The Fortunes of Nigel

On the morning of the bridal-day, Richie was particularly attentive in doing all a valet-de-chambre could, so as to set off to advantage the very handsome figure of his master; and when he had arranged his dress to the utmost exactness, and put to his long curled locks what he called “the finishing touch of the redding-kaim,” he gravely kneeled down, kissed his hand, and bade him farewell, saying that he humbly craved leave to discharge himself of his lordship’s service.

“Why, what humour is this?” said Lord Glenvarloch; “if you mean to discharge yourself of my service, Richie, I suppose you intend to enter my wife’s?”

“I wish her good ladyship that shall soon be, and your good lordship, the blessings of as good a servant as myself, in heaven’s good time,” said Richie; “but fate hath so ordained it, that I can henceforth only be your servant in the way of friendly courtesy.”

“Well, Richie,” said the young lord, “if you are tired of service, we will seek some better provision for you; but you will wait on me to the church, and partake of the bridal dinner?”

“Under favour, my lord,” answered Richie; “I must remind you of our covenant, having presently some pressing business of mine own, whilk will detain me during the ceremony; but I will not fail to prie Master George’s good cheer, in respect he has made very costly fare, whilk it would be unthankful not to partake of.”

“Do as you list,” answered Lord Glenvarloch; and having bestowed a passing thought on the whimsical and pragmatical disposition of his follower, he dismissed the subject for others better suited to the day.

The reader must fancy the scattered flowers which strewed the path of the happy couple to church – the loud music which accompanied the procession – the marriage service performed by a bishop – the king, who met them at Saint Paul’s, giving away the bride, – to the great relief of her father, who had thus time, during the ceremony, to calculate the just quotient to be laid on the pinion of report in a timepiece which he was then putting together.

When the ceremony was finished, the company were transported in the royal carriages to George Heriot’s, where a splendid collation was provided for the marriage-guests in the Foljambe apartments. The king no sooner found himself in this snug retreat, than, casting from him his sword and belt with such haste as if they burnt his fingers, and flinging his plumed hat on the table, as who should say, Lie there, authority! he swallowed a hearty cup of wine to the happiness of the married couple, and began to amble about the room, mumping, laughing, and cracking jests, neither the wittiest nor the most delicate, but accompanied and applauded by shouts of his own mirth, in order to encourage that of the company. Whilst his Majesty was in the midst of this gay humour, and a call to the banquet was anxiously expected, a servant whispered Master Heriot forth of the apartment. When he re-entered, he walked up to the king, and, in his turn whispered something, at which James started.

“He is not wanting his siller?” said the king, shortly and sharply.

“By no means, my liege,” answered Heriot. “It is a subject he states himself as quite indifferent about, so long as it can pleasure your Majesty.”

“Body of us, man!” said the king, “it is the speech of a true man and a loving subject, and we will grace him accordingly – what though he be but a carle – a twopenny cat may look at a king. Swith, man! have him —pundite fores. – Moniplies? – They should have called the chield Monypennies, though I sall warrant you English think we have not such a name in Scotland.”

“It is an ancient and honourable stock, the Monypennies,” said Sir Mungo Malagrowther; “the only loss is, there are sae few of the name.”

“The family seems to increase among your countrymen, Sir Mungo,” said Master Lowestoffe, whom Lord Glenvarloch had invited to be present, “since his Majesty’s happy accession brought so many of you here.”

“Right, sir – right,” said Sir Mungo, nodding and looking at George Heriot; “there have some of ourselves been the better of that great blessing to the English nation.”

As he spoke, the door flew open, and in entered, to the astonishment of Lord Glenvarloch, his late serving-man Richie Moniplies, now sumptuously, nay, gorgeously, attired in a superb brocaded suit, and leading in his hand the tall, thin, withered, somewhat distorted form of Martha Trapbois, arrayed in a complete dress of black velvet, which suited so strangely with the pallid and severe melancholy of her countenance, that the king himself exclaimed, in some perturbation, “What the deil has the fallow brought us here? Body of our regal selves! it is a corpse that has run off with the mort-cloth!”

“May I sifflicate your Majesty to be gracious unto her?” said Richie; “being that she is, in respect of this morning’s wark, my ain wedded wife, Mrs. Martha Moniplies by name.”

“Saul of our body, man! but she looks wondrous grim,” answered King James. “Art thou sure she has not been in her time maid of honour to Queen Mary, our kinswoman, of redhot memory?”

“I am sure, an it like your Majesty, that she has brought me fifty thousand pounds of good siller, and better; and that has enabled me to pleasure your Majesty, and other folk.”

