Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Breakfast

Holy God!How well people chew! How sweet and delicious the bread is! "Yorick Travels" At the end of the last chapter, the young stranger to France was truly at his happiest when he entered the land of ancient Gaul.As mentioned at the end of the previous chapter, breakfast is something to be envied.There is a kind of Berrygold pie, which can be said that any gourmet lover will forget his relatives, the motherland and all social obligations like the lotus eater in Homer's epic poem, and will not hesitate to eat the best food alive or dead. food.Its massive outer walls of fine puff pastry resembled the ramparts of a wealthy city, symbolizing the wealth it was meant to protect.There is also a fine meat dish, which happens to be the tender tip of chicken wings that the Gascons love and the Scots do not dislike.In addition, there is a delicious ham.I think this thigh once supported some valuable wild boar in the neighboring forest of Montrichard.The bread they eat is exquisitely crafted white bread with small dots, commonly known as boules (the baker's French name boulanger comes from this).The meringue of the bread is so tempting that I think it's a delicacy with just a glass of water.Besides, there was not only a glass of water on the table, but also a leather wine-skin called Portling, which contained about a quart of fragrant Boerne wine.Even under the threat of death, so much good food will whet the appetite.Since this young man, who is not yet twenty years old, ate very little in the past two days except for a little barley bread and the occasional unripe fruit, what would these delicacies do to him? What about the effect?He literally plopped himself down on the chicken ton dish and wiped it all away; then he drove right into the huge pie.Occasionally he would spice up the rich food with a glass of wine, and then he would turn around and charge at it again and again, much to the amazement of the innkeeper and to the amusement of Monsieur Pierre.

Monsieur Pierre, perhaps finding himself doing a more merciful deed than he had expected, seemed pleased with the young Scot's appetite, and when he saw his efforts begin to slacken, He made a new effort by ordering some sweets called Dariale and other exquisite pastries that he could think of, to stimulate the young man and induce him to continue to eat more.When Pierre did this, there was an almost benevolent interest in his face, very different from his usual harsh and severe character.When the old look on, at ease, not disturbed by envy or unnecessary scruples, they naturally sympathize with the pleasures and activities of the young.

Quentin.While Dawiert was happily eating breakfast, he couldn't help but find that although the host's appearance was unpleasant before, it had also improved under the effect of the Bonnie wine.He reproached Monsieur Pierre in a good-natured tone, saying that he was only amused by making fun of his good appetite, while he himself did not eat a mouthful. I am apologetic, said Monsieur Pierre, I shall have nothing to eat in the morning but a little candy and a glass of boiling water, please call the lady, he added, turning to the shopkeeper, and bring me those two. After the innkeeper had gone out, Monsieur Pierre continued: "I promised you a breakfast."How about I keep my word?

It was the best meal I have had since leaving Gran︱Hurajin.said the young man. Gran what?asked Monsieur Pierre, what do you mean by such a long word? Gran︱Hurajin, Quentin replied enthusiastically, means the valley of gnats.My good lord, this is the name of the manor of our ancient ancestors.You paid for the right to make fun of the name, if you wanted to. I don't mean to offend you in the slightest.Said the old man, since I saw how much you liked the breakfast you just had, I want to tell you that the Scotch shooters in the royal guard eat as well as this every day, and even better than this.

This is not unusual.Dawilt said that since they were kept in those bird's nests all night, they must have a very good appetite in the morning. There really is nothing to satisfy their appetite.Monsieur Pierre said that they don't have to be naked like the Burgundians in order to fill their stomachs. They dress as richly as counts and eat as luxuriously as the abbot of the monastery. They are lucky.Darwilt said. Young man, why don't you serve here?If there was a vacancy in the Guards, I bet your uncle would put you in it.Let me whisper to you, I have a little use for myself, and maybe I can help you a little.I thought, you know how to archery and horseback riding?

