No, sir--I will not pledge--I’m one of those
Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface
To make it welcome. If you doubt my word,
Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on’t.
--OLD PLAY.
There was a serious gravity of expression in the disclamation with which
Major Bridgenorth replied to the thanks tendered to him by Lady
Peveril, for the supply of provisions which had reached her Castle so
opportunely. He seemed first not to be aware what she alluded to; and,
when she explained the circumstance, he protested so seriously that he
had no share in the benefit conferred, that Lady Peveril was compelled
to believe him, the rather that, being a man of plain downright
character, affecting no refined delicacy of sentiment, and practising
almost a quaker-like sincerity of expression, it would have been much
contrary to his general character to have made such a disavowal, unless
it were founded in truth.
“My present visit to you, madam,” said he, “had indeed some reference to
the festivity of to-morrow.” Lady Peveril listened, but as her visitor
seemed to find some difficulty in expressing himself, she was compelled
to ask an explanation. “Madam,” said the Major, “you are not perhaps
entirely ignorant that the more tender-conscienced among us have
scruples at certain practices, so general amongst your people at times
of rejoicing, that you may be said to insist upon them as articles of
faith, or at least greatly to resent their omission.”
“I trust, Master Bridgenorth,” said the Lady Peveril, not fully
comprehending the drift of his discourse, “that we shall, as your
entertainers, carefully avoid all allusions or reproaches founded on
past misunderstanding.”
“We would expect no less, madam, from your candour and courtesy,” said
Bridgenorth; “but I perceive you do not fully understand me. To be
plain, then, I allude to the fashion of drinking healths, and pledging
each other in draughts of strong liquor, which most among us consider as
a superfluous and sinful provoking of each other to debauchery, and
the excessive use of strong drink; and which, besides, if derived, as
learned divines have supposed, from the custom of the blinded Pagans,
who made libations and invoked idols when they drank, may be justly said
to have something in it heathenish, and allied to demon-worship.”
The lady had already hastily considered all the topics which were
likely to introduce discord into the proposed festivity; but this very
ridiculous, yet fatal discrepancy, betwixt the manners of the parties on
convivial occasions, had entirely escaped her. She endeavoured to soothe
the objecting party, whose brows were knit like one who had fixed an
opinion by which he was determined to abide.
“I grant,” she said, “my good neighbour, that this custom is at least
idle, and may be prejudicial if it leads to excess in the use of liquor,
which is apt enough to take place without such conversation. But I
think, when it hath not this consequence, it is a thing indifferent,
affords a unanimous mode of expressing our good wishes to our friends,
and our loyal duty to our sovereign; and, without meaning to put any
force upon the inclination of those who believe otherwise, I cannot see
how I can deny my guests and friends the privilege of drinking a health
to the King, or to my husband, after the old English fashion.”
“My lady,” said the Major, “if the age of fashion were to command it,
Popery is one of the oldest English fashions that I have heard of; but
it is our happiness that we are not benighted like our fathers, and
therefore we must act according to the light that is in us, and not
after their darkness. I had myself the honour to attend the Lord-Keeper
Whitelocke, when, at the table of the Chamberlain of the kingdom of
Sweden, he did positively refuse to pledge the health of his Queen,
Christina, thereby giving great offence, and putting in peril the whole
purpose of that voyage; which it is not to be thought so wise a man
would have done, but that he held such compliance a thing not merely
indifferent, but rather sinful and damnable.”
“With all respect to Whitelocke,” said the Lady Peveril, “I continue of
my own opinion, though, Heaven knows, I am no friend to riot or wassail.
I would fain accommodate myself to your scruples, and will discourage
all other pledges; but surely those of the King and of Peveril of the
Peak may be permitted?”
“I dare not,” answered Bridgenorth, “lay even the ninety-ninth part of a
grain of incense upon an altar erected to Satan.”
“How, sir!” said the lady; “do you bring Satan into comparison with our
master King Charles, and with my noble lord and husband?”
“Pardon me, madam,” answered Bridgenorth, “I have no such
thoughts--indeed they would ill become me. I do wish the King’s health
and Sir Geoffrey’s devoutly, and I will pray for both. But I see not
what good it should do their health if I should prejudice my own by
quaffing pledges out of quart flagons.”
“Since we cannot agree upon this matter,” said Lady Peveril, “we must
find some resource by which to offend those of neither party. Suppose
you winked at our friends drinking these pledges, and we should connive
at your sitting still?”
