_Charmi._ Sir, I may move the court to serve your will;
But therein shall but wrong you and myself.
_Rom._ Why think you so, sir?
_Charmi._ 'Cause I am familiar
With what will be their answer: They will say
'Tis against law; and argue me of ignorance
For offering them the motion.
_Rom._ You know not, sir,
How in this case they may dispense with law;
And therefore frame not you their answer for them,
But do your parts.
_Massinger and Field_:--_Fatal Dowry._
With the hope of again seeing Miss Walladmor and her uncle, Bertram was
attempting to make his way up to the centre of the procession. So many
others however had precisely the same object in view, that he was
likely to have found it a matter of some difficulty to pierce the dense
array of foot and horse passengers. Suddenly at this moment he found
himself tapped on the shoulder by somebody who stood behind; and,
turning round, he perceived Mr. Dulberry.
"Come with me," said Dulberry; "and I will show you a short cut by the
back way: jump a hedge or two, and trespass over a few silly old
women's potato gardens, and we shall be at the inn before the
procession arrives."
"It will pass the inn then on its return?"
"I suppose so: but what need you or I care for such absurd mummeries?
Good God! to think of the money that might have been earned by all
these horses if they had been spending the day creditably and honestly
in ploughing and tilling the land; whereas now----"
"Ploughing, Mr. Dulberry! but surely it's not the season just now, with
the ground frozen as deep as it is, for rural labours of that sort."
"Well, no matter: there's work enough for horses amongst dyers,
tanners, and such people. By the way, did you ever hear of my machine
for teazing wool? Wonderful invention! horse labor entirely superseded:
a little steam, and a man or two,--give me these, and I'll teaze the
whole world. Wonderful the progress of the human intellect since the
time of Archimedes!--But no doubt you are acquainted with my teazing
machine?"
"In fact I have that honor: or rather--what am I saying? I beg your
pardon; that particular teazing machine of yours, which you now allude
to, I have not the honor of knowing at all."
"Ah? but then you should: the sooner the better: for no man can be said
to have finished his education who is not well acquainted with my
teazing machine. In fact it has had a great influence on the literature
of this country. For the ode to my teazing machine, which is generally
regarded as the most finished production of the English lyric muse----"
Here Mr. Dulberry was interrupted by a hedge which it was necessary to
leap; and Bertram remarked, that in spite of the contempt which he
professed for unprofitable show and "mummery," the reformer bestirred
himself as actively and took a hedge as nimbly as the youngest lad
could have done under the fear of missing any part of the spectacle. On
reaching the inn however they learned that their labor was thrown away.
One part of the procession had gone off by different routes to ride the
boundaries of lordships and perform other annual ceremonies: part had
dispersed: and another part had accompanied Sir Morgan to the town hall
of Machynleth--where a Welsh court-of-grace was held, according to
immemorial precedent, for receiving petitions, granting extraordinary
favors or dispensations, and redressing any complaints against the
agents of Sir Morgan (as lord of Walladmor and many other manors) in
their various feudal duties. At this court it was Sir Morgan's custom
to preside in person. As to Miss Walladmor, she, it appeared, had got
into her carriage at the church door; was gone off to make some calls
in the neighbourhood; and was not expected to pass through Machynleth
on her road back to Walladmor Castle before dark.
After taking some refreshment, Dulberry proposed to Bertram that they
should adjourn to the Town Hall. On entering the court-room, they were
both surprized to observe the phlegmatic Dutchman addressing Sir Morgan
in the character of petitioner. They caught enough of his closing words
to understand that the _gite_ of his petition was to obtain the
baronet's sanction for the regular and Christian interment of some
foreigner who had died at sea.
"By all means, Mr. Van der Velsen,"--replied Sir Morgan, "by all means:
there needs no petition: Wales, I thank God, has never failed in any
point of hospitality to poor strangers who were thrown upon her
kindness: much less could she betray her religious duties to the dead.
But what is the name of the deceased?" "Sare Morgan," replied the
Dutchman, "de pauvre man fos not Welsherman: to him Got fos not gif so
moch honneur: he no more dan pauvre Jack Frenshman. Bot vat den? He
goot Christen man, sweet--lovely--charmant man; _des plus aimables_;
oh! fos beautiful man of war!"
