THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES--A SOLILOQUY ON CHRISTMAS
Over the mountains,
And over the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
--Old Song in Percy's Reliques.
Harry Hedgerow had volunteered to be Mr. Falconer's Mercury during
his absences from the Tower, and to convey to him letters and any
communications which the sisters might have to make. Riding at a good
trot, on a horse more distinguished for strength than grace, he found
the shortest days long enough for the purpose of going and returning,
with an ample interval for the refreshment of himself and his horse.
[Illustration: Mr. Falconer's Mercury 197-167]
While discussing beef and ale in the servants' hall, he heard a good
deal of the family news, and many comments on the visitors. From
these he collected that there were several young gentlemen especially
remarkable for their attention to the young lady of the mansion: that
among them were two who were more in her good graces than the others:
that one of these was the young gentleman who lived in the Duke's Folly,
and who was evidently the favourite: and that the other was a young
lord, who was the life and soul of the company, but who seemed to be
very much taken with another young lady, who had, at the risk of her own
life, jumped into the water and picked him out, when he was nearly being
drowned.
[Illustration: He heard a good deal of the family news 200-167]
This story had lost nothing in travelling. Harry, deducing from all this
the conclusion most favourable to his own wishes, determined to take
some steps for the advancement of his own love-suit, especially as
he had obtained some allies, who were willing to march with him to
conquest, like the Seven against Thebes.
The Reverend Doctor Opimian had finished his breakfast, and had just sat
down in his library, when he was informed that some young men wished
to see him. The doctor was always accessible, and the visitors were
introduced. He recognised his friend Harry Hedgerow, who was accompanied
by six others. After respectful salutations on their part, and
benevolent acceptance on his, Harry, as the only one previously known to
the doctor, became spokesman for the deputation.
__Harry Hedgerow.__ You see, sir, you gave me some comfort when I was
breaking my heart; and now we are told that the young gentleman at the
Folly is going to be married.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Indeed! you are better informed than I am.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Why, it's in everybody's mouth. He passes half his
time at Squire Gryll's, and they say it's all for the sake of the young
lady that's there: she that was some days at the Folly; that I carried
in, when she was hurt in the great storm. I am sure I hope it be true.
For you said, if he married, and suitable parties proposed for her
sisters, Miss Dorothy might listen to me. I have lived in the hope of
that ever since. And here are six suitable parties to propose for her
six sisters. That is the long and the short of it.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ The short of it, at any rate. You speak like
a Spartan. You come to the point at once. But why do you come to me? I
have no control over the fair damsels.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Why, no, sir; but you are the greatest friend of the
young gentleman. And if you could just say a word for us to him, you
see, sir.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I see seven notes in the key of A minor,
proposing to sound in harmony with the seven notes of the octave above;
but I really do not see what I can do in the matter.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Indeed, sir, if you could only ask the young gentleman
if he would object to our proposing to the young ladies.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why not propose to them yourselves? You seem to
be all creditable young men.
_Harry Hedgerow._ I have proposed to Miss Dorothy, you know, and she
would not have me; and the rest are afraid. We are all something to do
with the land and the wood; farmers, and foresters, and nurserymen, and
all that. And we have all opened our hearts to one another. They don't
pretend to look above us; but it seems somehow as if they did, and
couldn't help it. They are so like young ladies. They daze us, like. Why,
if they'd have us, they'd be all in reach of one another. Fancy what a
family party there'd be at Christmas. We just want a good friend to
put a good foot foremost for us; and if the young gentleman does marry,
perhaps they may better themselves by doing likewise.
[Illustration: Six partners for six sisters 204-171]
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ And so you seven young friends have each a
different favourite among the seven sisters?
_Harry Hedgerow._ Why, that's the beauty of it.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ The beauty of it? Perhaps it is. I suppose there
is an agistor {1} among you?
1 An agistor was a forest officer who superintended the
taking in of strange cattle to board and lodge, and
accounted for the profit to the sovereign. I have read the
word, but never heard it. I am inclined to think that in
modern times the duty was carried on under another name, or
merged in the duties of another office.
_Harry Hedgerow. (after looking at his companions who all shook their
heads)_. I am afraid not. Ought there to be? We don't know what it
means.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I thought that among so many foresters there
might be an agistor. But it is not indispensable. Well, if the young
gentleman is going to be married, he will tell me of it. And when he
does tell me, I will tell him of you. Have patience. It may all come
right.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Thank ye, sir. Thank ye, sir, kindly.
Which being echoed in chorus by the other six, they took their
departure, much marvelling what the reverend doctor could mean by an
agistor.
'Upon my word,' said the doctor to himself, 'a very good-looking,
respectable set of young men. I do not know what the others may have to
say for themselves. They behaved like a Greek chorus. They left their
share of the dialogue to the coryphaeus. He acquitted himself well, more
like a Spartan than an Athenian, but none the worse for that. Brevity,
in this case, is better than rhetoric. I really like that youth. How his
imagination dwells on the family party at Christmas. When I first saw
him, he was fancying how the presence of Miss Dorothy would gladden his
father's heart at that season. Now he enlarges the circle, but it is
still the same predominant idea. He has lost his mother. She must have
been a good woman, and his early home must have been a happy one. The
Christmas hearth would not be so uppermost in his thoughts if it had
been otherwise. This speaks well for him and his. I myself think much of
Christmas and all its associations. I always dine at home on Christmas
Day, and measure the steps of my children's heads on the wall, and see
how much higher each of them has risen since the same time last year,
in the scale of physical life. There are many poetical charms in the
heraldings of Christmas. The halcyon builds its nest on the tranquil
sea. "The bird of dawning singeth all night long." I have never verified
either of these poetical facts. I am willing to take them for granted.
I like the idea of the Yule-log, the enormous block of wood carefully
selected long before, and preserved where it would be thoroughly dry,
which burned on the old-fashioned hearth. It would not suit the stoves
of our modem saloons. We could not burn it in our kitchens, where a
small fire in the midst of a mass of black iron, roasts, and bakes,
and boils, and steams, and broils, and fries, by a complicated apparatus
which, whatever may be its other virtues, leaves no space for a
Christmas fire. I like the festoons of holly on the walls and windows;
the dance under the mistletoe; the gigantic sausage; the baron of beef;
the vast globe of plum-pudding, the true image of the earth, flattened
at the poles; the tapping of the old October; the inexhaustible bowl
of punch; the life and joy of the old hall, when the squire and his
household and his neighbourhood were as one. I like the idea of what has
gone, and I can still enjoy the reality of what remains. I have no doubt
Harry's father burns the Yule-log, and taps the old October. Perhaps,
instead of the beef, he produces a fat pig roasted whole, like Eumaeus,
the divine swineherd in the _Odyssey_. How Harry will burn the Yule-log
if he can realise this day-dream of himself and his six friends with
the seven sisters! I shall make myself acquainted with the position and
characters of these young suitors. To be sure, it is not my business,
and I ought to recollect the words of Cicero: "Est enim difficilis cura
rerum alienarum: quamquam Terentianus ille Chrêmes humani nihil a se
alienum putat."{1} I hold with Chrêmes too. I am not without hope, from
some symptoms I have lately seen, that rumour, in the present case, is
in a fair way of being right; and if, with the accordance of the young
gentleman as key-note, these two heptachords should harmonise into a
double octave, I do not see why I may not take my part as fundamental
bass.'
1 It is a hard matter to take active concern in the affairs
of others; although the Chrêmes of Terence thinks nothing
human alien to himself.--De Officiis: i. 9.