But neither would this composition satisfy Bridgenorth, who was of
opinion, as he expressed himself, that it would be holding a candle
to Beelzebub. In fact, his temper, naturally stubborn, was at present
rendered much more so by a previous conference with his preacher, who,
though a very good man in the main, was particularly and illiberally
tenacious of the petty distinctions which his sect adopted; and while he
thought with considerable apprehension on the accession of power which
Popery, Prelacy, and Peveril of the Peak, were like to acquire by the
late Revolution, became naturally anxious to put his flock on their
guard, and prevent their being kidnapped by the wolf. He disliked
extremely that Major Bridgenorth, indisputably the head of the
Presbyterian interest in that neighbourhood, should have given his only
daughter to be, as he termed it, nursed by a Canaanitish woman; and
he told him plainly that he liked not this going to feast in the
high places with the uncircumcised in heart, and looked on the whole
conviviality only as a making-merry in the house of Tirzah.
Upon receiving this rebuke from his pastor, Bridgenorth began to suspect
he might have been partly wrong in the readiness which, in his first
ardour of gratitude, he had shown to enter into intimate intercourse
with the Castle of Martindale; but he was too proud to avow this to the
preacher, and it was not till after a considerable debate betwixt them,
that it was mutually agreed their presence at the entertainment should
depend upon the condition, that no healths or pledges should be given
in their presence. Bridgenorth, therefore, as the delegate and
representative of his party, was bound to stand firm against all
entreaty, and the lady became greatly embarrassed. She now regretted
sincerely that her well-intended invitation had ever been given, for she
foresaw that its rejection was to awaken all former subjects of quarrel,
and perhaps to lead to new violences amongst people who had not many
years since been engaged in civil war. To yield up the disputed point to
the Presbyterians, would have been to offend the Cavalier party, and Sir
Geoffrey in particular, in the most mortal degree; for they made it
as firm a point of honour to give healths, and compel others to pledge
them, as the Puritans made it a deep article of religion to refuse
both. At length the lady changed the discourse, introduced that of Major
Bridgenorth’s child, caused it to be sent for, and put into his arms.
The mother’s stratagem took effect; for, though the parliamentary major
stood firm, the father, as in the case of the Governor of Tilbury, was
softened, and he agreed that his friends should accept a compromise.
This was, that the major himself, the reverend divine, and such of their
friends as held strict Puritan tenets, should form a separate party
in the Large Parlour, while the Hall should be occupied by the jovial
Cavaliers; and that each party should regulate their potations after
their own conscience, or after their own fashion.
Major Bridgenorth himself seemed greatly relieved after this important
matter had been settled. He had held it matter of conscience to be
stubborn in maintaining his own opinion, but was heartily glad when
he escaped from the apparently inevitable necessity of affronting Lady
Peveril by the refusal of her invitation. He remained longer than usual,
and spoke and smiled more than was his custom. His first care on
his return was to announce to the clergyman and his congregation the
compromise which he had made, and this not as a matter for deliberation,
but one upon which he had already resolved; and such was his authority
among them, that though the preacher longed to pronounce a separation of
the parties, and to exclaim--“To your tents, O Israel!” he did not see
the chance of being seconded by so many, as would make it worth while to
disturb the unanimous acquiescence in their delegate’s proposal.
Nevertheless, each party being put upon the alert by the consequences
of Major Bridgenorth’s embassy, so many points of doubt and delicate
discussion were started in succession, that the Lady Peveril, the
only person, perhaps, who was desirous of achieving an effectual
reconciliation between them, incurred, in reward for her good
intentions, the censure of both factions, and had much reason to
regret her well-meant project of bringing the Capulets and Montagues of
Derbyshire together on the same occasion of public festivity.
As it was now settled that the guests were to form two different
parties, it became not only a subject of dispute betwixt themselves,
which should be first admitted within the Castle of Martindale, but
matter of serious apprehension to Lady Peveril and Major Bridgenorth,
lest, if they were to approach by the same avenue and entrance, a
quarrel might take place betwixt them, and proceed to extremities, even
before they reached the place of entertainment. The lady believed she
had discovered an admirable expedient for preventing the possibility of
such interference, by directing that the Cavaliers should be admitted
by the principal entrance, while the Roundheads should enter the Castle
through a great breach which had been made in the course of the siege,
and across which there had been made a sort of by-path to drive the
cattle down to their pasture in the wood. By this contrivance the Lady
Peveril imagined she had altogether avoided the various risks which
might occur from two such parties encountering each other, and disputing
for precedence. Several other circumstances of less importance were
adjusted at the same time, and apparently so much to the satisfaction of
the Presbyterian teacher, that, in a long lecture on the subject of the
Marriage Garment, he was at the pains to explain to his hearers, that
outward apparel was not alone meant by that scriptural expression, but
also a suitable frame of mind for enjoyment of peaceful festivity; and
therefore he exhorted the brethren, that whatever might be the errors of
the poor blinded malignants, with whom they were in some sort to eat and
drink upon the morrow they ought not on this occasion to show any evil
will against them, lest they should therein become troublers of the
peace of Israel.