"But what was his name, I ask, Mr. Van der Velsen?"
"De name? de name? oh! de name is _le Harnois_; Monsieur le Harnois; he
fos Captain au service de Sa Majeste Tres Chretienne."
Bertram started with surprize: but he controlled his astonishment, and
attended to what followed from Sir Morgan.
"Well, Mr. Van der Velsen, Frenchman or not, I know of no possible
objection to his being decently buried. In the churchyard of
Aberkilvie, which lies by the seaside about eighteen miles from this
place, there are bodies of all nations--Dutch, English, Danes,
Spaniards, and no doubt Frenchmen--flung upon our shores by shipwreck
or other accidents of mortality. By all means let the French Captain be
honourably interred at Aberkilvie."
"Tank, Sare Morgan, moch tank: bot--bot, Sare, dare is anoder leetle
ting."
"And what is that, Sir?"
Here another friend of the deceased stepped forward and briefly stated
that Captain le Harnois was a Roman Catholic; and that his son
therefore naturally wished to bury him in a Catholic burying-ground.
"But where is there such a burying-ground?" asked Sir Morgan: "I know
of none but the chapel of Utragan, where nobody has been buried since
the wars of the Two Roses: and now, I am sorry to say, it is used as a
potato ground."
"If the lord lieutenant would permit us to carry the deceased so far
inland, there is the consecrated ground of Griffith ap Gauvon."
"True: there is Ap Gauvon certainly: I had forgot. Well, be it so: let
Captain le Harnois be buried in one of the chapels at Ap Gauvon."
"Tank, Sare, moch tank," said the Dutchman: "but dare is 'noder leetle
ting:" and then he explained in substance, that as the Captain had died
at sea, all his friends were apprehensive that the officers of the
Customs and Excise would insist on searching the hearse and coffin; an
indignity which would grievously wound the feelings of his son and all
his family; and which could not be viewed in France in any other light
than as an insult unworthy of a great and liberal nation to the memory
of a brave officer who had the honor to serve His Most Christian
Majesty.
"I am sorry for it," said Sir Morgan: "but in this point it is quite
impossible for me to be of any service. The coast hereabouts has been
so much resorted to of late years by smuggling vessels, that the
officers of the revenue are reasonably very strict: and the law is
imperative."
"But this officer," said the English spokesman, "this Captain
le Harnois--if you will condescend to listen to me, Sir Morgan
Walladmor,--was a man of honor and of known integrity. I might go
further: he was a religious man, and distinguished for his Catholic
devotion: was he not, Herr Van der Velsen?"
"Oh var moch religious: as for a man of war, he fos beautiful christen:
he cry moch for sin, often dat I see him: all de leetle prayer, and all
de leetle hymn, he sing dem all one--two--tree--quatre--noine--time
per day. De word dat de haf all time in his mout, to me and to oder men,
fos deese: 'Let all ting be charmant, lufly, Bourbonish, and religious.'
Oh! for de salt-water christen, he was beautiful:--beautiful man of war."
"I doubt it not, gentlemen,"--said Sir Morgan; "and am happy to hear
such an account of the Captain's piety, which will now be of more
service to him than all the honors we could render to his poor earthly
remains. Not that I would countenance any person in offering them an
indignity, if I could see how it were to be avoided."
"We are all sure that you would not," said the Englishman: "the name of
Walladmor is a pledge for every thing that is high-minded and liberal.
And in this case young le Harnois, the captain's son, was the more
induced to hope for the indulgence desired, because the deceased was a
man of family and connected with the highest blood in Europe. In
particular, he had the honor to be distantly related to the house of
Walladmor."
"Ah?" said Sir Morgan, "in what way?"
"Through the Montmorencies. It is notorious to all Europe that there is
an old connexion between the Walladmors and the Montmorencies: and the
family of le Harnois is nearly connected by the female side with the
Montmorencies."
"Undoubtedly," said Sir Morgan, "my family have more than once
intermarried with the Montmorencies. Undoubtedly: what you say
is very true, gentlemen. And as this is the case, I will not
deny that I am disposed to view your petition favourably. Some
indulgence--some consideration--is certainly due to the blood of the
Montmorencies.----Let me think a moment." Then, after a pause, he
added--"Well, gentlemen, I will grant you the dispensation you ask. You
shall have my order to the officers of the Customs and Excise for the
undisturbed passage of the funeral train to Griffith ap Gauvon. I will
take the whole responsibility on myself; and this evening I will write
to the Lords of the Treasury and the Home Secretary, to prevent any
misstatement of the matter. Davies, make out the order; and I will sign
it."
