Quentin Durward
Sir Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXXVII: THE SALLY Page 3
"Hold but an instant," said the Lord Crawford, "it may be better than your Grace conjectures. Hear but what this cavalier has to say. -- Speak out, man, and a murrain to thee," he added, apart to Le Balafre.
"May it please your Majesty and your Grace," said Crawford, "I must speak for my countryman and old comrade. You shall understand he has had it prophesied to him by a seer in his own land, that the fortune of his house is to be made by marriage; but as he is, like myself, something the worse for the wear -- loves the wine house better than a lady's summer parlour, and, in short, having some barrack tastes and likings, which would make greatness in his own person rather an encumbrance to him, he hath acted by my advice, and resigns the pretentions acquired' by the fate of slaying William de la Marck, to him by whom the Wild Boar was actually brought to bay, who is his maternal nephew."
"I, then," said Charles, "owe him some reparation for doubting his veracity."
"And I can attest his gallantry as a man at arms," said Dunois.
"But," interrupted Crevecoeur, "though the uncle be a Scottish gentillatre, makes not the nephew necessarily so."
"He is of the House of Durward," said Crawford, "descended from that Allan Durward who was High Steward of Scotland."
"Nay, if it be young Durward," said Crevecoeur, "I say no more. -- Fortune has declared herself on his side too plainly for me to struggle farther with her humoursome ladyship -- but it is strange, from lord to horseboy, how wonderfully these Scots stick by each other."
"Highlander shoulder to shoulder," answered Lord Crawford, laughing at the mortification of the proud Burgundian.
"We have yet to inquire," said Charles thoughtfully, "what the fair lady's sentiments may be towards this fortunate adventurer."
"By the mass" said Crevecoeur, "I have but too much reason to believe your Grace will find her more amenable to authority than on former occasions. -- But why should I grudge this youth his preferment? Since, after all, it is sense, firmness, and gallantry which have put him in possession of WEALTH, RANK, and BEAUTY!"
* * * * *
I had already sent these sheets to the press, concluding, as I thought, with a moral of excellent tendency for the encouragement of all fair haired, blue eyed, long legged, stout hearted emigrants from my native country, might be willing in stirring times to take up the gallant profession of Cavalieros of Fortune. But a friendly monitor, one of those who, like the lump of sugar which is found at the bottom of a tea cup, as well as the flavour of the souchong itself, has entered a bitter remonstrance, and insists that I should give a precise and particular account of the espousals of the young heir of Glen Houlakin and the lovely Flemish Countess, and tell what tournaments were held, and how many lances were broken, upon so interesting an occasion; nor withhold from the curious reader the number of sturdy boys who inherited the valour of Quentin Durward, and of bright damsels, in whom were renewed the charms of Isabelle de Croye. I replied, in course of post, that times were changed, and public weddings were entirely out of fashion. In days traces of which I myself can remember, not only were the "fifteen friends" of the happy pair invited to witness their Union, but the bridal minstrelsy still continued, as in the "Ancient Mariner," to "nod their heads" till morning shone on them. The sack posset was eaten in the nuptial chamber -- the stocking was thrown -- and the bride's garter was struggled for in presence of the happy couple whom Hymen had made one flesh. The authors of the period were laudably accurate in following its fashions. They spared you not a blush of the bride, not a rapturous glance of the bridegroom, not a diamond in her hair, not a button on his embroidered waistcoat; until at length, with Astraea, "they fairly put their characters to bed." (the reference is to the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn. "The stage how loosely doth Astraea tread, fairly puts each character to bed.") But how little does this agree with the modest privacy which induces our modern brides -- sweet bashful darlings! -- to steal from pomp and plate, and admiration and flattery, and, like honest Shenstone ((1714-1763): an English poet best known by The Schoolmistress),
"Seek for freedom at an inn!"
"Some better bard shall sing, in feudal state How Bracquemont's Castle op'd its Gothic gate, When on the wand'ring Scot, its lovely heir Bestow'd her beauty and an earldom fair."
END