Honest Doctor Dummerar, the elected Episcopal Vicar of Martindale _cum_
Moultrassie, preached to the Cavaliers on the same subject. He had
served the cure before the breaking out of the rebellion, and was
in high favour with Sir Geoffrey, not merely on account of his sound
orthodoxy and deep learning, but his exquisite skill in playing at
bowls, and his facetious conversation over a pipe and tankard of
October. For these latter accomplishments, the Doctor had the honour to
be recorded by old Century White amongst the roll of lewd, incompetent,
profligate clergymen of the Church of England, whom he denounced to God
and man, on account chiefly of the heinous sin of playing at games of
skill and chance, and of occasionally joining in the social meetings of
their parishioners. When the King’s party began to lose ground, Doctor
Dummerar left his vicarage, and, betaking himself to the camp, showed
upon several occasions, when acting as chaplain to Sir Geoffrey
Peveril’s regiment, that his portly bodily presence included a stout
and masculine heart. When all was lost, and he himself, with most other
loyal divines, was deprived of his living, he made such shift as he
could; now lurking in the garrets of old friends in the University, who
shared with him, and such as him, the slender means of livelihood which
the evil times had left them; and now lying hid in the houses of the
oppressed and sequestered gentry, who respected at once his character
and sufferings. When the Restoration took place, Doctor Dummerar emerged
from some one of his hiding-places, and hied him to Martindale Castle,
to enjoy the triumph inseparable from this happy change.
His appearance at the Castle in his full clerical dress, and the warm
reception which he received from the neighbouring gentry, added not a
little to the alarm which was gradually extending itself through the
party which were so lately the uppermost. It is true, Doctor Dummerar
framed (honest worthy man) no extravagant views of elevation or
preferment; but the probability of his being replaced in the living,
from which he had been expelled under very flimsy pretences, inferred
a severe blow to the Presbyterian divine, who could not be considered
otherwise than as an intruder. The interest of the two preachers,
therefore, as well as the sentiments of their flocks, were at direct
variance; and here was another fatal objection in the way of Lady
Peveril’s scheme of a general and comprehensive healing ordinance.
Nevertheless, as we have already hinted, Doctor Dummerar behaved as
handsomely upon the occasion as the Presbyterian incumbent had done.
It is true, that in a sermon which he preached in the Castle hall to
several of the most distinguished Cavalier families, besides a world
of boys from the village, who went to see the novel circumstance of
a parson in a cassock and surplice, he went at great length into the
foulness of the various crimes committed by the rebellious party during
the late evil times, and greatly magnified the merciful and peaceful
nature of the honourable Lady of the Manor, who condescended to
look upon, or receive into her house in the way of friendship and
hospitality, men holding the principles which had led to the murder
of the King--the slaying and despoiling his loyal subjects--and the
plundering and breaking down of the Church of God. But then he wiped all
this handsomely up again, with the observation, that since it was the
will of their gracious and newly-restored Sovereign, and the pleasure of
the worshipful Lady Peveril, that this contumacious and rebellious race
should be, for a time, forborne by their faithful subjects, it would
be highly proper that all the loyal liegemen should, for the present,
eschew subjects of dissension or quarrel with these sons of Shimei;
which lesson of patience he enforced by the comfortable assurance, that
they could not long abstain from their old rebellious practices; in
which case, the Royalists would stand exculpated before God and man, in
extirpating them from the face of the earth.
The close observers of the remarkable passages of the times from which
we draw the events of our history, have left it upon record, that these
two several sermons, much contrary, doubtless, to the intention of the
worthy divines by whom they were delivered, had a greater effect in
exasperating, than in composing, the disputes betwixt the two factions.
Under such evil auspices, and with corresponding forebodings on the mind
of Lady Peveril, the day of festivity at length arrived.