We Scots are good riders who can put our boots in steel stirrups.Hard to say, maybe I'll take your kindly suggestion.But you know, food and clothing matter, but in my case, people also consider honors, promotions, and heroic deeds of warriors.Your King Louis God bless him, for he was an ally of Scotland but lived in this castle, or rode from one fortified city to another.He won cities and territories not by fair combat but by strategic envoys.However, as far as I am concerned, I belong to the ideological character of Douglas's soldiers (Note: Douglas was originally a Scottish nobleman, and in 1423 he led the Scottish army to France to help France resist the British invasion.); like them, I have preferred my life in the fields and the battle-fields, and have preferred the song of a lark to the scream of a mouse.

Young man, said Monsieur Pierre, don't judge the actions of kings lightly.King Louis was seeking to save the blood of his subjects, but he did not care.In Montléry (Note: Montléry is a small town eighteen miles south of Paris. On July 16, 1465, the Duke of Burgundy and King Louis XI of France led troops to fight here.) he Has shown himself to be a brave man. You are right.However, that was twelve years ago.The young man replied, I hope that my master will keep his honor as bright as a shield, and go forward where the battle is fiercest. So why don't you stay in Brussels and hang out with the Duke of Burgundy?He will give you the opportunity to break your bones every day.And, in case you make a mistake, he'll break your bones for you himself, especially if he hears that you hit his ranger.

You are quite right, said Quentin, I had the bad luck to close the door myself. It doesn't matter.There are many daredevils abroad, and you fanatical young people can go there to find their way.The elders acted as his staff, for example, you think William.How about Dramak? What!Dawilt exclaimed, to the bearded Deramak to the Ardennes boar?You know, this guy is the leader of the murderers.In his eyes, a human life is worth only the robes he wears.He could kill priests and pilgrims as mercilessly as he did knights and warriors!If I go to him, it will forever stain the glorious history of my ancestors.

Well, you young man of blood, replied Monsieur Pierre, if you think that de la Marque is a wild boar, why don't you go and talk to the young Duke de Gelderes? (Original Note: This refers to the son of Adolphe Arnold and Catherine de Bourbon. This novel has nothing to do with him. He was one of the most brutal figures of his time and fought his father. In this infidelity In the unfilial war he captured his old father, and treated him with extremely savage violence. It is said that he beat him with his own hands. Arnold was very resentful of this treatment, and canceled the inheritance of this unfilial son. Burgundy Charles gave Burgundy Charles all the rights of the Duchy of Reis and the Earl of Jutfern. Charles' daughter Burgundy Marie returned the property to this unfilial Adolf. He was killed in 1477 kill.)

I'd rather be with the evil devil.Quentin said, let me whisper to you that he is a burden even the earth cannot bear, may hell open its mouth and swallow him up!People say he imprisoned his real father and beat him can you believe someone did that? Pierre seemed a little uneasy at the young man's innocent terror when he spoke of his son's unfilial father.He replied, Young man, you don't know how fleeting blood ties exist among nobles, and then, changing his tone from which he began, he added cheerfully, "Besides, if the duke hit his father, dare I say, His dad beat him before too, so this is just paying off a debt.

I'm really surprised to hear you say that.The Scot was flushed with anger.A gray-haired old man like you should have picked a more appropriate topic to joke about.If it is true that the old Duke beat his son when he was a child, it is true that he did not beat him enough, for it would be better for him to die under the club than to disgrace the whole of Christendom because the Church had baptized such a cruel monster. shame. As you measure the virtues of every prince and prince, said Monsieur Pierre, I think you'd better be a chief yourself, because where can you find a man worthy Command your leader? Monsieur Pierre, you are laughing at me.Perhaps you are right, said the young man kindly, but you did not mention a single person by name.He is worthy of being a heroic leader, leading a group of brave brothers in this area.He has people who can serve him well. I can't guess who you're referring to. Hey, I mean a good man who hangs between two magnets like Mohammed's coffin (damned