“Ye need have said naething about that, man,” said the king; “we ken our obligations in that sma’ matter, and we are glad this rudas spouse of thine hath bestowed her treasure on ane wha kens to put it to the profit of his king and country. – But how the deil did ye come by her, man?”

“In the auld Scottish fashion, my liege. She is the captive of my bow and my spear,” answered Moniplies. “There was a convention that she should wed me when I avenged her father’s death – so I slew, and took possession.”

“It is the daughter of Old Trapbois, who has been missed so long,” said Lowestoffe. – “Where the devil could you mew her up so closely, friend Richie?”

“Master Richard, if it be your will,” answered Richie; “or Master Richard Moniplies, if you like it better. For mewing of her up, I found her a shelter, in all honour and safety, under the roof of an honest countryman of my own – and for secrecy, it was a point of prudence, when wantons like you were abroad, Master Lowestoffe.”

There was a laugh at Richie’s magnanimous reply, on the part of every one but his bride, who made to him a signal of impatience, and said, with her usual brevity and sternness, – “Peace – peace, I pray you, peace. Let us do that which we came for.” So saying, she took out a bundle of parchments, and delivering them to Lord Glenvarloch, she said aloud, – “I take this royal presence, and all here, to witness, that I restore the ransomed lordship of Glenvarloch to the right owner, as free as ever it was held by any of his ancestors.”

“I witnessed the redemption of the mortgage,” said Lowestoffe; “but I little dreamt by whom it had been redeemed.”

“No need ye should,” said Richie; “there would have been small wisdom in crying roast-meat.”

“Peace,” said his bride, “once more. – This paper,” she continued, delivering another to Lord Glenvarloch, “is also your property – take it, but spare me the question how it came into my custody.”

The king had bustled forward beside Lord Glenvarloch, and fixing an eager eye on the writing, exclaimed – “Body of ourselves, it is our royal sign-manual for the money which was so long out of sight! – How came you by it, Mistress Bride?”

“It is a secret,” said Martha, dryly.

“A secret which my tongue shall never utter,” said Richie, resolutely, – “unless the king commands me on my allegiance.”

“I do – I do command you,” said James, trembling and stammering with the impatient curiosity of a gossip; while Sir Mungo, with more malicious anxiety to get at the bottom of the mystery, stooped his long thin form forward like a bent fishing-rod, raised his thin grey locks from his ear, and curved his hand behind it to collect every vibration of the expected intelligence. Martha in the meantime frowned most ominously on Richie, who went on undauntedly to inform the king, “that his deceased father-in-law, a good careful man in the main, had a’ touch of worldly wisdom about him, that at times marred the uprightness of his walk; he liked to dabble among his neighbour’s gear, and some of it would at times stick to his fingers in the handling.”

“For shame, man, for shame!” said Martha; “since the infamy of the deed must be told, be it at least briefly. – Yes, my lord,” she added, addressing Glenvarloch, “the piece of gold was not the sole bait which brought the miserable old man to your chamber that dreadful night – his object, and he accomplished it, was to purloin this paper. The wretched scrivener was with him that morning, and, I doubt not, urged the doting old man to this villainy, to offer another bar to the ransom of your estate. If there was a yet more powerful agent at the bottom of this conspiracy, God forgive it to him at this moment, for he is now where the crime must be answered!”

“Amen!” said Lord Glenvarloch, and it was echoed by all present.

“For my father,” continued she, with her stern features twitched by an involuntary and convulsive movement, “his guilt and folly cost him his life; and my belief is constant, that the wretch, who counselled him that morning to purloin the paper, left open the window for the entrance of the murderers.”

Every body was silent for an instant; the king was first to speak, commanding search instantly to be made for the guilty scrivener. “I, lictor,” he concluded, “colliga manus – caput obnubito-infelici suspendite arbori.”

Lowestoffe answered with due respect, that the scrivener had absconded at the time of Lord Dalgarno’s murder, and had not been heard of since.

“Let him be sought for,” said the king. “And now let us change the discourse – these stories make one’s very blood grew, and are altogether unfit for bridal festivity. Hymen, O Hymenee!” added he, snapping his fingers, “Lord Glenvarloch, what say you to Mistress Moniplies, this bonny bride, that has brought you back your father’s estate on your bridal day?”

“Let him say nothing, my liege,” said Martha; “that will best suit his feelings and mine.”

“There is redemption-money, at the least, to be repaid,” said Lord Glenvarloch; “in that I cannot remain debtor.”

“We will speak of it hereafter,” said Martha; “my debtor you cannot be.” And she shut her mouth as if determined to say nothing more on the subject.