By different routes, and forming each a sort of procession, as if the
adherents of each party were desirous of exhibiting its strength and
numbers, the two several factions approached Martindale Castle; and so
distinct did they appear in dress, aspect, and manners, that it seemed
as if the revellers of a bridal party, and the sad attendants upon a
funeral solemnity, were moving towards the same point from different
quarters.
The puritanical party was by far the fewer in numbers, for which two
excellent reasons might be given. In the first place, they had enjoyed
power for several years, and, of course, became unpopular among the
common people, never at any time attached to those, who, being in the
immediate possession of authority, are often obliged to employ it in
controlling their humours. Besides, the country people of England had,
and still have, an animated attachment to field sports, and a natural
unrestrained joviality of disposition, which rendered them impatient
under the severe discipline of the fanatical preachers; while they
were not less naturally discontented with the military despotism of
Cromwell’s Major-Generals. Secondly, the people were fickle as usual,
and the return of the King had novelty in it, and was therefore popular.
The side of the Puritans was also deserted at this period by a numerous
class of more thinking and prudential persons, who never forsook them
till they became unfortunate. These sagacious personages were called in
that age the Waiters upon Providence, and deemed it a high delinquency
towards Heaven if they afforded countenance to any cause longer than it
was favoured by fortune.
But, though thus forsaken by the fickle and the selfish, a solemn
enthusiasm, a stern and determined depth of principle, a confidence in
the sincerity of their own motives, and the manly English pride which
inclined them to cling to their former opinions, like the traveller in
the fable to his cloak, the more strongly that the tempest blew around
them, detained in the ranks of the Puritans many, who, if no longer
formidable from numbers, were still so from their character. They
consisted chiefly of the middling gentry, with others whom industry
or successful speculations in commerce or in mining had raised into
eminence--the persons who feel most umbrage from the overshadowing
aristocracy, and are usually the most vehement in defence of what they
hold to be their rights. Their dress was in general studiously simple
and unostentatious, or only remarkable by the contradictory affectation
of extreme simplicity or carelessness. The dark colour of their cloaks,
varying from absolute black to what was called sad-coloured--their
steeple-crowned hats, with their broad shadowy brims--their long swords,
suspended by a simple strap around the loins, without shoulder-belt,
sword-knot, plate, buckles, or any of the other decorations with which
the Cavaliers loved to adorn their trusty rapiers,--the shortness of
their hair, which made their ears appear of disproportioned size,--above
all, the stern and gloomy gravity of their looks, announced their
belonging to that class of enthusiasts, who, resolute and undismayed,
had cast down the former fabric of government, and who now regarded
with somewhat more than suspicion, that which had been so unexpectedly
substituted in its stead. There was gloom in their countenances; but
it was not that of dejection, far less of despair. They looked like
veterans after a defeat, which may have checked their career and wounded
their pride, but has left their courage undiminished.
The melancholy, now become habitual, which overcast Major Bridgenorth’s
countenance, well qualified him to act as the chief of the group who
now advanced from the village. When they reached the point by which they
were first to turn aside into the wood which surrounded the Castle, they
felt a momentary impression of degradation, as if they were yielding the
high road to their old and oft-defeated enemies the Cavaliers. When they
began to ascend the winding path, which had been the daily passage of
the cattle, the opening of the wooded glade gave them a view of the
Castle ditch, half choked with the rubbish of the breach, and of
the breach itself, which was made at the angle of a large square
flanking-tower, one-half of which had been battered into ruins,
while the other fragment remained in a state strangely shattered and
precarious, and seemed to be tottering above the huge aperture in the
wall. A stern still smile was exchanged among the Puritans, as the
sight reminded them of the victories of former days. Holdfast Clegg, a
millwright of Derby, who had been himself active at the siege, pointed
to the breach, and said, with a grim smile to Mr. Solsgrace, “I little
thought, that when my own hand helped to level the cannon which Oliver
pointed against yon tower, we should have been obliged to climb like
foxes up the very walls which we won by our bow and by our spear.
Methought these malignants had then enough of shutting their gates and
making high their horn against us.”
“Be patient, my brother,” said Solsgrace; “be patient, and let not thy
soul be disquieted. We enter not this high place dishonourably, seeing
we ascend by the gate which the Lord opened to the godly.”