Mohammed!) This man is neither French nor Burgundy, but he knows how To keep a balance between them both made them both fear him and serve him, though they were powerful sovereigns themselves. I can't guess which one you are referring to.said Monsieur Pierre thoughtfully. Hey, don't you know that I mean the Count of St. Paul, the Governor of France, Luxembourg.Louie?There he ran his domain well with a brave little army, holding his head as high as King Louis and the Duke of Charles, and against them.The two of them were swinging on each end of the seesaw, and he was standing in the middle like a little boy. (Original Note: The conspiracy and tactics of the Governor of St. Paul made Louis XI's reign very difficult, because he fought for independence and conspired with England, France, and Burgundy at the same time. And The usual fate of such courtiers was that his alternate ways of ingratiating and deceiving finally aroused the enmity of his powerful neighbours, and he was handed over to the King of France by the Duke of Burgundy; Executed for treason.) He may have fallen the hardest of them all."Listen, young friend," said Monsieur Pierre, since you regard looting as a great crime, do you not know that your tactful Count Saint-Paul was the first to set fire to a war? house people?And the unresisting and undefended cities and villages were safe from anyone before he committed this shameless outrage! To be honest, I don't know.Dawilt said, if this is the case, then I have to think that these big men are all the same.Choosing among them is like picking a tree that is easy to hang yourself from.However, this Lord Governor, Earl of St. Paul, has taken possession of a city by a sufficient alienation, which is named after my revered saint and protector Saint Quentin, The Governor is the one who can engage in political intrigues that cost him so much in the end.) (Speaking he makes the sign of the cross) I think if I live there, my holy patron will protect me because he is not like those big Popular saint, so many people take his name.But he must have forgotten his spiritual godson, my poor Quentin.Da Wilt.See how he drove me hungry all day, and left me in the care of St. Julian's the next morning.As I was drowned in the famous Cher or its tributaries, I had the opportunity to be well fed by a stranger. Don't blaspheme saints, my young friends, said Monsieur Pierre, for Saint Julian is the faithful patron saint of travellers.Besides, maybe the blessed St. Quentin has done you a lot of good, and you don't feel it at all. While he was talking, the door opened, and a girl who seemed to be over fifteen years old (not under fifteen) entered carrying a large plate covered with Damascus silk.On the plate was a small dish of the plums that graced the city of Tours, and a finely carved and gilded cup.This cup is a masterpiece of which the goldsmiths of that city have been known since ancient times, for their skill in carving is more outstanding than that of other cities in France, and even better than that of Paris.The glass was so elegantly shaped that it never occurred to Darwilt to examine whether it was silver or, like the one before him, made of a baser metal.The wine glass was polished so brightly that it looked like silver. The appearance of the girl who brought in the goods attracted Dawilt's attention far more than the details of her errand. He soon saw that her long black curls, like the fashion of their Scotch girls, were unadorned except for a wreath of ivy leaves.These curls seemed to form a black veil around her face, and with her regular features, black eyes, and pensive expression, she looked a lot like Merpomani. faces.There was, however, a slight blush in her cheeks; and there was a look on her lips and in the corners of her eyes that suggested that, though not the most usual expression, happiness was not wholly foreign to such an expressive face.Quentin even thought he could see that it was unfortunate circumstances that made such a young and lovely face look too serious for a girl.Young people, whose romantic fancies are so quick to draw conclusions from rash assumptions, easily concluded from what he had seen that the beauty's fate must be shrouded in silence and mystery. What's the matter, Jacqueline?As soon as she entered the room, Monsieur Pierre said, What is this for?Didn't I tell Mrs. Barrett to bring me what I ordered?God, is she really, or thinks she's too noble to serve me? My aunt was not well, Jacqueline said hastily and humbly, and she was resting in her room. I think she is alone in the room?Master Pierre said with a slightly emphatic tone, I am an old hand, and