A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Woodstock; or, The Cavalier




Colonel Everard might have guessed, by the ironical tone in which this
speech was delivered, what storm was mustering within his uncle's
bosom--nay, he might have conjectured the state of the old knight's
feelings from his emphasis on the word Colonel, by which epithet, as
that which most connected his nephew with the party he hated, he never
distinguished Everard, unless when his wrath was rising; while, on the
contrary, when disposed to be on good terms with him, he usually called
him Kinsman, or Nephew Markham. Indeed, it was under a partial sense
that this was the case, and in the hope to see his cousin Alice, that
the Colonel forbore making any answer to the harangue of his uncle,
which had concluded just as the old knight had alighted at the door of
the Lodge, and was entering the hall, followed by his two attendants.

Phoebe at the same time made her appearance in the hall, and received
orders to bring some "beverage" for the gentlemen. The Hebe of Woodstock
failed not to recognise and welcome Everard by an almost imperceptible
curtsy; but she did not serve her interest, as she designed, when she
asked the knight, as a question of course, whether he commanded the
attendance of Mistress Alice. A stern _No_, was the decided reply; and
the ill-timed interference seemed to increase his previous irritation
against Everard for his depreciation of Shakspeare. "I would insist,"
said Sir Henry, resuming the obnoxious subject, "were it fit for a poor
disbanded cavalier to use such a phrase towards a commander of the
conquering army,--upon, knowing whether the convulsion which has sent us
saints and prophets without end, has not also afforded us a poet with
enough both of gifts and grace to outshine poor old Will, the oracle and
idol of us blinded and carnal cavaliers."

"Surely, sir," replied Colonel Everard; "I know verses written by a
friend of the Commonwealth, and those, too, of a dramatic character,
which, weighed in an impartial scale, might equal even the poetry of
Shakspeare, and which are free from the fustian and indelicacy with
which that great bard was sometimes content to feed the coarse appetites
of his barbarous audience."

"Indeed!" said the knight, keeping down his wrath with difficulty. "I
should like to be acquainted with this master-piece of poetry!--May we
ask the name of this distinguished person?"

"It must be Vicars, or Withers, at least," said the feigned page.

"No, sir," replied Everard, "nor Drummond of Hawthornden, nor Lord
Stirling neither. And yet the verses will vindicate what I say, if you
will make allowance for indifferent recitation, for I am better
accustomed to speak to a battalion than to those who love the muses. The
speaker is a lady benighted, who, having lost her way in a pathless
forest, at first expresses herself agitated by the supernatural fears to
which her situation gave rise."

"A play, too, and written by a roundhead author!" said Sir Henry in
surprise.

"A dramatic production at least," replied his nephew; and began to
recite simply, but with feeling, the lines now so well known, but which
had then obtained no celebrity, the fame of the author resting upon the
basis rather of his polemical and political publications, than on the
poetry doomed in after days to support the eternal structure of his
immortality.

'These thoughts may startle, but will not, astound
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience.'"

"My own opinion, nephew Markham, my own opinion," said Sir Henry, with a
burst of admiration; "better expressed, but just what I said when the
scoundrelly roundheads pretended to see ghosts at Woodstock--Go on, I
prithee."

Everard proceeded:--

"'O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish'd form of Chastity!
I see ye visibly, and now believe
That he the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassail'd.--
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud.
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?'"

"The rest has escaped me," said the reciter; "and I marvel I have been
able to remember so much."

Sir Henry Lee, who had expected some effusion very different from those
classical and beautiful lines, soon changed the scornful expression of
his countenance, relaxed his contorted upper lip, and, stroking down his
beard with his left hand, rested the forefinger of the right upon his
eyebrow, in sign of profound attention. After Everard had ceased
speaking, the old man signed as at the end of a strain of sweet music.
He then spoke in a gentler manner than formerly.

"Cousin Markham," he said, "these verses flow sweetly, and sound in my
ears like the well-touched warbling of a lute. But thou knowest I am
somewhat slow of apprehending the full meaning of that which I hear for
the first time. Repeat me these verses again, slowly and deliberately;
for I always love to hear poetry twice, the first time for sound, and
the latter time for sense."

Thus encouraged, Everard recited again the lines with more hardihood and
better effect; the knight distinctly understanding, and from his looks
and motions, highly applauding them.

