The Fortunes of Nigel

Richie, who had counted with the utmost certainty upon the success of this master-stroke of policy, was like an architect whose whole scaffolding at once gives way under him. He caught, however, at what he thought might break his fall. “Not only the sum for which the jewels were pledged,” he said, “but the double of it, if required, should be placed at his Majesty’s command, and even without hope or condition of repayment, if only – ”

But the king did not allow him to complete the sentence, crying out with greater vehemence than before, as if he dreaded the stability of his own good resolutions, – “Awa wi’ him – swith awa wi’ him! It is time he were gane, if he doubles his bode that gate. And, for your life, letna Steenie, or ony of them, hear a word from his mouth; for wha kens what trouble that might bring me into! Ne inducas in tentationem—Vade retro, Sathanas! – Amen.”

In obedience to the royal mandate, George Heriot hurried the abashed petitioner out of the presence and out of the Palace; and, when they were in the Palace-yard, the citizen, remembering with some resentment the airs of equality which Richie had assumed towards him in the commencement of the scene which had just taken place, could not forbear to retaliate, by congratulating him with an ironical smile on his favour at Court, and his improved grace in presenting a supplication.

“Never fash your beard about that, Master George Heriot,” said Richie, totally undismayed; “but tell me when and where I am to sifflicate you for eight hundred pounds sterling, for which these jewels stood engaged?”

“The instant that you bring with you the real owner of the money,” replied Heriot; “whom it is important that I should see on more accounts than one.”

“Then will I back to his Majesty,” said Richie Moniplies, stoutly, “and get either the money or the pledge back again. I am fully commissionate to act in that matter.”

“It may be so, Richie,” said the citizen, “and perchance it may not be so neither, for your tales are not all gospel; and, therefore, be assured I will see that it is so, ere I pay you that large sum of money. I shall give you an acknowledgment for it, and I will keep it prestable at a moment’s warning. But, my good Richard Moniplies, of Castle Collop, near the West Port of Edinburgh, in the meantime I am bound to return to his Majesty on matters of weight.” So speaking, and mounting the stair to re-enter the Palace, he added, by way of summing up the whole, – “George Heriot is over old a cock to be caught with chaff.”

Richie stood petrified when he beheld him re-enter the Palace, and found himself, as he supposed, left in the lurch. – “Now, plague on ye,” he muttered, “for a cunning auld skinflint! that, because ye are an honest man yoursell, forsooth, must needs deal with all the world as if they were knaves. But deil be in me if ye beat me yet! – Gude guide us! yonder comes Laurie Linklater next, and he will be on me about the sifflication. – I winna stand him, by Saint Andrew!”

So saying, and changing the haughty stride with which he had that morning entered the precincts of the Palace, into a skulking shamble, he retreated for his wherry, which was in attendance, with speed which, to use the approved phrase on such occasions, greatly resembled a flight.

CHAPTER XXXII

Benedict. This looks not like a nuptial. Much Ado About Nothing.

Master George Heriot had no sooner returned to the king’s apartment, than James inquired of Maxwell if the Earl of Huntinglen was in attendance, and, receiving an answer in the affirmative, desired that he should be admitted. The old Scottish Lord having made his reverence in the usual manner, the king extended his hand to be kissed, and then began to address him in a tone of great sympathy.

“We told your lordship in our secret epistle of this morning, written with our ain hand, in testimony we have neither pretermitted nor forgotten your faithful service, that we had that to communicate to you that would require both patience and fortitude to endure, and therefore exhorted you to peruse some of the most pithy passages of Seneca, and of Boethius de Consolatione, that the back may be, as we say, fitted for the burden – This we commend to you from our ain experience.

‘Non ignara mail, miseris succurrere disco,’

sayeth Dido, and I might say in my own person, non ignarus; but to change the gender would affect the prosody, whereof our southern subjects are tenacious. So, my Lord of Huntinglen, I trust you have acted by our advice, and studied patience before ye need it —venienti occurrite morbo– mix the medicament when the disease is coming on.”

“May it please your Majesty,” answered Lord Huntinglen, “I am more of an old soldier than a scholar – and if my own rough nature will not bear me out in any calamity, I hope I shall have grace to try a text of Scripture to boot.”

“Ay, man, are you there with your bears?” said the king; “The Bible, man,” (touching his cap,) “is indeed principium et fons– but it is pity your lordship cannot peruse it in the original. For although we did ourselves promote that work of translation, – since ye may read, at the beginning of every Bible, that when some palpable clouds of darkness were thought like to have overshadowed the land, after the setting of that bright occidental star, Queen Elizabeth; yet our appearance, like that of the sun in his strength, instantly dispelled these surmised mists, – I say, that although, as therein mentioned, we countenanced the preaching of the gospel, and especially the translation of the Scriptures out of the original sacred tongues; yet nevertheless, we ourselves confess to have found a comfort in consulting them in the original Hebrew, whilk we do not perceive even in the Latin version of the Septuagint, much less in the English traduction.”