I can't be deceived by pretending to be sick. Hearing Master Pierre's answer, Jacqueline turned pale and even shook twice.It must be admitted that, though the man's voice and countenance were at any time rough, sharp, and unpleasant, when he was angry or suspicious the effect was sinister and terrible. Quentin.Dawilt's unique cavalier character of the mountain people was immediately revealed.He hurried over to greet Jacqueline, and took the things from her hand.While passively accepting his kindness, she looked timidly and anxiously at the angry face of the citizen.Yet that piercing, pitiful look in her eyes was irresistible in nature.Master Pierre not only restrained his displeasure, but also tried to be as gentle as possible and said: I don't blame you, Jacqueline.You're too young to be, but I'm sorry to say that one day you're bound to be as insidious and false as any other frivolous woman.Any grown man would have had a chance to get to know you women thoroughly.I imagine the Scottish knight would say the same about you. Jacqueline looked at the young stranger as if in obedience to Monsieur Pierre's orders.Though it was only a fleeting glimpse, it seemed to Dawilt as if he was begging for his sympathy and support.The affection of youth and the romantic respect for women instilled in him by his education prompt him to respond swiftly.He hastened to answer, that the young lady's innocence was sufficiently evident by the expression of the young lady's face as he now saw it, and that he challenged anyone who dared to think otherwise. The young girl's face turned pale.She looked fearfully at Monsieur Pierre.But the young man's audacity seemed to provoke in the gentleman only a laugh of contempt rather than admiration.Quentin often corrects impulsive thoughts with a little thought, even though they have sometimes blurted out.He blushed now, for what had just been said in the presence of an old man with his bare hands might well be interpreted as hollow talk.As a fair and proper expression of apology, he resolved to bear patiently the ridicule he had provoked.With flushed cheeks, and with an expression of humility which he tried to conceal with an embarrassed smile, he handed the glass and plate to Monsieur Pierre. You are a foolish young man, said Monsieur Pierre, who know as little about princes as you do about women.May God, he said, crossing himself devoutly, take good care of their hearts. So who will take care of a woman's heart?Quentin said.He was determined not to be overwhelmed as much as possible by the air of superiority assumed by the imposing old man, for he felt that his haughty indifference had something overpowering to him that made him ashamed. I think you'll have to ask someone else that question.said Monsieur Pierre calmly. Quentin snubbed again.But he didn't feel terribly embarrassed.In truth, he thought to himself, I did not pay the man of Tours any respect for his hospitality.The breakfast was indeed rich.Dogs and hawks feel affection for each other as long as people come to feed them.If you want to bind a man with bonds of affection and gratitude, you must also make him feel your kindness and kindness.Having said that, he is indeed an unusual person.And that ephemeral fairie just now, such a pretty maiden, certainly doesn't belong to this mean inn, or even to this money-making merchant; but he seems to be able to exercise authority over her.He seemed to wield authority over anyone who happened to enter his inner circle.It is astonishing how much these Flemish and French people value wealth, far more than it is really worth.I guess the old merchant thought I was being polite to him not because he was old but because he was rich but I'm a Scotch gentleman of good birth and blood and he's just a tradesman in Tours ! These were some of the thoughts that flitted across young Darwilt's mind.At this time, Master Pierre smiled, patted Jacqueline's head with long hair hanging gently, and said: Jacqueline, this young man will serve me, you can go.I'll tell your careless aunt that it's unnecessary for you to be stared at. It's just to serve you.said the girl, I don't think you will be unhappy with my aunt, since Gosh!The businessman interrupted her rudely, you little fellow, are you here to quarrel with me, or to stare at the young lad?You go, he is very noble, he just needs to serve me. Jacqueline is gone.Her sudden departure made Quentin.Darwilt felt lost.He also showed only mechanical obedience to Monsieur Pierre's orders.Monsieur Pierre sank lazily into a large easy chair, and said in a voice accustomed to ordering others: "Bring me that plate." Now the merchant's brows