"Yes!" he broke out, when Everard was again silent--"Yes, I do call that
poetry--though it were even written by a Presbyterian, or an Anabaptist
either. Ay, there were good and righteous people to be found even
amongst the offending towns which were destroyed by fire. And certainly
I have heard, though with little credence (begging your pardon, cousin.
Everard,) that there are men among you who have seen the error of their
ways in rebelling against the best and kindest of masters, and bringing
it to that pass that he was murdered by a gang yet fiercer than
themselves. Ay, doubtless, the gentleness of spirit, and the purity of
mind, which dictated those beautiful lines, has long ago taught a man so
amiable to say, I have sinned, I have sinned. Yes, I doubt not so sweet
a harp has been broken, even in remorse, for the crimes he was witness
to; and now he sits drooping for the shame and sorrow of England,--all
his noble rhymes, as Will says,

'Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh.'

Dost thou not think so, Master Kerneguy?"

"Not I, Sir Henry," answered the page, somewhat maliciously.

"What, dost not believe the author of these lines must needs be of the
better file, and leaning to our persuasion?"

"I think, Sir Henry, that the poetry qualifies the author to write a
play on the subject of Dame Potiphar and her recusant lover; and as for
his calling--that last metaphor of the cloud in a black coat or cloak,
with silver lining, would have dubbed him a tailor with me, only that I
happen to know that he is a schoolmaster by profession, and by political
opinions qualified to be Poet Laureate to Cromwell; for what Colonel
Everard has repeated with such unction, is the production of no less
celebrated a person than John Milton."

"John Milton!" exclaimed Sir Henry in astonishment--"What! John Milton,
the blasphemous and bloody-minded author of the _Defensio Populi
Anglicani_!--the advocate of the infernal High Court of Fiends; the
creature and parasite of that grand impostor, that loathsome hypocrite,
that detestable monster, that prodigy of the universe, that disgrace of
mankind, that landscape of iniquity, that sink of sin, and that
compendium of baseness, Oliver Cromwell!"

"Even the same John Milton," answered Charles; "schoolmaster to little
boys, and tailor to the clouds, which he furnishes with suits of black,
lined with silver, at no other expense than that of common sense."

"Markham Everard," said the old knight, "I will never forgive thee--
never, never. Thou hast made me speak words of praise respecting one
whose offal should fatten the region-kites. Speak not to me, sir, but
begone! Am I, your kinsman and benefactor, a fit person to be juggled
out of my commendation and eulogy, and brought to bedaub such a whitened
sepulchre as the sophist Milton?"

"I profess," said Everard, "this is hard measure, Sir Henry. You pressed
me--you defied me, to produce poetry as good as Shakspeare's. I only
thought of the verses, not of the politics of Milton."

"Oh yes, sir," replied Sir Henry; "we well know your power of making
distinctions; you could make war against the King's prerogative, without
having the least design against his person. Oh Heaven forbid! But Heaven
will hear and judge you. Set down the beverage, Phoebe"--(this was added
by way of parenthesis to Phoebe, who entered with refreshment)--"Colonel
Everard is not thirsty--You have wiped your mouths, and said you have
done no evil. But though you have deceived man, yet God you cannot
deceive. And you shall wipe no lips in Woodstock, either after meat or
drink, I promise you."

Charged thus at once with the faults imputed to his whole religious sect
and political party, Everard felt too late of what imprudence he had
been guilty in giving the opening, by disputing his uncle's taste in
dramatic poetry. He endeavoured to explain--to apologise.

"I mistook your purpose, honoured sir, and thought you really desired to
know something of our literature; and in repeating what you deemed not
unworthy your hearing, I profess I thought I was doing you pleasure,
instead of stirring your indignation."

"O ay!" returned the knight, with unmitigated rigour of resentment--
"profess--profess--Ay, that is the new phrase of asseveration, instead
of the profane adjuration of courtiers and cavaliers--Oh, sir, _profess_
less and _practise_ more--and so good day to you. Master Kerneguy, you
will find beverage in my apartment."