The words of the pastor were like a spark to gunpowder. The countenances
of the mournful retinue suddenly expanded, and, accepting what had
fallen from him as an omen and a light from heaven how they were to
interpret their present situation, they uplifted, with one consent, one
of the triumphant songs in which the Israelites celebrated the victories
which had been vouchsafed to them over the heathen inhabitants of the
Promised Land:--
“Let God arise, and then His foes
Shall turn themselves to flight,
His enemies for fear shall run,
And scatter out of sight;
And as wax melts before the fire,
And wind blows smoke away,
So in the presence of the Lord,
The wicked shall decay.
God’s army twenty thousand is,
Of angels bright and strong,
The Lord also in Sinai
Is present them among.
Thou didst, O Lord, ascend on high,
And captive led’st them all,
Who, in times past, Thy chosen flock
In bondage did enthral.”
These sounds of devotional triumph reached the joyous band of the
Cavaliers, who, decked in whatever pomp their repeated misfortunes and
impoverishment had left them, were moving towards the same point,
though by a different road, and were filling the principal avenue to
the Castle, with tiptoe mirth and revelry. The two parties were strongly
contrasted; for, during that period of civil dissension, the manners
of the different factions distinguished them as completely as separate
uniforms might have done. If the Puritan was affectedly plain in his
dress, and ridiculously precise in his manners, the Cavalier often
carried his love of ornament into tawdry finery, and his contempt of
hypocrisy into licentious profligacy. Gay gallant fellows, young and
old, thronged together towards the ancient Castle, with general and
joyous manifestation of those spirits, which, as they had been buoyant
enough to support their owners during the worst of times, as they termed
Oliver’s usurpation, were now so inflated as to transport them nearly
beyond the reach of sober reason. Feathers waved, lace glittered, spears
jingled, steeds caracoled; and here and there a petronel, or pistol, was
fired off by some one, who found his own natural talents for making a
noise inadequate to the dignity of the occasion. Boys--for, as we said
before, the rabble were with the uppermost party, as usual--halloo’d
and whooped, “Down with the Rump,” and “Fie upon Oliver!” Musical
instruments, of as many different fashions as were then in use, played
all at once, and without any regard to each other’s tune; and the glee
of the occasion, while it reconciled the pride of the high-born of the
party to fraternise with the general rout, derived an additional zest
from the conscious triumph, that their exultation was heard by their
neighbours, the crestfallen Roundheads.
When the loud and sonorous swell of the psalm-tune, multiplied by all
the echoes of the cliffs and ruinous halls, came full upon their ear,
as if to warn them how little they were to reckon upon the depression
of their adversaries, at first it was answered with a scornful laugh,
raised to as much height as the scoffers’ lungs would permit, in order
that it might carry to the psalmodists the contempt of their auditors;
but this was a forced exertion of party spleen. There is something in
melancholy feelings more natural to an imperfect and suffering state
than in those of gaiety, and when they are brought into collision, the
former seldom fail to triumph. If a funeral-train and wedding-procession
were to meet unexpectedly, it will readily be allowed that the mirth of
the last would be speedily merged in the gloom of the others. But the
Cavaliers, moreover, had sympathies of a different kind. The psalm-tune,
which now came rolling on their ear, had been heard too often, and upon
too many occasions had preceded victory gained over the malignants, to
permit them, even in their triumph, to hear it without emotion. There
was a sort of pause, of which the party themselves seemed rather
ashamed, until the silence was broken by the stout old knight, Sir
Jasper Cranbourne, whose gallantry was so universally acknowledged, that
he could afford, if we may use such an expression, to confess emotions,
which men whose courage was in any respect liable to suspicion, would
have thought it imprudent to acknowledge.
“Adad,” said the old Knight, “may I never taste claret again, if that is
not the very tune with which the prick-eared villains began their onset
at Wiggan Lane, where they trowled us down like so many ninepins! Faith,
neighbours, to say truth, and shame the devil, I did not like the sound
of it above half.”
“If I thought the round-headed rogues did it in scorn of us,” said
Dick Wildblood of the Dale, “I would cudgel their psalmody out of their
peasantly throats with this very truncheon;” a motion which, being
seconded by old Roger Raine, the drunken tapster of the Peveril Arms in
the village, might have brought on a general battle, but that Sir Jasper
forbade the feud.
“We’ll have no ranting, Dick,” said the old Knight to the young
Franklin; “adad, man, we’ll have none, for three reasons: first, because
it would be ungentle to Lady Peveril; then, because it is against
the King’s peace; and, lastly, Dick, because if we did set on the
psalm-singing knaves, thou mightest come by the worst, my boy, as has
chanced to thee before.”