Both the appellants made their acknowledgments to Sir Morgan in the
warmest terms; and, having received the order, together with an
assurance from Sir Morgan that he should send down a carriage from
Walladmor House to meet the funeral on the sea-shore, and pay the last
honors to the poor gentleman's remains,--they bowed profoundly, and
quitted the court.
Bertram meantime, who had so recently parted with Captain le Harnois in
apparent good health, had been at first thoroughly confounded by this
unexpected intelligence of his death, until the portrait of the
deceased gentleman's piety--drawn by his friends in such very
flattering colors--began to suggest a belief that certainly there must
be two Captains le Harnois, and probably therefore two descendants of
the Montmorencies, cruizing off the coast of Wales. This belief again
was put to flight by 'de word which he haf alway in his mout' as
reported by Herr Van der Velsen. Not knowing what to think, he followed
the two negociators; and, addressing himself to the Dutchman, begged to
know if the deceased Captain, on whose behalf the petition had just
been presented to the lord lieutenant, were that Captain le Harnois who
commanded the Fleurs-de-lys?
"Oh Sare, ja: de var same, de pious good christen Capitaine le
Harnois."
"God bless me! is it possible? I parted with him last night at five
o'clock; and I protest I never saw a man look better in my life. Dead!
Why it seems a thing incredible. At five o'clock yesterday, but
twenty-three hours ago, I declare to you, Mr. Van der Velsen, that I
saw him with a keg of spirits by his side: and I'll venture to say that
he drank a glass of it every three minutes."
"Aye, alway he trank his physic at five o'clock: bot, Sare--mine dear
Sare, all would not save him: no ting would save him: his time fos
come."
"And what was his complaint, pray?"
"Cons_o_mption."
"Consumption! What Captain le Harnois' complaint consumption?"
"Oh! que oui, Sare: he complain moch of cons_o_mption."
"Why he had good reason to complain of it, if it killed him with so
little warning. But what sort of consumption? Consumption of the brandy
cask?"
"Oh no, mine dear friend: consomption--what you call it?--trotting
consomption."
"Galloping consumption he means," said the English coadjutor of Mr. Van
der Velsen.
"In good truth then it must have galloped," said Bertram; "for last
night----"
"Well, Sir, no matter how or when, you hear that the Captain is dead:
we are not his doctors, but his executors: and, if you owe him any
money, you will pay it to me or to this gentleman. Or,"--he added on
observing that Bertram laughed at such a conceit as that of the worthy
Captain's having suffered any man to leave the Fleurs-de-lys in his
debt,--"Or, if you owe nothing to his estate, perhaps out of love you
will join us to-morrow on the road to Ap Gauvon:" and at the same time
he put into Bertram's hand a written paper of the following tenor, but
without date or subscription:
"In full confidence that you are a good Christian, and that you
patronize freedom of trade, we hereby invite you to attend the funeral
of the late Captain le Harnois; a worthy Christian, and one who
admired--patronized--and personally promoted unlimited freedom of trade
by every means in his power. The place of rendezvous is Huntingcross,
near the sea-side by Aberkilvie; the time nine in the morning. If any
other engagement should interfere with your attending at this hour and
place, you will be so good as to join us on the road to Griffith ap
Gauvon. Finally, dear christian brother, out of affection to the memory
of the deceased have the kindness to bring a cudgel with you not less
than two inches thick, and three and a half feet long."
Bertram mused a little on this last item in the invitation: but,
recollecting that it might possibly be part of the etiquette in Welsh
funeral solemnities, and being at any rate certain that the funeral had
the highest possible sanction,--he said at length
"Well, gentlemen,--I cannot say that I owe the deceased Captain any
money, or much love. But I bear no malice: and I have a mind to see how
funerals are conducted in North Wales; and Griffith ap Gauvon, I now
recollect, was one of the places pointed out to me as best worth seeing
in this part of the country. All things considered therefore, if the
morning should prove fine, I will not fail to join you somewhere on the
road to Ap Gauvon."