were drooping, covering his keen eyes, so that they were almost invisible, except for a ray of sunlight occasionally radiating from under the thick eyebrows like the setting sun disappearing behind the dark clouds. sharp eyes. This is a beauty.The old man raised his head and said, and then stared intently at Quentin.Darwilt, asked, such a lovely girl as a maid at an inn?She could have waited on a gentleman and graced his table.It's just that they are poorly educated and come from humble backgrounds. Sometimes an accidental shell will bring down a noble castle in the air.In such a case, the builder of the pavilion will not take kindly to the person who fired the cannonball, although the perpetrator may be completely unintentional.Quentin was very embarrassed, and wanted to be angry with the merchant, and he didn't know why, for he told himself that the beauty was exactly what her job indicated. The inn maid, though a high maid, might be the niece of the innkeeper. but he was a servant after all, and had to cater to the tempers of his customers, and especially to that of Monsieur Pierre; who seemed to have many eccentricities, and enough money to drive others to satisfy them. Some fitful thought came back to his mind; he thought he ought to make the old gentleman understand that they were of different ranks, and that he must take heed that, however rich he was, his wealth would not bring him together with a Gran︱ Dawelt's children in Hulajin are on an equal footing.But whenever he gazed with this purpose at the face of Monsieur Pierre, despite his downcast eyes and poor attire, something kept him from expressing what he thought he was. A sense of superiority over this businessman.On the contrary, the more Quentin stared at him, the more curious he was to know who this man was and what he did.He secretly guessed that he was at least the mayor or high governor of Tours, an important person more or less accustomed to asking and receiving respect from others. At this time, the businessman seemed lost in thought again, and only raised his head to make the cross piously and eat some dried fruit and biscuits.He gestured to Quentin to pass him the glass.When Quentin handed him the glass, he asked again: You said you were a nobleman, didn't you? Needless to say, replied the Scot, if a fifteenth-generation nobleman can still be called a nobleman, that's what I told you earlier.But, Monsieur Pierre, you need not be restrained by this. I was brought up to teach that it is the duty of youth to help the elders. Wonderful.said the merchant, as he calmly let the young man pass him his glass, and filled it from the jug (which seemed to be of the same material as the goblet), without feeling the slightest inappropriateness in the etiquette which Quentin thought would make him disturbed. To hell with that rough old man, thought Darwilt again, he handles a Scotch gentleman as unceremoniously as I handle a Grant. ︱Isra's safari follower. By this time the merchant had finished his glass of water, and said to his companion: From your enjoyment of the Bordeaux, I don't think you would like to toast me with it.But I have a elixir that will turn the water in the rocks into the best wine in France. As he spoke, he took out a purse made of sea otter skin from his pocket, and poured small silver coins into the wine glass until it was half full. Young man, you should show a deeper gratitude than you did before to your patron saints Quentin and St. Julian.I suggest you give alms to the poor in their name.You stay in this inn and wait for your Uncle Le Balafrey.He is off work in the afternoon.I'll tell him you're waiting for him here, because I happen to be going to the castle on some errands. Quentin.Dawilt had wanted to say something to decline the generosity of his new friend.But Monsieur Pierre lowered his bushy eyebrows, straightened his crooked body, assumed a more dignified air than he had ever seen him, and said in a tone of authority: "Don't answer, young man, do as I command." Do your thing. With that he left the house.As he went out he gestured to Quentin not to follow. The young Scot stood amazed, not knowing what to make of it.One of the first natural, though perhaps not noblest, impulses he felt was to have a quick look at the silver goblet.The goblet must have been more than half full of silver coins.There were dozens, and Quentin probably never had twenty at once in his life.Is it compatible with the dignity of a gentleman to accept the money of this rich commoner?It's a vexing question, because really, if he decides to risk the Duke of Burgundy's wrath against him, and go back to Dijon to join his