Sir Mungo, however, resolved not to part with the topic, and availing himself of the freedom of the moment, said to Richie – “A queer story that of your father-in-law, honest man; methinks your bride thanked you little for ripping it up.”

“I make it a rule, Sir Mungo,” replied Richie, “always to speak any evil I know about my family myself, having observed, that if I do not, it is sure to be told by ither folks.”

“But, Richie,” said Sir Mungo, “it seems to me that this bride of yours is like to be master and mair in the conjugal state.”

“If she abides by words, Sir Mungo,” answered Richie, “I thank heaven I can be as deaf as any one; and if she comes to dunts, I have twa hands to paik her with.”

“Weel said, Richie, again,” said the king; “you have gotten it on baith haffits, Sir Mungo. – Troth, Mistress Bride, for a fule, your gudeman has a pretty turn of wit.”

“There are fools, sire,” replied she, “who have wit, and fools who have courage – aye, and fools who have learning, and are great fools notwithstanding. – I chose this man because he was my protector when I was desolate, and neither for his wit nor his wisdom. He is truly honest, and has a heart and hand that make amends for some folly. Since I was condemned to seek a protector through the world, which is to me a wilderness, I may thank God that I have come by no worse.”

“And that is sae sensibly said,” replied the king, “that, by my saul, I’ll try whether I canna make him better. Kneel down, Richie – somebody lend me a rapier – yours, Mr. Langstaff, (that’s a brave name for a lawyer,) – ye need not flash it out that gate, Templar fashion, as if ye were about to pink a bailiff!”

He took the drawn sword, and with averted eyes, for it was a sight he loved not to look on, endeavoured to lay it on Richie’s shoulder, but nearly stuck it into his eye. Richie, starting back, attempted to rise, but was held down by Lowestoffe, while Sir Mungo, guiding the royal weapon, the honour-bestowing blow was given and received: “Surge, carnifex– Rise up, Sir Richard Moniplies, of Castle-Collop! – And, my lords and lieges, let us all to our dinner, for the cock-a-leekie is cooling.”

NOTES

Note I. p. l4. – DAVID RAMSAY

David Ramsay, watchmaker and horologer to James I., was a real person, though the author has taken the liberty of pressing him into the service of fiction. Although his profession led him to cultivate the exact sciences, like many at this period he mingled them with pursuits which were mystical and fantastic. The truth was, that the boundaries between truth and falsehood in mathematics, astronomy, and similar pursuits, were not exactly known, and there existed a sort of terra incognita between them, in which the wisest men bewildered themselves. David Ramsay risked his money on the success of the vaticinations which his researches led him to form, since he sold clocks and watches under condition, that their value should not become payable till King James was crowned in the Pope’s chair at Rome. Such wagers were common in that day, as may be seen by looking at Jonson’s Every Man out of his Humour.

David Ramsay was also an actor in another singular scene, in which the notorious astrologer Lilly was a performer, and had no small expectation on the occasion, since he brought with him a half-quartern sack to put the treasure in.

“David Ramsay, his Majesty’s clock-maker, had been informed that there was a great quantity of treasure buried in the cloister of Westminster Abbey. He acquaints Dean Withnam therewith, who was also then Bishop of Lincoln. The Dean gave him liberty to search after it, with this proviso, that if any was discovered, his church should have a share of it. Davy Ramsay finds out one John Scott, who pretended the use of the Mosaical rods, to assist him herein. [Footnote: The same now called, I believe, the Divining Rod, and applied to the discovery of water not obvious to the eye.] I was desired to join with him, unto which I consented. One winter’s night, Davy Ramsay, with several gentlemen, myself, and Scott, entered the cloisters. We played the hazel rods round about the cloisters. Upon the west end of the cloisters the rods turned one over another, an argument that the treasure was there. The labourers digged at least six feet deep, and then we met with a coffin; but which, in regard it was not heavy, we did not open, which we afterwards much repented.

“From the cloisters we went into the abbey church, where, upon a sudden, (there being no wind when we began,) so fierce and so high, so blustering and loud a wind did rise, that we verily believed the west end of the church would have fallen upon us. Our rods would not move at all; the candles and torches, also, but one were extinguished, or burned very dimly. John Scott, my partner, was amazed, looked pale, knew not what to think or do, until I gave directions and command to dismiss the demons; which, when done, all was quiet again, and each man returned unto his lodging late, about twelve o’clock at night. I could never since be induced to join with any such like actions.