“Please your Majesty,” said Lord Huntinglen, “if your Majesty delays communicating the bad news with which your honoured letter threatens me, until I am capable to read Hebrew like your Majesty, I fear I shall die in ignorance of the misfortune which hath befallen, or is about to befall, my house.”

“You will learn it but too soon, my lord,” replied the king. “I grieve to say it, but your son Dalgarno, whom I thought a very saint, as he was so much with Steenie and Baby Charles, hath turned out a very villain.”

“Villain!” repeated Lord Huntinglen; and though he instantly checked himself, and added, “but it is your Majesty speaks the word,” the effect of his first tone made the king step back as if he had received a blow. He also recovered himself again, and said in the pettish way which usually indicated his displeasure – “Yes, my lord, it was we that said it —non surdo canis– we are not deaf – we pray you not to raise your voice in speech with us – there is the bonny memorial – read, and judge for yourself.”

The king then thrust into the old nobleman’s hand a paper, containing the story of the Lady Hermione, with the evidence by which it was supported, detailed so briefly and clearly, that the infamy of Lord Dalgarno, the lover by whom she had been so shamefully deceived, seemed undeniable. But a father yields not up so easily the cause of his son.

“May it please your Majesty,” he said, “why was this tale not sooner told? This woman hath been here for years – wherefore was the claim on my son not made the instant she touched English ground?”

“Tell him how that came about, Geordie,” said the king, dressing Heriot.

“I grieve to distress my Lord Huntinglen,” said Heriot; “but I must speak the truth. For a long time the Lady Hermione could not brook the idea of making her situation public; and when her mind became changed in that particular, it was necessary to recover the evidence of the false marriage, and letters and papers connected with it, which, when she came to Paris, and just before I saw her, she had deposited with a correspondent of her father in that city. He became afterwards bankrupt, and in consequence of that misfortune the lady’s papers passed into other hands, and it was only a few days since I traced and recovered them. Without these documents of evidence, it would have been imprudent for her to have preferred her complaint, favoured as Lord Dalgarno is by powerful friends.”

“Ye are saucy to say sae,” said the king; “I ken what ye mean weel eneugh – ye think Steenie wad hae putten the weight of his foot into the scales of justice, and garr’d them whomle the bucket – ye forget, Geordie, wha it is whose hand uphaulds them. And ye do poor Steenie the mair wrang, for he confessed it ance before us and our privy council, that Dalgarno would have put the quean aff on him, the puir simple bairn, making him trow that she was a light-o’-love; in whilk mind he remained assured even when he parted from her, albeit Steenie might hae weel thought ane of thae cattle wadna hae resisted the like of him.”

“The Lady Hermione,” said George Heriot, “has always done the utmost justice to the conduct of the duke, who, although strongly possessed with prejudice against her character, yet scorned to avail himself of her distress, and on the contrary supplied her with the means of extricating herself from her difficulties.”

“It was e’en like himsell – blessings on his bonny face!” said the king; “and I believed this lady’s tale the mair readily, my Lord Huntinglen, that she spake nae ill of Steenie – and to make a lang tale short, my lord, it is the opinion of our council and ourself, as weel as of Baby Charles and Steenie, that your son maun amend his wrong by wedding this lady, or undergo such disgrace and discountenance as we can bestow.”

The person to whom he spoke was incapable of answering him. He stood before the king motionless, and glaring with eyes of which even the lids seemed immovable, as if suddenly converted into an ancient statue of the times of chivalry, so instantly had his hard features and strong limbs been arrested into rigidity by the blow he had received – And in a second afterwards, like the same statue when the lightning breaks upon it, he sunk at once to the ground with a heavy groan. The king was in the utmost alarm, called upon Heriot and Maxwell for help, and, presence of mind not being his forte, ran to and fro in his cabinet, exclaiming – “My ancient and beloved servant – who saved our anointed self! vae atque dolor! My Lord of Huntinglen, look up – look up, man, and your son may marry the Queen of Sheba if he will.”

By this time Maxwell and Heriot had raised the old nobleman, and placed him on a chair; while the king, observing that he began to recover himself, continued his consolations more methodically.

“Haud up your head – haud up your head, and listen to your ain kind native Prince. If there is shame, man, it comesna empty-handed – there is siller to gild it – a gude tocher, and no that bad a pedigree; – if she has been a loon, it was your son made her sae, and he can make her an honest woman again.”

These suggestions, however reasonable in the common case, gave no comfort to Lord Huntinglen, if indeed he fully comprehended them; but the blubbering of his good-natured old master, which began to accompany and interrupt his royal speech, produced more rapid effect. The large tear gushed reluctantly from his eye, as he kissed the withered hands, which the king, weeping with less dignity and restraint, abandoned to him, first alternately and then both together, until the feelings of the man getting entirely the better of the Sovereign’s sense of dignity, he grasped and shook Lord Huntinglen’s hands with the sympathy of an equal and a familiar friend.