army, or, if he takes a liking to the Doge of St. Paul and decides to go to St. Quentin , then, even though he ate a hearty breakfast, the reserves in his stomach are very limited after all.His original intention was to serve one of these two nobles, if not to the King of France.He made perhaps the wisest decision under the circumstances: he was prepared to act on his uncle's advice.For the moment he put the money in his velvet falconry bag, called the shopkeeper, returned the silver goblet to him, and resolved to ask him a few questions about this generous and dignified merchant. The innkeeper came out quickly; he seemed at least more chatty, if not more chatty than before.He flatly refused to take back the silver cup.He said it was not his, but that Monsieur Pierre had given it to a guest.Though he had four silver goblets of his own, bequeathed to him by his fondly remembered grandmother, they were no more to be compared with this beautifully carved goblet than a carrot was with a peach. Because this is one of the most famous wine glasses in Tours. It is an artist whose skill is enough to amaze all Paris.Made by Dominique. Excuse me, who is Monsieur Pierre, interrupted Dawiert, to give such a precious gift to a stranger? Who is Monsieur Pierre?The shopkeeper said, slowly spitting out the words one by one like drops of distilled water. Yes, said Davelt hastily and decisively, who is Monsieur Pierre?Why is he giving gifts so casually and so generously?And who was that butcher-like man he sent to order breakfast? Hey, my dear sir, who is Monsieur Pierre, that is the question you ought to be asking yourself.As for the gentleman who came to order breakfast, may God keep us from dealing with him again! There is an air of mystery to all of this.said the young Scot, Monsieur Pierre told me he was a merchant. Since that's what he told you, the shopkeeper preached, then he must be a businessman. What merchandise does he deal in? Ah, many fine wares, said the shopkeeper, especially since he had built here some silk mills that rivaled the bales of silk the Venetians imported from India and China.On your way here you will see rows of mulberry trees planted for silkworms at the order of Monsieur Pierre. My good friend, who is that girl who brings tea?the guest asked. Sir, is my lodger, living with her guardian.I guess it was her aunt or some other relative. Do you often call your guests to serve customers?Davelt said, from what I have observed, Monsieur Pierre would not like you or your servants to hand him things. Rich people have their quirks, and they can afford to satisfy their quirks anyway.The innkeeper said that it was not the first time that Master Pierre had his own way of commanding nobles. The young Scot was a little offended by the insinuation.However, hiding his displeasure, he asked if he could rent a room here for a day or two. Of course you can, the owner replied, you can stay as long as you like. Will you allow me to greet the two ladies who will be staying in the same hotel as me?he asked. The shopkeeper hesitated.They do not go out, nor receive guests at home.He said. Only Monsieur Pierre is an exception, I suppose?Darwilt said. I have no right to point out any exceptions.The shopkeeper replied firmly and politely. Considering that Quentin was so short of money to support his own valuation, it should be said that he thought too much of himself, he was quite annoyed by the innkeeper's answer, and did not hesitate to resort to the usual method at that time. a practice.He said: You take my humble greetings and send a bottle of Werner wine to the two ladies, saying Quentin of the Gran︱Hulajin family.Darwilt, an honorable Scottish knight, lodged with them at an inn, and hoped that they would agree to receive him alone, so that he could pay them their respects and respects. The innkeeper who delivered the letter came back almost immediately after leaving, and said that the two ladies thanked him, but refused to accept his gift, and also expressed their gratitude and apology to the Scotch knights, because they were living in seclusion here, and they could not accept his visit. . Quentin bit his lip, poured out a glass of the returned bottle of Werner wine that the shopkeeper had placed on the table, and drank it down.For God's sake, it's a strange country.He thought to himself, merchants and artisans put on aristocratic airs and benevolent airs, while girls of humble birth treat the tavern like a palace and put on airs like princesses in disguise!I want to see that black-browed girl again, or I will feel uncomfortable.After he had made up his mind seriously, he asked the innkeeper to take