The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (good summer reads txt) 📕

As Nigel presented himself in his turn at the entrance, and mentioned his name and title, Maxwell seemed to hesitate. “You are not known to any one,” he said. “It is my duty to suffer no one to pass to the presence, my lord, whose face is unknown to me, unless upon the word of a responsible person.”

“I came with Master George Heriot,” said Nigel, in some embarrassment at this unexpected interruption.

“Master Heriot's name will pass current for much gold and silver, my lord,” replied Maxwell, with a civil sneer, “but not for birth and rank. I am compelled by my office to be peremptory.—The entrance is impeded—I am much concerned to say it—your lordship must stand back.”

“What is the matter?” said an old Scottish nobleman, who had been speaking with George Heriot, after he had separated from Nigel, and who now came forward, observing the altercation betwixt the latter and Maxwell.

“It is only Master Deputy-Chamberlain Maxwell,” said Sir Mungo Malagrowther, “expressing his joy to see Lord Glenvarloch at Court, whose father gave him his office—at least I think he is speaking to that purport—for your lordship kens my imperfection.” A subdued laugh, such as the situation permitted, passed round amongst those who heard this specimen of Sir Mungo's sarcastic temper. But the old nobleman stepped still more forward, saying,—“What!—the son of my gallant old opponent, Ochtred Olifaunt—I will introduce him to the presence myself.”

So saying, he took Nigel by the arm, without farther ceremony, and was about to lead him forward, when Maxwell, still keeping his rod across the door, said, but with hesitation and embarrassment—“My lord, this gentleman is not known, and I have orders to be scrupulous.”

“Tutti—taiti, man,” said the old lord, “I will be answerable he is his father's son, from the cut of his eyebrow—and thou, Maxwell, knewest his father well enough to have spared thy scruples. Let us pass, man.” So saying, he put aside the deputy-chamberlain's rod, and entered the presence-room, still holding the young nobleman by the arm.

“Why, I must know you, man,” he said; “I must know you. I knew your father well, man, and I have broke a lance and crossed a blade with him; and it is to my credit that I am living to brag of it. He was king's-man and I was queen's-man during the Douglas wars—young fellows both, that feared neither fire nor steel; and we had some old feudal quarrels besides, that had come down from father to son, with our seal-rings, two-harided broad-swords, and plate-coats, and the crests on our burgonets.”

“Too loud, my Lord of Huntinglen,” whispered a gentleman of the chamber,—“The King!—the King!”

The old earl (for such he proved) took the hint, and was silent; and James, advancing from a side-door, received in succession the compliments of strangers, while a little group of favourite courtiers, or officers of the household, stood around him, to whom he addressed himself from time to time. Some more pains had been bestowed on his toilette than upon the occasion when we first presented the monarch to our readers; but there was a natural awkwardness about his figure which prevented his clothes from sitting handsomely, and the prudence or timidity of his disposition had made him adopt the custom already noticed, of wearing a dress so thickly quilted as might withstand the stroke of a dagger, which added an ungainly stiffness to his whole appearance, contrasting oddly with the frivolous, ungraceful, and fidgeting motions with which he accompanied his conversation. And yet, though the king's deportment was very undignified, he had a manner so kind, familiar, and good-humoured, was so little apt to veil over or conceal his own foibles, and had so much indulgence and sympathy for those of others, that his address, joined to his learning, and a certain proportion of shrewd mother-wit, failed not to make a favourable impression on those who approached his person.

When the Earl of Huntinglen had presented Nigel to his sovereign, a ceremony which the good peer took upon himself, the king received the young lord very graciously, and observed to his introducer, that he “was fain to see them twa stand side by side; for I trow, my Lord Huntinglen,” continued he, “your ancestors, ay, and e'en your lordship's self and this lad's father, have stood front to front at the sword's point, and that is a worse posture.”

“Until your Majesty,” said Lord Huntinglen, “made Lord Ochtred and me cross palms, upon the memorable day when your Majesty feasted all the nobles that were at feud together, and made them join hands in your presence—”

“I mind it weel,” said the king; “I mind it weel—it was a blessed day, being the nineteen of September, of all days in the year—and it was a blithe sport to see how some of the carles girned as they clapped loofs together. By my saul, I thought some of them, mair special the Hieland chiels, wad have broken out in our own presence; but we caused them to march hand in hand to the Cross, ourselves leading the way, and there drink a blithe cup of kindness with ilk other, to the stanching of feud, and perpetuation of amity. Auld John Anderson was Provost that year—the carle grat for joy, and the bailies and councillors danced bare-headed in our presence like five-year-auld colts, for very triumph.”

“It was indeed a happy day,” said Lord Huntinglen, “and will not be forgotten in the history of your Majesty's reign.”

“I would not that it were, my lord,” replied the monarch—“I would not that it were pretermitted in our annals. Ay, ay—BEATI PACIFICI. My English lieges here may weel make much of me, for I would have them to know, they have gotten the only peaceable man that ever came of my family. If James with the Fiery Face had come amongst you,” he said, looking round him, “or my great grandsire, of Flodden memory!”

“We should have sent him back to the north again,” whispered one English nobleman.

“At least,” said another, in the same inaudible tone, “we should have had a MAN to our sovereign, though he were but a Scotsman.”

“And now, my young springald,” said the king to Lord Glenvarloch, “where have you been spending your calf-time?”

“At Leyden, of late, may it please your Majesty,” answered Lord Nigel.

“Aha! a scholar,” said the king; “and, by my saul, a modest and ingenuous youth, that hath not forgotten how to blush, like most of our travelled Monsieurs. We will treat him conformably.”

Then drawing himself up, coughing slightly, and looking around him with the conscious importance of superior learning, while all the courtiers who understood, or understood not, Latin, pressed eagerly forward to listen, the sapient monarch prosecuted his inquiries as follows:—

“Hem! hem! salve bis, quaterque salve, glenvarlochides noster! Nuperumne ab lugduno batavorum britanniam rediisti?”

The young nobleman replied, bowing low—

“Imo, rex augustissime—biennium fere apud lugdunenses Moratus sum.”

James proceeded—

“Biennium dicis? Bene, bene, optume factum est—non uno Die, quod dicunt,—intelligisti, domine glenvarlochiensis? Aha!”

Nigel replied by a reverent bow, and the king, turning to those behind him, said—