tribe – if I choose to obey him,' said the guide – 'otherwise I have no commander.'
'You are then,' said the wondering querist, 'destitute of all that other men are combined by – you have no law, no leader, no settled means of subsistence, no house or home. You have, may Heaven compassionate you, no country – and, may Heaven enlighten and forgive you, you have no God! What is it that remains to you, deprived of government, domestic happiness, and religion?'
'I have liberty,' said the Bohemian – 'I crouch to no one – obey no one – respect no one. – I go where I will – live as I can – and die when my day comes.'
'But you are subject to instant execution, at the pleasure of the Judge?'
'Be it so,' returned the Bohemian; 'I can but die so much the sooner.'
'And to imprisonment also,' said the Scot; 'and where then is your boasted freedom?'
'In my thoughts,' said the Bohemian, 'which no chains can bind; while yours, even when your limbs are free, remain fettered by your laws and your superstitions, your dreams of local attachment, and your fantastic visions of civil policy. Such as I are free in spirit when our limbs are chained – You are imprisoned in mind, even when your limbs are most at freedom.'
'Yet the freedom of your thoughts,' said the Scot, 'relieves not the pressure of the gyves on your limbs.'
'For a brief time that may be endured,' answered the vagrant; 'and if within that period I cannot extricate myself, and fail of relief from my comrades, I can always die, and death is the most perfect freedom of all.'
There was a deep pause of some duration, which Quentin at length broke by resuming his queries.
'Yours is a wandering race, unknown to the nations of Europe – Whence do they derive their origin?'
'I may not tell you,' answered the Bohemian.
'When will they relieve this kingdom from their presence, and return to the land from whence they came?' said the Scot.
'When the day of their pilgrimage shall be accomplished,' replied his vagrant guide.
'Are you not sprung from those tribes of Israel, which were carried into captivity beyond the great river Euphrates?' said Quentin, who had not forgotten the lore which had been taught him at Aberbrothick.
'Had we been so,' answered the Bohemian, 'we had followed their faith, and practised their rites.'
'What is thine own name?' said Durward.
'My proper name is only known to my brethren – The men beyond our tents call me Hayraddin Maugrabin, that is, Hayraddin the African Moor.'
'Thou speakest too well for one who hath lived always in thy filthy horde,' said the Scot.
'I have learned some of the knowledge of this land,' said Hayraddin. – 'When I was a little boy, our tribe was chased by the hunters after human flesh. An arrow went through my mother's head, and she died. I was entangled in the blanket on her shoulders, and was taken by the pursuers. A priest begged me from the Provost's archers, and trained me up in Frankish learning for two or three years.'
'How came you to part with him?' demanded Durward.
'I stole money from him – even the God which he worshipped,' answered Hayraddin, with perfect composure; 'he detected me, and beat me – I stabbed him with my knife, fled to the woods, and was again united to my people.'
'Wretch!' said Durward, 'did you murder your benefactor?'
'What had he to do to burden me with his benefits? – The Zingaro boy was no house-bred cur, to dog the heels of his master, and crouch beneath his blows, for scraps of food – He was the imprisoned wolf-whelp, which at the first opportunity broke his chain, rended his master, and returned to his wilderness.'
There was another pause, when the young Scot, with a view of still farther investigating the character and purpose of this suspicious guide, asked Hayraddin, 'Whether it was not true that his people, amid their ignorance, pretended to a knowledge of futurity, which was not given to the sages, philosophers, and divines, of more polished society?'
'We pretend to it,' said Hayraddin, 'and it is with justice.'
'How can it be, that so high a gift is bestowed on so abject a race?' said Quentin.
'Can I tell you?' answered Hayraddin – 'Yes, I may indeed; but it is when you shall explain to me why the dog can trace the footsteps of a man, while man, the nobler animal, hath not power to trace those of the dog. These powers, which seem to you so wonderful, are instinctive in our race. From the lines on the face and on the hand, we can tell the future fate of those who consult us, even as surely as you know from the blossom of the tree in spring, what fruit it will bear in the harvest.'
'I doubt of your knowledge, and defy you to the proof.'
'Defy me not, Sir Squire,' said Hayraddin Maugrabin – 'I can tell you, that, say what you will of your religion, the Goddess whom you worship rides in this company.'
'Peace!' said Quentin, in astonishment; 'on thy life, not a word farther, but in answer to what I ask thee. – Canst thou be faithful?'
'I can – all men can,' said the Bohemian.
'But wilt thou be faithful?'
'Wouldst thou believe me the more should I swear it?' answered Maugrabin, with a sneer.
'Thy life is in my hand,' said the young Scot.