While Phoebe stood gaping in admiration at the sudden quarrel which had
arisen, Colonel Everard's vexation and resentment was not a little
increased by the nonchalance of the young Scotsman, who, with his hands
thrust into his pockets, (with a courtly affectation of the time,) had
thrown himself into one of the antique chairs, and, though habitually
too polite to laugh aloud, and possessing that art of internal laughter
by which men of the world learn to indulge their mirth without incurring
quarrels, or giving direct offence, was at no particular pains to
conceal that he was exceedingly amused by the result of the Colonel's
visit to Woodstock. Colonel Everard's patience, however, had reached
bounds which it was very likely to surpass; for, though differing widely
in politics, there was a resemblance betwixt the temper of the uncle and
nephew.

"Damnation" exclaimed the Colonel, in a tone which became a puritan as
little as did the exclamation itself.

"Amen!" said Louis Kerneguy, but in a tone so soft and gentle, that the
ejaculation seemed rather to escape him than to be designedly uttered.
"Sir!" said Everard, striding towards him in that sort of humour, when a
man, full of resentment, would not unwillingly find an object on which
to discharge it.

"_Plait-il?_" said the page, in the most equable tone, looking up in his
face with the most unconscious innocence.

"I wish to know, sir," retorted Everard, "the meaning of that which you
said just now?"

"Only a pouring out of the spirit, worthy sir," returned Kerneguy--"a
small skiff dispatched to Heaven on my own account, to keep company with
your holy petition just now expressed."

"Sir, I have known a merry gentleman's bones broke for such a smile as
you wear just now," replied Everard.

"There, look you now" answered the malicious page, who could not weigh
even the thoughts of his safety against the enjoyment of his jest--"If
you had stuck to your professions, worthy sir, you must have choked by
this time; but your round execration bolted like a cork from a bottle of
cider, and now allows your wrath to come foaming out after it, in the
honest unbaptized language of common ruffians."

"For Heaven's sake, Master Girnegy," said Phoebe, "forbear giving the
Colonel these bitter words! And do you, good Colonel Markham, scorn to
take offence at his hands--he is but a boy."

"If the Colonel or you choose, Mistress Phoebe, you shall find me a
man--I think the gentleman can say something to the purpose already.--
Probably he may recommend to you the part of the Lady in Comus; and I
only hope his own admiration of John Milton will not induce him to
undertake the part of Samson Agonistes, and blow up this old house with
execration, or pull it down in wrath about our ears."

"Young man," said the Colonel, still in towering passion, "if you
respect my principles for nothing else, be grateful to the protection
which, but for them, you would not easily attain."

"Nay, then," said the attendant, "I must fetch those who have more
influence with you than I have," and away tripped Phoebe; while Kerneguy
answered Everard in the same provoking tone of calm indifference,--
"Before you menace me with a thing so formidable as your resentment, you
ought to be certain whether I may not be compelled by circumstances to
deny you the opportunity you seem to point at."

At this moment Alice, summoned no doubt by her attendant, entered the
hall hastily.

"Master Kerneguy," she said, "my father requests to see you in Victor
Lee's apartment."

Kerneguy arose and bowed, but seemed determined to remain till Everard's
departure, so as to prevent any explanation betwixt the cousins.
"Markham," said Alice, hurriedly--"Cousin Everard--I have but a moment
to remain here--for God's sake, do you instantly begone!--be cautious
and patient--but do not tarry here--my father is fearfully incensed."

"I have had my uncle's word for that, madam," replied Everard, "as well
as his injunction to depart, which I will obey without delay. I was not
aware that you would have seconded so harsh an order quite so willingly;
but I go, madam, sensible I leave those behind whose company is more
agreeable."

"Unjust--ungenerous--ungrateful!" said Alice; but fearful her words
might reach ears for which they were not designed, she spoke them in a
voice so feeble, that her cousin, for whom they were intended, lost the
consolation they were calculated to convey.

He bowed coldly to Alice, as taking leave, and said, with an air of that
constrained courtesy which sometimes covers, among men of condition, the
most deadly hatred, "I believe, Master Kerneguy, that I must make it
convenient at present to suppress my own peculiar opinions on the matter
which we have hinted at in our conversation, in which case I will send a
gentleman, who, I hope, may be able to conquer yours."

The supposed Scotsman made him a stately, and at the same time a
condescending bow, said he should expect the honour of his commands,
offered his hand to Mistress Alice, to conduct her back to her father's
apartment, and took a triumphant leave of his rival.

