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Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

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




And now the distant clarions announced the Royal Presence. Onward came
pursuivant and trumpet--onward came plumes and cloth of gold, and waving
standards displayed, and swords gleaming to the sun; and at length,
heading a group of the noblest in England, and supported by his royal
brothers on either side, onward came King Charles. He had already halted
more than once, in kindness perhaps as well as policy, to exchange a
word with persons whom he recognized among the spectators, and the
shouts of the bystanders applauded a courtesy which seemed so well
timed. But when he had gazed an instant on the party we have described,
it was impossible, if even Alice had been too much changed to be
recognized, not instantly to know Bevis and his venerable master. The
Monarch sprung from his horse, and walked instantly up to the old
knight, amid thundering acclamations which rose from the multitudes
around, when they saw Charles with his own hand oppose the feeble
attempts of the old man to rise to do his homage. Gently replacing him
on his seat--"Bless," he said, "father--bless your son, who has returned
in safety, as you blessed him when he departed in danger."

"May God bless--and preserve"--muttered the old man, overcome by his
feelings; and the King, to give him a few moments' repose, turned
to Alice--

"And you," he said, "my fair guide, how have you been employed since our
perilous night-walk? But I need not ask," glancing around--"in the
service of King and Kingdom, bringing up subjects, as loyal as their
ancestors.--A fair lineage, by my faith, and a beautiful sight, to the
eye of an English King!--Colonel Everard, we shall see you, I trust, at
Whitehall?" Here he nodded to Wildrake. "And thou, Joceline, thou canst
hold thy quarter-staff with one hand, sure?--Thrust forward the
other palm."

Looking down in sheer bashfulness, Joceline, like a bull about to push,
extended to the King, over his lady's shoulder, a hand as broad and hard
as a wooden trencher, which the King filled with gold coins. "Buy a
handful for my friend Phoebe with some of these," said Charles, "she too
has been doing her duty to Old England."

The King then turned once more to the knight, who seemed making an
effort to speak. He took his aged hand in both his own, and stooped his
head towards him to catch his accents, while the old man, detaining him
with the other hand, said something faltering, of which Charles could
only catch the quotation--

"Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith."

Extricating himself, therefore, as gently as possible, from a scene
which began to grow painfully embarrassing, the good-natured King said,
speaking with unusual distinctness to insure the old man's comprehending
him, "This is something too public a place for all we have to say. But
if you come not soon to see King Charles at Whitehall, he will send down
Louis Kerneguy to visit you, that you may see how rational that
mischievous lad is become since his travels."

So saying, he once more pressed affectionately the old man's hand, bowed
to Alice and all around, and withdrew; Sir Henry Lee listening with a
smile, which showed he comprehended the gracious tendency of what had
been said. The old man leaned back on his seat, and muttered the _Nunc
dimittas_.

"Excuse me for having made you wait, my lords," said the King, as he
mounted his horse; "indeed, had it not been for these good folks, you
might have waited for me long enough to little purpose.--Move on, sirs."

The array moved on accordingly; the sound of trumpets and drums again
rose amid the acclamations, which had been silent while the King
stopped; while the effect of the whole procession resuming its motion,
was so splendidly dazzling, that even Alice's anxiety about for her
father's health was for a moment suspended, while her eye followed the
long line of varied brilliancy that proceeded over the heath. When she
looked again at Sir Henry, she was startled to see that his cheek, which
had gained some colour during his conversation with the King, had
relapsed into earthly paleness; that his eyes were closed, and opened
not again; and that his features expressed, amid their quietude, a
rigidity which is not that of sleep. They ran to his assistance, but it
was too late. The light that burned so low in the socket, had leaped up,
and expired in one exhilarating flash.

The rest must be conceived. I have only to add that his faithful dog did
not survive him many days; and that the image of Bevis lies carved at
his master's feet, on the tomb which was erected to the memory of Sir
Henry Lee of Ditchley.

[Footnote: It may interest some readers to know that Bevis, the gallant
hound, one of the handsomest and active of the ancient Highland
deer-hounds, had his prototype in a dog called Maida, the gift of the
late Chief of Glengarry to the author. A beautiful sketch was made by
Edwin Landseer, and afterwards engraved. I cannot suppress the avowal of
some personal vanity when I mention that a friend, going through Munich,
picked up a common snuff-box, such as are sold for one franc, on which
was displayed the form of this veteran favourite, simply marked as Der
lieblung hund von Walter Scott. Mr. Landseer's painting is at
Blair-Adam, the property of my venerable friend, the Right Honourable
Lord Chief Commissioner Adam.]

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