The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (bookreader .txt) 📖

and Steenie laying his duty before him; and if he can resist doing what they desire him—why, I wish he would teach me the gate of it. O Geordie, Jingling Geordie, it was grand to hear Baby Charles laying down the guilt of dissimulation, and Steenie lecturing on the turpitude of incontinence!”

“I am afraid,” said George Heriot, more hastily than prudently, “I might have thought of the old proverb of Satan reproving sin.”

“Deil hae our saul, neighbour,” said the king, reddening, “but ye are not blate! I gie ye license to speak freely, and, by our saul, ye do not let the privilege become lost non utendo—it will suffer no negative prescription in your hands. Is it fit, think ye, that Baby Charles should let his thoughts be publicly seen?—No—no—princes' thoughts are arcana imperii—Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare. Every liege subject is bound to speak the whole truth to the king, but there is nae reciprocity of obligation—and for Steenie having been whiles a dike-louper at a time, is it for you, who are his goldsmith, and to whom, I doubt, he awes an uncomatable sum, to cast that up to him?”

Heriot did not feel himself called on to play the part of Zeno and sacrifice himself for upholding the cause of moral truth; he did not desert it, however, by disavowing his words, but simply expressed sorrow for having offended his Majesty, with which the placable king was sufficiently satisfied.

“And now, Geordie, man,” quoth he, “we will to this culprit, and hear what he has to say for himself, for I will see the job cleared this blessed day. Ye maun come wi' me, for your evidence may be wanted.”

The king led the way, accordingly, into a larger apartment, where the Prince, the Duke of Buckingham, and one or two privy counsellors were seated at a table, before which stood Lord Dalgarno, in an attitude of as much elegant ease and indifference as could be expressed, considering the stiff dress and manners of the times.

All rose and bowed reverently, while the king, to use a north country word, expressive of his mode of locomotion, toddled to his chair or throne, making a sign to Heriot to stand behind him.

“We hope,” said his Majesty, “that Lord Dalgarno stands prepared to do justice to this unfortunate lady, and to his own character and honour?”

“May I humbly inquire the penalty,” said Lord Dalgarno, “in case I should unhappily find compliance with your Majesty's demands impossible?”

“Banishment frae our Court, my lord,” said the king; “frae our Court and our countenance.”

“Unhappy exile that I may be!” said Lord Dalgarno, in a tone of subdued irony—“I will at least carry your Majesty's picture with me, for I shall never see such another king.”

“And banishment, my lord,” said the Prince, sternly, “from these our dominions.”

“That must be by form of law, please your Royal Highness,” said Dalgarno, with an affectation of deep respect; “and I have not heard that there is a statute, compelling us, under such penalty, to marry every woman we may play the fool with. Perhaps his Grace of Buckingham can tell me?”

“You are a villain, Dalgarno,” said the haughty and vehement favourite.

“Fie, my lord, fie!—to a prisoner, and in presence of your royal and paternal gossip!” said Lord Dalgarno. “But I will cut this deliberation short. I have looked over this schedule of the goods and effects of Erminia Pauletti, daughter of the late noble—yes, he is called the noble, or I read wrong, Giovanni Pauletti, of the Houee of Sansovino, in Genoa, and of the no less noble Lady Maud Olifaunt, of the House of Glenvarloch—Well, I declare that I was pre-contracted in Spain to this noble lady, and there has passed betwixt us some certain proelibatio matrimonii; and now, what more does this grave assembly require of me?”

“That you should repair the gross and infamous wrong you have done the lady, by marrying her within this hour,” said the Prince.

“O, may it please your Royal Highness,” answered Dalgarno, “I have a trifling relationship with an old Earl, who calls himself my father, who may claim some vote in the matter. Alas! every son is not blessed with an obedient parent!” He hazarded a slight glance towards the throne, to give meaning to his last words.

“We have spoken ourselves with Lord Huntinglen,” said the king, “and are authorised to consent in his name.”

“I could never have expected this intervention of a proxaneta, which the vulgar translate blackfoot, of such eminent dignity,” said Dalgarno, scarce concealing a sneer. “And my father hath consented? He was wont to say, ere we left Scotland, that the blood of Huntinglen and of Glenvarloch would not mingle, were they poured into the same basin. Perhaps he has a mind to try the experiment?”

“My lord,” said James, “we will not be longer trifled with—Will you instantly, and sine mora, take this lady to your wife, in our chapel?”

“Statim atque instanter,” answered Lord Dalgarno; “for I perceive by doing so, I shall obtain power to render great services to the commonwealth—I shall have acquired wealth to supply the wants of your Majesty, and a fair wife to be at the command of his Grace of Buckingham.”

The Duke rose, passed to the end of the table where Lord Dalgarno was standing, and whispered in his ear, “You have placed a fair sister at my command ere now.”

This taunt cut deep through Lord Dalgarno's assumed composure. He started as if an adder had stung him, but instantly composed himself, and, fixing on the Duke's still smiling countenance an eye which spoke unutterable hatred, he pointed the forefinger of his left hand to the hilt of his sword, but in a manner which could scarce be observed by any one save Buckingham. The Duke gave him another smile of bitter scorn, and returned to his seat, in obedience to the commands of the king, who continued calling out, “Sit down, Steenie, sit down, I command ye—we will hae nae harnsbreaking here.”

“Your Majesty needs not fear my patience,” said Lord Dalgarno; “and that I may keep it the better, I will not utter another word in this presence, save those enjoined to me in that happy portion of the Prayer-Book, which begins with Dearly Beloved, and ends with amazement.”

“You are a hardened villain, Dalgarno,” said the king; “and were I the lass, by my father's saul, I would rather brook the stain of having been your concubine, than run the risk of becoming your wife. But she shall be under our special protection.—Come, my lords, we will ourselves see this blithesome bridal.” He gave the signal by rising, and moved towards the door, followed by the train. Lord Dalgarno attended, speaking to none, and spoken to by no one, yet seeming as easy and unembarrassed in his gait and manner as if in reality a happy bridegroom.

They reached the Chapel by a private entrance, which communicated from the royal apartment. The Bishop of Winchester, in his pontifical dress, stood beside the altar; on the other side, supported by Monna Paula, the colourless, faded, half-lifeless form of the Lady Hermione, or Erminia Pauletti. Lord Dalgarno bowed profoundly to her, and