him to his guest room. The shopkeeper immediately led him up the stairs of a tower and then through a corridor.There are many small doors similar to monastery rooms on both sides of the corridor.It reminded the young man with disgust of earlier monastic life, and he naturally could not appreciate the monastic analogy.The shopkeeper stopped at the end of the corridor, picked out a key from a large bunch of keys on his belt, opened the door, and pointed out a building and its interior decorations to the guests.Although this room is small, it looks clean and quiet. There is a bed with a straw mat in the room, and several pieces of furniture are dotted in it, orderly. Overall, it looks like a small palace. "My dear sir, I hope you will be satisfied with this lodging," said the innkeeper, "it is my duty to please every friend of Monsieur Pierre. Ah, lucky duck paddling!After the owner left, QuentinDarwilt rolled somersaults on the floor and cried out. I never thought that God would bring me such good fortune by turning me into a drowned chicken.I really don't know what to do. He said and walked towards a small window.As the tower juts high above the base of the whole building, from this small window not only a pretty large garden can be seen, but beyond its borders a lovely mulberry grove can be seen below.That was exactly the mulberry forest that Mr. Pierre mentioned was specially used for silkworm rearing.Also, when you look away from these distant objects and look forward along the wall, you can see that the tower where Quentin is opposite is another tower, and the opposite of the small window where he is, there is a corresponding A small window similar to it.A man twenty years older than Quentin might have found it difficult to explain why the little window was more attractive than the lovely garden and mulberry grove, because, alas!Although the latticed windows were half-open to let in the air, the shutters were half-closed to keep out the sun or those who were too inquisitive, and although a lyre half-wrapped in a sea-green silk scarf hung on one side of the pane, there had been Eyes with more than forty years of experience can only look at the small window of the tower without moving.But at Davelt's young age, what the painter calls chance encounters can give people enough evidence to generate countless fantasies and mysterious guesses. When recalling these, middle-aged people often smile and sigh, Sighing and smiling. As one may guess, our friend Quentin was indeed anxious to know more about this beautiful neighbor, mistress of the lyre and the veil.Since we can surmise that he was eager to know whether this person was the girl who had served Monsieur Pierre humbly, it goes without saying that he did not have a conspicuous staring face and his large figure squarely at his window.Darwilt knew the art of bird-catching well.It was because he deftly crouched against the window and peeped through the lattice that he was delighted to see a beautiful white arm take down the instrument, and he soon shared in the beauty of this clever move. place. The mistress of the veil and lyre in the little tower sang exactly the tune that we are accustomed to think can only flow from the mouth of a noble maiden, the tune that makes knights and bards listen and move. tune.The words do not contain so much meaning, interest, and fantasy as to distract attention from the melody itself, nor do the melodies contain so much artifice as to drown out the emotion of the words.The two are in perfect harmony.If you read the words without singing, or hum the music without singing, then neither is worth mentioning.It would therefore not be very just to record lines that were not read aloud but merely sung.Fragments of ancient poetry of this kind have always had, however, a certain fascination for us.既然曲調已經永遠失傳除非畢曉普（註：是十九世紀的英國女歌唱家。）碰巧找到歌譜，或者某隻雲雀教會史蒂芬斯唱這首歌曲我們想不顧有損我們名譽，有損詩琴女的詩情雅趣，也不吝筆墨地將這首簡單和粗糙的詩歌記錄於此。 唉，鎮上的小夥子，幽會的時刻已經來臨， 看太陽已從草地上西沉， 橙色花兒的香氣布滿了涼亭， 微風在海上吹個不停。 成天唱歌的雲雀，默默地依偎著伴侶， 微風，小鳥和花兒都在承認， 幽會的時刻已經來臨。 鎮上的小夥子，該在哪兒把你找尋？ 村裡的姑娘溜過陰影籠罩的空地， 去傾聽牧羊情郎訴說愛情， 對著高高的格子窗前的羞怯的美人， 高貴的騎士在歌唱彈琴， 愛的星辰，天上的眾多星辰， 統治著大地和天穹。 上上下下都感覺到這迷人的影響 鎮上的小夥子，該在哪兒把你找尋？ 不管讀者對這首質樸的歌謠想法如何，反正它給昆丁留下了強烈的印象，特別是因為這歌謠伴有一種天堂般的旋律，聲音又是那麼甘美動人；音樂與花園裡飄來的香風融和在一起，女歌手的身影若隱若現，使這一切都籠罩著誘人的神祕氣氛。 在歌聲快結束的時候，傾聽著的年輕人情不自禁地比先前更大膽地露出了自己的身體，急於想看到先前沒看到的更多的東西。歌聲戛然而止，窗子也關上了，室內垂下了一塊深色的窗簾，從而使得年輕人無法再繼續他的窺視。 這一魯莽行動使達威爾特感到羞喜交集，但他安慰自己說，詩琴女郎總不致輕易放棄練習她如此熟悉的一種樂器，或忍心拋棄打開窗子呼吸新鮮空氣的樂趣，而吝嗇地把她甜美的歌聲只留給自己欣賞。這些慰藉人心的思索也許混雜著一點點個人的虛榮心。要是真像他聰明地猜想的那樣，對面塔樓裡住著的是一個美麗的黑髮女郎，那麼他不能不意識到另一個塔樓裡住著的也是一個年輕、金髮的英俊兒郎。浪漫的傳說作為一種深諳世故的老師，曾教導他說，如果姑娘們害羞，那麼這既不意味著她們對鄰居的情況不感興趣，也不意味著她們對此缺乏好奇。 正當昆丁沉浸在這種聰明的思索中時，旅店的一個僕人或管事走來告訴他，說樓下有個騎士想和他見面。