“Who, I! Sir Jasper?” answered Dick--“I come by the worst!--I’ll be
d--d if it ever happened but in that accursed lane, where we had no
more flank, front, or rear, than if we had been so many herrings in a
barrel.”
“That was the reason, I fancy,” answered Sir Jasper, “that you, to mend
the matter, scrambled into the hedge, and stuck there, horse and man,
till I beat thee through it with my leading-staff; and then, instead of
charging to the front, you went right-about, and away as fast as your
feet would carry you.”
This reminiscence produced a laugh at Dick’s expense, who was known, or
at least suspected, to have more tongue in his head than mettle in
his bosom. And this sort of rallying on the part of the Knight having
fortunately abated the resentment which had begun to awaken in the
breasts of the royalist cavalcade, farther cause for offence was
removed, by the sudden ceasing of the sounds which they had been
disposed to interpret into those of premeditated insult.
This was owing to the arrival of the Puritans at the bottom of the large
and wide breach, which had been formerly made in the wall of the Castle
by their victorious cannon. The sight of its gaping heaps of rubbish,
and disjointed masses of building, up which slowly winded a narrow and
steep path, such as is made amongst ancient ruins by the rare passage of
those who occasionally visit them, was calculated, when contrasted with
the grey and solid massiveness of the towers and curtains which yet
stood uninjured, to remind them of their victory over the stronghold of
their enemies, and how they had bound nobles and princes with fetters of
iron.
But feelings more suitable to the purpose of their visit to Martindale
Castle, were awakened in the bosoms even of these stern sectaries,
when the Lady of the Castle, still in the very prime of beauty and of
womanhood, appeared at the top of the breach with her principal female
attendants, to receive her guests with the honour and courtesy becoming
her invitation. She had laid aside the black dress which had been her
sole attire for several years, and was arrayed with a splendour not
unbecoming her high descent and quality. Jewels, indeed, she had none;
but her long and dark hair was surmounted with a chaplet made of oak
leaves, interspersed with lilies; the former being the emblem of the
King’s preservation in the Royal Oak, and the latter of his happy
Restoration. What rendered her presence still more interesting to those
who looked on her, was the presence of the two children whom she held in
either hand; one of whom was well known to them all to be the child
of their leader, Major Bridgenorth, who had been restored to life and
health by the almost maternal care of the Lady Peveril.
If even the inferior persons of the party felt the healing influence of
her presence, thus accompanied, poor Bridgenorth was almost overwhelmed
with it. The strictness of his cast and manners permitted him not to
sink on his knee, and kiss the hand which held his little orphan; but
the deepness of his obeisance--the faltering tremor of his voice--and
the glistening of his eye, showed a grateful respect for the lady whom
he addressed, deeper and more reverential than could have been expressed
even by Persian prostration. A few courteous and mild words, expressive
of the pleasure she found in once more seeing her neighbours as her
friends--a few kind inquiries, addressed to the principal individuals
among her guests, concerning their families and connections, completed
her triumph over angry thoughts and dangerous recollections, and
disposed men’s bosoms to sympathise with the purposes of the meeting.
Even Solsgrace himself, although imagining himself bound by his office
and duty to watch over and counteract the wiles of the “Amalekitish
woman,” did not escape the sympathetic infection; being so much struck
with the marks of peace and good-will exhibited by Lady Peveril, that he
immediately raised the psalm--
“O what a happy thing it is,
And joyful, for to see
Brethren to dwell together in
Friendship and unity!”
Accepting this salutation as a mark of courtesy repaid, the Lady Peveril
marshalled in person this party of her guests to the apartment, where
ample good cheer was provided for them; and had even the patience to
remain while Master Nehemiah Solsgrace pronounced a benediction of
portentous length, as an introduction to the banquet. Her presence was
in some measure a restraint on the worthy divine, whose prolusion lasted
the longer, and was the more intricate and embarrassed, that he felt
himself debarred from rounding it off by his usual alliterative petition
for deliverance from Popery, Prelacy, and Peveril of the Peak, which had
become so habitual to him, that, after various attempts to conclude with
some other form of words, he found himself at last obliged to pronounce
the first words of his usual _formula_ aloud, and mutter the rest in
such a manner as not to be intelligible even by those who stood nearest
to him.