Everard, on the other hand, stung beyond his patience, and, from the
grace and composed assurance of the youth's carriage, still conceiving
him to be either Wilmot, or some of his compeers in rank and profligacy,
returned to the town of Woodstock, determined not to be outbearded, even
though he should seek redress by means which his principles forbade him
to consider as justifiable.

* * * * *

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.


Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny--it hath been
The untimely emptying of many a throne,
And fall of many kings.
MACBETH.

While Colonel Everard retreated in high indignation from the little
refection, which Sir Henry Lee had in his good-humour offered, and
withdrawn under the circumstances of provocation which we have detailed,
the good old knight, scarce recovered from his fit of passion, partook
of it with his daughter and guest, and shortly after, recollecting some
silvan task, (for, though to little efficient purpose, he still
regularly attended to his duties as Ranger,) he called Bevis, and went
out, leaving the two young people together.

"Now," said the amorous Prince to himself, "that Alice is left without
her lion, it remains to see whether she is herself of a tigress breed.--
So, Sir Bevis has left his charge," he said loud; "I thought the knights
of old, those stern guardians of which he is so fit a representative,
were more rigorous in maintaining a vigilant guard."

"Bevis," said Alice, "knows that his attendance on me is totally
needless; and, moreover, he has other duties to perform, which every
true knight prefers to dangling the whole morning by a lady's sleeve."

"You speak treason against all true affection," said the gallant; "a
lady's lightest wish should to a true knight be more binding than aught
excepting the summons of his sovereign. I wish, Mistress Alice, you
would but intimate your slightest desire to me, and you should see how I
have practised obedience."

"You never brought me word what o'clock it was this morning," replied
the young lady, "and there I sate questioning of the wings of Time, when
I should have remembered that gentlemen's gallantry can be quite as
fugitive as Time himself. How do you know what your disobedience may
have cost me and others? Pudding and pasty may have been burned to a
cinder, for, sir, I practise the old domestic rule of visiting the
kitchen; or I may have missed prayers, or I may have been too late for
an appointment, simply by the negligence of Master Louis Kerneguy
failing to let me know the hour of the day."

"O," replied Kerneguy, "I am one of those lovers who cannot endure
absence--I must be eternally at the feet of my fair enemy--such, I
think, is the title with which romances teach us to grace the fair and
cruel to whom we devote our hearts and lives.--Speak for me, good
lute," he added, taking up the instrument, "and show whether I know not
my duty."

He sung, but with more taste than execution, the air of a French
rondelai, to which some of the wits or sonnetteers, in his gay and
roving train, had adapted English verses.

An hour with thee!--When earliest day
Dapples with gold the eastern grey,
Oh, what, can frame my mind to bear
The toil and turmoil, cark and care.
New griefs, which coming hours unfold,
And sad remembrance of the old?--
One hour with thee!

One hour with thee!--When burning June
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon;
What shall repay the faithful swain,
His labour on the sultry plain,
And more than cave or sheltering bough,
Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow?--
One hour with thee!

One hour with thee!--When sun is set,
O, what can teach me to forget
The thankless labours of the day;
The hopes, the wishes, flung away:
The increasing wants, and lessening gains,
The master's pride, who scorns my pains?--
One hour with thee!

"Truly, there is another verse," said the songster; "but I sing it not
to you, Mistress Alice, because some of the prudes of the court liked it
not." "I thank you, Master Louis," answered the young lady, "both for
your discretion in singing what has given me pleasure, and in forbearing
what might offend me. Though a country girl, I pretend to be so far of
the court mode, as to receive nothing which does not pass current among
the better class there."

"I would," answered Louis, "that you were so well confirmed in their
creed, as to let all pass with you, to which court ladies would give
currency."

"And what would be the consequence?" said Alice, with perfect composure.

"In that case," said Louis, embarrassed like a general who finds that
his preparations for attack do not seem to strike either fear or
confusion into the enemy--"in that case you would forgive me, fair
Alice, if I spoke to you in a warmer language than that of mere
gallantry--if I told you how much my heart was interested in what you
consider as idle jesting--if I seriously owned it was in your power to
make me the happiest or the most miserable of human beings."

"Master Kerneguy," said Alice, with the same unshaken nonchalance, "let
us understand each other. I am little acquainted with high-bred manners,
and I am unwilling, I tell you plainly, to be accounted a silly country
girl, who, either from ignorance or conceit, is startled at every word
of gallantry addressed to her by a young man, who, for the present, has
nothing better to do than coin and circulate such false compliments. But
I must not let this fear of seeming rustic and awkwardly timorous carry
me too far; and being ignorant of the exact limits, I will take care to
stop within them."