At this point the conversation dropped; his two companions thanked him,
and turned off down a bye street--upon some business connected with the
preparations for the ensuing day; whilst Bertram pursued the direct
road to the inn.
By this time it was dusk: the cottage windows were beginning to
brighten with the blazing fire within; crowds of men were in the street
elevated with Sir Morgan's liquor; and all the boys of Machynleth were
gathering into groups, and preparing to let off their squibs and
crackers in honour of the day. On approaching the inn, Bertram observed
a carriage drawn up to the door; and a sudden blaze of light from one
of the torches, which now began to appear amongst the crowd, showed him
the figure of a young lady sitting inside. A minute afterwards, one of
the attendants lit the carriage lamps; in doing which, the light of his
candle illuminated the inside of the carriage, and fell strongly upon a
face too beautiful and expressive to be forgotten by any one who had
once beheld it. Bertram perceived that it was Miss Walladmor, who was
now on her return to Walladmor House.
"She'll be off in a moment," said the landlord: "she's only stopping to
change horses and get the lamps lit. The Lord Lieutenant's horses, that
brought her in from the Castle in the forenoon, have been a matter of
thirty miles with her since church-time on the other side the country;
and that's near sixty in all. And so she takes my horses on to
Walladmor."
"And does Sir Morgan not accompany her?"
"Oh! lord, no: Sir Morgan always dines with the Corporation; and he'll
not be on the road for these seven hours; not on this side of midnight,
I'll warrant him. This is St. David's day, I'd have you to remember:
and this I'll take upon me to say----Mind, I name no names----but this
I'll say, there's no man in Machynleth, gentle or simple, that will
have the face to be sober to-night when the clock strikes twelve, nor
any man that will leave Machynleth sober _after_ twelve. What! do you
take us for heathens? Most of us have been drunk these four hours
agone; and are ready to be drunk again; and there's not many here but
will have their eyes set in their heads in two hours more. I'll answer
for one."
"Well, but at least you'll except Miss Walladmor's servants, I hope."
"I'll except nobody: if Miss Walladmor wants lads to drive her that are
not drunk, she must send for 'em to some other county: she'll not find
'em in this. But she knows that well enough. Lord love her! there's not
a driver in the county, not a horse almost nor any dumb creature
whatsomever, that would bring Miss Walladmor into any danger. What! the
lads may be a little 'fresh' or so; but they'll drive all the better
for that. There's that lad now: he's going to ride the leaders; and I'm
much in doubt whether he'll be able to mount. But if he once gets
fairly into the saddle, the devil won't throw him out; he'll sit like a
leech all the way from Carnarvonshire to Jerusalem."
Whether wrong or right in the latter part of this prediction, the
landlord was certainly right in the former. For at this moment the
postillion had succeeded in putting his foot into the stirrup, but in
throwing his leg over the horse's croupe, he grazed his flank sharply
with the spur--and, from the instantaneous rearing and plunging of the
horse, was pretty nearly flung under his feet. Drunk as the lad was,
however, he had a sort of instinct for maintaining or recovering any
hold once gained that soon enabled him to throw himself into the
saddle. But the danger was now past his power to control: a shower of
squibs and crackers, which had been purposely reserved by way of a
valedictory salute to Miss Walladmor, were at this moment discharged;
and one of them unfortunately fell under the feet of the near
leader. Previously irritated, and now alarmed beyond measure by the
fireworks--the huzzas--and the flashing lights, the horse became
ungovernable; the contagion of panic spread; all were plunging and
kicking at once: the splinter-bar was smashed to atoms; and, the crowd
of by-standers being confused by the darkness and the uncertain light,
before any one could lay hands upon them--the horses had lurched to one
side and placed the carriage at the very edge of the road fenced off
only by a slender wooden railing of two feet high from a precipice of
forty feet, which just at this place overhung the river. At this
instant a man, muffled up in a dark cloak, whom Bertram, whilst talking
with the landlord, had repeatedly observed walking about the carriage
and looking anxiously to the windows, sprang with the speed of
lightning to the leaders' heads--and held them forcibly until others
followed his example and seized the heads of the wheel-horses. But all
the horses continuing still to tremble with that sort of trepidating
and trampling motion which announces a speedy relapse into the paroxysm
of fury,--the man who held the leaders drew a cutlass from beneath his