“Compone lachrymas,” said the Monarch; “be patient, man, be patient; the council, and Baby Charles, and Steenie, may a’ gang to the deevil – he shall not marry her since it moves you so deeply.”

“He shall marry her, by God!” answered the earl, drawing himself up, dashing the tear from his eyes, and endeavouring to recover his composure. “I pray your Majesty’s pardon, but he shall marry her, with her dishonour for her dowry, were she the veriest courtezan in all Spain – If he gave his word, he shall make his word good, were it to the meanest creature that haunts the streets – he shall do it, or my own dagger shall take the life that I gave him. If he could stoop to use so base a fraud, though to deceive infamy, let him wed infamy.”

“No, no!” the Monarch continued to insinuate, “things are not so bad as that – Steenie himself never thought of her being a streetwalker, even when he thought the worst of her.”

“If it can at all console my Lord of Huntinglen,” said the citizen, “I can assure him of this lady’s good birth, and most fair and unspotted fame.”

“I am sorry for it,” said Lord Huntinglen – then interrupting himself, he said – “Heaven forgive me for being ungrateful for such comfort! – but I am well-nigh sorry she should be as you represent her, so much better than the villain deserves. To be condemned to wed beauty and innocence and honest birth – ”

“Ay, and wealth, my lord – wealth,” insinuated the king, “is a better sentence than his perfidy has deserved.”

“It is long,” said the embittered father, “since I saw he was selfish and hardhearted; but to be a perjured liar – I never dreaded that such a blot would have fallen on my race! I will never look on him again.”

“Hoot ay, my lord, hoot ay,” said the king; “ye maun tak him to task roundly. I grant you should speak more in the vein of Demea than Mitio, vi nempe et via pervulgata patrum; but as for not seeing him again, and he your only son, that is altogether out of reason. I tell ye, man, (but I would not for a boddle that Baby Charles heard me,) that he might gie the glaiks to half the lasses of Lonnun, ere I could find in my heart speak such harsh words as you have said of this deil of a Dalgarno of yours.”

“May it please your Majesty to permit me to retire,” said Lord Huntinglen, “and dispose of the case according to your own royal sense of justice, for I desire no favour for him.”

“Aweel, my lord, so be it; and if your lordship can think,” added the Monarch, “of any thing in our power which might comfort you – ”

“Your Majesty’s gracious sympathy,” said Lord Huntinglen, “has already comforted me as far as earth can; the rest must be from the King of kings.”

“To Him I commend you, my auld and faithful servant,” said James with emotion, as the earl withdrew from his presence. The king remained fixed in thought for some time, and then said to Heriot, “Jingling Geordie, ye ken all the privy doings of our Court, and have dune so these thirty years, though, like a wise man, ye hear, and see, and say nothing. Now, there is a thing I fain wad ken, in the way of philosophical inquiry – Did you ever hear of the umquhile Lady Huntinglen, the departed Countess of this noble earl, ganging a wee bit gleed in her walk through the world; I mean in the way of slipping a foot, casting a leglin-girth, or the like, ye understand me?”

[Footnote: A leglin-girth is the lowest hoop upon a leglin, or milk-pail. Allan Ramsay applies the phrase in the same metaphorical sense.

“Or bairns can read, they first maun spell, I learn’d this frae my
mammy, And cast a leglin-girth mysell,
Lang ere I married Tammy.”

    Christ’s Kirk On The Green.]
“On my word as an honest man,” said George Heriot, somewhat surprised at the question, “I never heard her wronged by the slightest breath of suspicion. She was a worthy lady, very circumspect in her walk, and lived in great concord with her husband, save that the good Countess was something of a puritan, and kept more company with ministers than was altogether agreeable to Lord Huntinglen, who is, as your Majesty well knows, a man of the old rough world, that will drink and swear.”

“O Geordie!” exclaimed the king, “these are auld-warld frailties, of whilk we dare not pronounce even ourselves absolutely free. But the warld grows worse from day to day, Geordie. The juveniles of this age may weel say with the poet —

‘Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores – ’

This Dalgarno does not drink so much, or swear so much, as his father; but he wenches, Geordie, and he breaks his word and oath baith. As to what you say of the leddy, and the ministers, we are a’ fallible creatures, Geordie, priests and kings, as weel as others; and wha kens but what that may account for the difference between this Dalgarno and his father? The earl is the vera soul of honour, and cares nae mair for warld’s gear than a noble hound for the quest of a foulmart; but as for his son, he was like to brazen us a’ out – ourselves, Steenie, Baby Charles, and our council – till he heard of the tocher, and then, by my kingly crown, he lap like a cock at a grossart! These are discrepancies betwixt parent and son not to be accounted for naturally, according to Baptista Porta, Michael Scott de secretis, and others. – Ah, Jingling Geordie, if your clouting the caldron, and jingling on pots, pans, and veshels of all manner of metal, hadna jingled a’ your grammar out of your head, I could have touched on that matter to you at mair length.”