The minister’s silence was followed by all the various sounds which
announce the onset of a hungry company on a well-furnished table; and at
the same time gave the lady an opportunity to leave the apartment, and
look to the accommodation of her other company. She felt, indeed,
that it was high time to do so; and that the royalist guests might be
disposed to misapprehend, or even to resent, the prior attentions which
she had thought it prudent to offer to the Puritans.
These apprehensions were not altogether ill-founded. It was in vain that
the steward had displayed the royal standard, with its proud motto of
_Tandem Triumphans_, on one of the great towers which flanked the main
entrance of the Castle; while, from the other, floated the banner of
Peveril of the Peak, under which many of those who now approached had
fought during all the vicissitudes of civil war. It was in vain he
repeated his clamorous “Welcome, noble Cavaliers! welcome, generous
gentlemen!” There was a slight murmur amongst them, that their welcome
ought to have come from the mouth of the Colonel’s lady--not from that
of a menial. Sir Jasper Cranbourne, who had sense as well as spirit and
courage, and who was aware of his fair cousin’s motives, having been
indeed consulted by her upon all the arrangements which she had adopted,
saw matters were in such a state that no time ought to be lost in
conducting the guests to the banqueting apartment, where a fortunate
diversion from all these topics of rising discontent might be made, at
the expense of the good cheer of all sorts, which the lady’s care had so
liberally provided.
The stratagem of the old soldier succeeded in its utmost extent. He
assumed the great oaken-chair usually occupied by the steward at his
audits; and Dr. Dummerar having pronounced a brief Latin benediction
(which was not the less esteemed by the hearers that none of them
understood it), Sir Jasper exhorted the company to wet their appetites
to the dinner by a brimming cup to his Majesty’s health, filled as high
and as deep as their goblets would permit. In a moment all was bustle,
with the clank of wine-cups and of flagons. In another moment the guests
were on their feet like so many statues, all hushed as death, but with
eyes glancing with expectation, and hands outstretched, which displayed
their loyal brimmers. The voice of Sir Jasper, clear, sonorous, and
emphatic, as the sound of his war-trumpet, announced the health of the
restored Monarch, hastily echoed back by the assemblage, impatient to
render it due homage. Another brief pause was filled by the draining of
their cups, and the mustering breath to join in a shout so loud, that
not only the rafters of the old hall trembled while they echoed it
back, but the garlands of oaken boughs and flowers with which they
were decorated, waved wildly, and rustled as if agitated by a sudden
whirlwind. This rite observed, the company proceeded to assail the good
cheer with which the table groaned, animated as they were to the attack
both by mirth and melody, for they were attended by all the minstrels
of the district, who, like the Episcopal clergy, had been put to silence
during the reign of the self-entitled saints of the Commonwealth. The
social occupation of good eating and drinking, the exchange of pledges
betwixt old neighbours who had been fellow-soldiers in the moment of
resistance--fellow-sufferers in the time of depression and subjugation,
and were now partners in the same general subject of congratulation,
soon wiped from their memory the trifling cause of complaint, which in
the minds of some had darkened the festivity of the day; so that when
the Lady Peveril walked into the hall, accompanied as before with
the children and her female attendants, she was welcomed with the
acclamations due to the mistress of the banquet and of the Castle--the
dame of the noble Knight, who had led most of them to battle with an
undaunted and persevering valour, which was worthy of better success.
Her address to them was brief and matronly, yet spoken with so much
feeling as found its way to every bosom. She apologised for the lateness
of her personal welcome, by reminding them that there were then present
in Martindale Castle that day, persons whom recent happy events had
converted from enemies into friends, but on whom the latter character
was so recently imposed, that she dared not neglect with them any point
of ceremonial. But those whom she now addressed, were the best, the
dearest the most faithful friends of her husband’s house, to whom and to
their valour Peveril had not only owed those successes, which had given
them and him fame during the late unhappy times, but to whose courage
she in particular had owed the preservation of their leader’s life, even
when it could not avert defeat. A word or two of heartfelt authority,
completed all which she had boldness to add, and, bowing gracefully
round her, she lifted a cup to her lips as if to welcome her guests.