“The true miscarriage of the business was by reason of so many people being present at the operation; for there was about thirty, some laughing, others deriding us; so that, if we had not dismissed the demons, I believe most part of the abbey church would have been blown down. Secrecy and intelligent operators, with a strong confidence and knowledge of what they are doing, are best for the work.” – LILLY’S Life and Times, p. 46.

David Ramsay had a son called William Ramsay, who appears to have possessed all his father’s credulity. He became an astrologer, and in 1651-2 published “Vox Stellarum, an Introduction to the Judgment of Eclipses and the Annual Revolutions of the World.” The edition of 1652 is inscribed, to his father. It would appear, as indeed it might be argued from his mode of disposing of his goods, that the old horologer had omitted to make hay while the sun shone; for his son, in his dedication, has this exception to the paternal virtues, “It’s true your carelessness in laying up while the sun shone for the tempests of a stormy day, hath given occasion to some inferior spirited people not to value you according to what you are by nature and in yourself, for such look not to a man longer than he is in prosperity, esteeming none but for their wealth, not wisdom, power, nor virtue.” From these expressions, it is to be apprehended that while old David Ramsay, a follower of the Stewarts, sunk under the Parliamentary government, his son, William, had advanced from being a dupe to astrology to the dignity of being himself a cheat.

Note II. p. 27. – GEORGE HERIOT

This excellent person was but little known by his actions when alive, but we may well use, in this particular, the striking phrase of Scripture, “that being dead he yet speaketh.” We have already mentioned, in the Introduction, the splendid charity of which he was the founder; the few notices of his personal history are slight and meagre.

George Heriot was born at Trabroun, in the parish of Gladsmuir; he was the eldest son of a goldsmith in Edinburgh, descended from a family of some consequence in East Lothian. His father enjoyed the confidence of his fellow-citizens, and was their representative in Parliament. He was, besides, one of the deputies sent by the inhabitants of the city to propitiate the King, when he had left Edinburgh abruptly, after the riot of 17th December, 1596.

George Heriot, the son, pursued his father’s occupation of a goldsmith, then peculiarly lucrative, and much connected with that of a money-broker. He enjoyed the favour and protection of James, and of his consort, Anne of Denmark. He married, for his first wife, a maiden of his own rank, named Christian Marjoribanks, daughter of a respectable burgess. This was in 1586. He was afterwards named jeweller to the Queen, whose account to him for a space of ten years amounted to nearly L40,000. George Heriot, having lost his wife, connected himself with the distinguished house of Rosebery, by marrying a daughter of James Primrose, Clerk to the Privy Council. Of this lady he was deprived by her dying in child-birth in 1612, before attaining her twenty-first year. After a life spent in honourable and successful industry, George Heriot died in London, to which city he had followed his royal master, on the 12th February, 1624, at the age of sixty-one years. His picture, (copied by Scougal from a lost original,) in which he is represented in the prime of life, is thus described: “His fair hair, which overshades the thoughtful brow and calm calculating eye, with the cast of humour on the lower part of the countenance, are all indicative of the genuine Scottish character, and well distinguish a person fitted to move steadily and wisely through the world, with a strength of resolution to ensure success, and a disposition to enjoy it.” —Historical and Descriptive Account of Heriot’s Hospital, with a Memoir of the Founder, by Messrs James and John Johnstone. Edinburgh, 1827.

I may add, as every thing concerning George Heriot is interesting, that his second wife, Alison Primrose, was interred in Saint Gregory’s Church, from the register of which parish the Rev. Mr. Barham, Rector, has, in the kindest manner, sent me the following extract: – “Mrs. Alison, the wife of Mr. George Heriot, gentleman, 20th April, 1612.” Saint Gregory’s, before the Great Fire of London which consumed the Cathedral, formed one of the towers of old Saint Paul’s, and occupied the space of ground now filled by Queen Anne’s statue. In the south aisle of the choir Mrs. Heriot reposed under a handsome monument, bearing the following inscription: —

“Sanctissimae et charissimae conjugi ALISONAE HERIOT, Jacobi Primrosii, Regia Majestatis in Sanctiori Concilio Regni Scotia Amanuensis, filiae, fernina omnibus turn animi turn corporis dotibus, ac pio cultu instructissimae, maestissimus ipsius maritus GEORGIUS HERIOT, ARMIGER, Regis, Reginae, Principum Henrici et Caroli Gemmarius, bene merenti, non sine lachrymis, hoc Monumentum pie posuit.

“Obiit Mensis Aprilis die 16, anno salutis 1612, aetatis 20, in ipso flore juventae, et mihi, parentibus, et amicis tristissimum sui desiderium reliquit.