"I trust, madam," said Kerneguy, "that however severely you may be
disposed to judge of me, your justice will not punish me too severely
for an offence, of which your charms are alone the occasion?"

"Hear me out, sir, if you please," resumed Alice. "I have listened to
you when you spoke _en berger_--nay, my complaisance has been so great,
as to answer you _en bergère_--for I do not think any thing except
ridicule can come of dialogues between Lindor and Jeanneton; and the
principal fault of the style is its extreme and tiresome silliness and
affectation. But when you begin to kneel, offer to take my hand, and
speak with a more serious tone, I must remind you of our real
characters. I am the daughter of Sir Henry Lee, sir; you are, or profess
to be, Master Louis Kerneguy, my brother's page, and a fugitive for
shelter under my father's roof, who incurs danger by the harbour he
affords you, and whose household, therefore, ought not to be disturbed
by your unpleasing importunities."

"I would to Heaven, fair Alice," said the King, "that your objections to
the suit which I am urging, not in jest, but most seriously, as that on
which my happiness depends, rested only on the low and precarious
station of Louis Kerneguy!--Alice, thou hast the soul of thy family, and
must needs love honour. I am no more the needy Scottish page, whom I
have, for my own purposes, personated, than I am the awkward lout, whose
manners I adopted on the first night of our acquaintance. This hand,
poor as I seem, can confer a coronet."

"Keep it," said Alice, "for some more ambitious damsel, my lord,--for
such I conclude is your title, if this romance be true,--I would not
accept your hand, could you confer a duchy."

"In one sense, lovely Alice, you have neither overrated my power nor my
affection. It is your King--it is Charles Stewart who speaks to you!--he
can confer duchies, and if beauty can merit them, it is that of Alice
Lee. Nay, nay--rise--do not kneel--it is for your sovereign to kneel to
thee, Alice, to whom he is a thousand times more devoted than the
wanderer Louis dared venture to profess himself. My Alice has, I know,
been trained up in those principles of love and obedience to her
sovereign, that she cannot, in conscience or in mercy, inflict on him
such a wound as would be implied in the rejection of his suit."

In spite of all Charles's attempts to prevent her, Alice had persevered
in kneeling on one knee, until she had touched with her lip the hand
with which he attempted to raise her. But this salutation ended, she
stood upright, with her arms folded on her bosom--her looks humble, but
composed, keen, and watchful, and so possessed of herself, so little
flattered by the communication which the King had supposed would have
been overpowering, that he scarce knew in what terms next to urge his
solicitation.

"Thou art silent--thou art silent," he said, "my pretty Alice. Has the
King no more influence with thee than the poor Scottish page?"

"In one sense, every influence," said Alice; "for he commands my best
thoughts, my best wishes, my earnest prayers, my devoted loyalty, which,
as the men of the House of Lee have been ever ready to testify with the
sword, so are the women bound to seal, if necessary, with their blood.
But beyond the duties of a true and devoted subject, the King is even
less to Alice Lee than poor Louis Kerneguy. The Page could have tendered
an honourable union--the Monarch can but offer a contaminated coronet."

"You mistake, Alice--you mistake," said the King, eagerly. "Sit down and
let me speak to you--sit down--What is't you fear?"

"I fear nothing, my liege," answered Alice. "What _can_ I fear from the
King of Britain--I, the daughter of his loyal subject, and under my
father's roof? But I remember the distance betwixt us; and though I
might trifle and jest with mine equal, to my King I must only appear in
the dutiful posture of a subject, unless where his safety may seem to
require that I do not acknowledge his dignity."

Charles, though young, being no novice in such scenes, was surprised to
encounter resistance of a kind which had not been opposed to him in
similar pursuits, even in cases where he had been unsuccessful. There
was neither anger, nor injured pride, nor disorder, nor disdain, real or
affected, in the manners and conduct of Alice. She stood, as it seemed,
calmly prepared to argue on the subject, which is generally decided by
passion--showed no inclination to escape from the apartment, but
appeared determined to hear with patience the suit of the lover--while
her countenance and manner intimated that she had this complaisance only
in deference to the commands of the King.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.