There still remained, and especially amongst the old Cavaliers of the
period, some glimmering of that spirit which inspired Froissart, when he
declares that a knight hath double courage at need, when animated by the
looks and words of a beautiful and virtuous woman. It was not until the
reign which was commencing at the moment we are treating of, that
the unbounded licence of the age, introducing a general course of
profligacy, degraded the female sex into mere servants of pleasure, and,
in so doing, deprived society of that noble tone of feeling towards
the sex, which, considered as a spur to “raise the clear spirit,”
is superior to every other impulse, save those of religion and of
patriotism. The beams of the ancient hall of Martindale Castle instantly
rang with a shout louder and shriller than that at which they had so
lately trembled, and the names of the Knight of the Peak and his lady
were proclaimed amid waving of caps and hats, and universal wishes for
their health and happiness.
Under these auspices the Lady Peveril glided from the hall, and left
free space for the revelry of the evening.
That of the Cavaliers may be easily conceived, since it had the usual
accompaniments of singing, jesting, quaffing of healths, and playing of
tunes, which have in almost every age and quarter of the world been the
accompaniments of festive cheer. The enjoyments of the Puritans were of
a different and less noisy character. They neither sung, jested, heard
music, nor drank healths; and yet they seemed not the less, in their own
phrase, to enjoy the creature-comforts, which the frailty of humanity
rendered grateful to their outward man. Old Whitaker even protested,
that, though much the smaller party in point of numbers, they discussed
nearly as much sack and claret as his own more jovial associates. But
those who considered the steward’s prejudices, were inclined to think,
that, in order to produce such a result, he must have thrown in his
own by-drinkings--no inconsiderable item--to the sum total of the
Presbyterian potations.
Without adopting such a partial and scandalous report, we shall
only say, that on this occasion, as on most others, the rareness of
indulgence promoted the sense of enjoyment, and that those who made
abstinence, or at least moderation, a point of religious principle,
enjoyed their social meeting the better that such opportunities rarely
presented themselves. If they did not actually drink each other’s
healths, they at least showed, by looking and nodding to each other as
they raised their glasses, that they all were sharing the same festive
gratification of the appetite, and felt it enhanced, because it was at
the same time enjoyed by their friends and neighbours. Religion, as it
was the principal topic of their thoughts, became also the chief subject
of their conversation, and as they sat together in small separate knots,
they discussed doctrinal and metaphysical points of belief, balanced the
merits of various preachers, compared the creeds of contending sects,
and fortified by scriptural quotations those which they favoured.
Some contests arose in the course of these debates, which might have
proceeded farther than was seemly, but for the cautious interference
of Major Bridgenorth. He suppressed also, in the very bud, a dispute
betwixt Gaffer Hodgeson of Charnelycot and the Reverend Mr. Solsgrace,
upon the tender subject of lay-preaching and lay-ministering; nor did he
think it altogether prudent or decent to indulge the wishes of some of
the warmer enthusiasts of the party, who felt disposed to make the rest
partakers of their gifts in extemporaneous prayer and exposition. These
were absurdities that belonged to the time, which, however, the Major
had sense enough to perceive were unfitted, whether the offspring of
hypocrisy or enthusiasm, for the present time and place.
The Major was also instrumental in breaking up the party at an early and
decorous hour, so that they left the Castle long before their rivals,
the Cavaliers, had reached the springtide of their merriment; an
arrangement which afforded the greatest satisfaction to the lady, who
dreaded the consequences which might not improbably have taken place,
had both parties met at the same period and point of retreat.
It was near midnight ere the greater part of the Cavaliers, meaning such
as were able to effect their departure without assistance, withdrew to
the village of Martindale Moultrassie, with the benefit of the broad
moon to prevent the chance of accidents. Their shouts, and the burden of
their roaring chorus of--
“The King shall enjoy his own again!”
were heard with no small pleasure by the lady, heartily glad that
the riot of the day was over without the occurrence of any unpleasing
accident. The rejoicing was not, however, entirely ended; for the
elevated Cavaliers, finding some of the villagers still on foot around a
bonfire on the street, struck merrily in with them--sent to Roger Raine
of the Peveril Arms, the loyal publican whom we have already mentioned,
for two tubs of merry stingo (as it was termed), and lent their own
powerful assistance at the _dusting_ it off to the health of the King
and the loyal General Monk. Their shouts for a long time disturbed, and
even alarmed, the little village; but no enthusiasm is able to
withstand for ever the natural consequences of late hours, and potations
pottle-deep. The tumult of the exulting Royalists at last sunk into
silence, and the moon and the owl were left in undisturbed sovereignty
over the old tower of the village church, which, rising white above a
circle of knotty oaks, was tenanted by the bird, and silvered by the
planet.