cloak; and, tossing it to a sailor-like man who stood near him, bade
him instantly cut the traces: not a moment was to be lost; for the hind
wheels were already backing obliquely against the rails; the slight
wood work was heard crashing; and a few inches more of retrograde
motion would send the whole equipage over the precipice. The sailor
however had a sailor's agility, and cut away as if he had been cutting
at a boarding netting. Ten seconds sufficed to disengage the carriage
from the horses; and at the same instant a body of men seizing the hind
wheels rolled the carriage forward from the dark precipitous edge over
which it already hung in tottering suspense. A burst of joyous
exultation rose from the crowd; for Miss Walladmor was universally
beloved--as much on her own account, as from the local attachment to
her name and family. Whilst the danger lasted she had sate still and
composed in the carriage: when it was over she first felt a little
agitated; and the loud testimonies of affectionate congratulation made
her more so. She bent forward however to the window, and commanded
herself sufficiently to thank them all in a low but very audible and
emphatic tone. The sweetness of her low and melancholy voice trembling
with emotion, and her pensive beauty which was at this moment
powerfully revealed by the torch-light, charmed the rudest man in the
crowd: all was hushed while she spoke; and the next moment an answer
rose from the whole assemblage of people in clamorous expressions of
attachment to the young lady of Walladmor.
Bertram had been a silent observer of all; he still kept his eye on the
man in the cloak; and he observed, that as soon as the attention of the
crowd was withdrawn from the carriage this man again approached it. Miss
Walladmor had also observed him; and, being well aware that it was
chiefly to the man in the cloak that she was indebted for her safety,
she was anxious for an opportunity of thanking him separately. For
this purpose she leaned forward as he approached, and was going to
have spoke: but suddenly the stranger unmuffled his head; the light of
the lamp fell upon his features, and disclosed the countenance of a young
man--apparently about twenty-four years old; a countenance which at this
moment appeared to Bertram eminently noble and dignified, and strongly
reminded him of the fine profile which he had seen in the gallery of
the inn. It was a countenance that to Miss Walladmor was known too well
for her peace: this was evident from all that followed. She uttered a
sudden shriek on seeing him; the noise of the crowd overpowered it, but
Bertram was near and heard it; then sank back for a moment; then again
leaned forward, and turned deadly pale: then seemed to recover herself,
and burst into tears--large tears which glittered in the lamplight: and
at last fixing her eyes upon the stranger--and seeing that he stood
checked and agitated by the uncertain meaning of her manner,--in a
moment, and in a rapture of tenderness that asked no counsel of fears
or selfish scruples, or of any thing on this earth but her own woman's
heart, she stretched out her hand to him and through her streaming
tears smiled upon him with innocent love. She had no voice to thank him
as her deliverer: nor did she at this moment think of him as such; for
her heart had gone back to times in which she needed no ties of
_gratitude_ (or believed that she needed none) to justify her
attachment. On the other hand the stranger likewise uttered not a word.
He, who would have died a thousand times to have saved a hair of her
head from suffering injury, had not thought of his recent service as of
any thing that could entitle him to a moment's favour; and, when he
actually beheld the smile of her angelic countenance and found her hand
within his own, he held it at first as one who knew not that he held
it: for a little space his thoughts seemed to wander; he looked upwards
as if in deep perplexity; and Bertram observed a slight convulsive
movement about his lips. But suddenly he recovered himself; pressed the
hand which he held with a look of unutterable fervor to his heart;
kissed it with an anguish of love deep--endless--despairing; and, as he
resigned if, offered a letter which Miss Walladmor immediately accepted
without hesitation; and then, without hazarding another look, he
disappeared hastily in the darkness.
All passed within little more than a minute: from the position he
occupied, Bertram had reason to believe that he only had witnessed the
extraordinary scene: and he could not but ejaculate to himself--"What a
world of meaning was uttered here, and yet no syllable spoken!"
Miss Walladmor now drew up the glasses: the injuries sustained by the
carriage were speedily repaired; the horses again harnessed: and,
within ten minutes from a scene so variously agitating to her fortitude
and her affections, she was happy to find herself left to the solitude
and darkness of her long evening ride to Walladmor.