Hic Alicia PrimrosaJacet crudo abruta fato,IntempestivasUt rosa pressa manus.Nondum bisdenosAnnorum impleverat orbes,Pulchra, pudica,Patris delicium atque viri:Quum gravida, heu! NunquamMater, decessit, et indeCura dolorq: Patri,Cura dolorq: viro.Non sublata tamenTantum translata recessit;Nunc Rosa prima PoliQuae fuit antea soli.”

The loss of a young, beautiful, and amiable partner, at a period so interesting, was the probable reason of her husband devoting his fortune to a charitable institution. The epitaph occurs in Strype’s edition of Stewe’s Survey of London, Book iii., page 228.

Note III. p. 39. – PROCLAMATION AGAINST THE SCOTS COMING TO ENGLAND

The English agreed in nothing more unanimously than in censuring James on account of the beggarly rabble which not only attended the King at his coming first out of Scotland, “but,” says Osborne, “which, through his whole reign, like a fluent spring, were found still crossing the Tweed.” Yet it is certain, from the number of proclamations published by the Privy Council in Scotland, and bearing marks of the King’s own diction, that he was sensible of the whole inconveniences and unpopularity attending the importunate crowd of disrespectable suitors, and as desirous to get rid of them as his Southern subjects could be. But it was in vain that his Majesty argued with his Scottish subjects on the disrespect they were bringing on their native country and sovereign, by causing the English to suppose there were no well-nurtured or independent gentry in Scotland, they who presented themselves being, in the opinion and conceit of all beholders, “but idle rascals, and poor miserable bodies.” It was even in vain that the vessels which brought up this unwelcome cargo of petitioners were threatened with fine and confiscation; the undaunted suitors continued to press forward, and, as one of the proclamations says, many of them under pretence of requiring payment of “auld debts due to them by the King,” which, it is observed with great naivete, “is, of all kinds of importunity, most unpleasing to his Majesty.” The expressions in the text are selected from these curious proclamations.

NOTE IV. p. 59. – KING JAMES

The dress of this monarch, together with his personal appearance, is thus described by a contemporary: —

“He was of a middle stature, more corpulent through [i.e. by means of] his clothes than in his body, yet fat enough. His legs were very weak, having had, as was thought, some foul play in his youth, or rather before he was born, that he was not able to stand at seven years of age. That weakness made him ever leaning on other men’s shoulders. His walk was even circular; his hands are in that walk ever fiddling about – [a part of dress now laid aside]. He would make a great deal too bold with God in his passion, both with cursing and swearing, and a strain higher verging on blasphemy; but would, in his better temper, say, he hoped God would not impute them as sins, and lay them to his charge, seeing they proceeded from passion. He had need of great assistance, rather than hope, that would daily make thus bold with God.” – DALZELL’S Sketches of Scottish History , p. 86.

NOTE V. p. 78. – SIR MUNGO MALAGROWTHER

It will perhaps be recognised by some of my countrymen, that the caustic Scottish knight, as described in the preceding chapter, borrowed some of his attributes from a most worthy and respectable baronet, who was to be met with in Edinburgh society about twenty-five or thirty years ago. It is not by any means to be inferred, that the living person resembled the imaginary one in the course of life ascribed to him, or in his personal attributes. But his fortune was little adequate to his rank and the antiquity of his family; and, to avenge himself of this disparity, the worthy baronet lost no opportunity of making the more avowed sons of fortune feel the edge of his satire. This he had the art of disguising under the personal infirmity of deafness, and usually introduced his most severe things by an affected mistake of what was said around him. For example, at a public meeting of a certain county, this worthy gentleman had chosen to display a laced coat, of such a pattern as had not been seen in society for the better part of a century. The young men who were present amused themselves with rallying him on his taste, when he suddenly singled out one of the party: – “Auld d’ye think my coat – auld-fashioned? – indeed it canna be new; but it was the wark of a braw tailor, and that was your grandfather, who was at the head of the trade in Edinburgh about the beginning of last century.” Upon another occasion, when this type of Sir Mungo Malagrowther happened to hear a nobleman, the high chief of one of those Border clans who were accused of paying very little attention in ancient times to the distinctions of Meum and Tuum, addressing a gentleman of the same name, as if conjecturing there should be some relationship between them, he volunteered to ascertain the nature of the connexion by saying, that the “chief’s ancestors had stolen the cows, and the other gentleman’s ancestors had killed them,” – fame ascribing the origin of the latter family to a butcher. It may be well imagined, that among a people that have been always punctilious about genealogy, such a person, who had a general acquaintance with all the flaws and specks in the shields of the proud, the pretending, and the nouveaux riches, must have had the same scope for amusement as a monkey in a china shop.