Kitabı oku: «The Entail», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XXVIII
Leddy Grippy having been, as she herself observed, ‘cheated baith o’ bridal and infare by Charlie’s moonlight marriage,’ was resolved to have all made up to her, and every jovial and auspicious rite performed at Walter’s wedding. – Accordingly, the interval between the booking and the day appointed for the ceremony was with her all bustle and business. Nor were the preparations at Kilmarkeckle to send forth the bride in proper trim, in any degree less active or liberal. Among other things, it had been agreed that each of the two families should kill a cow for the occasion, but an accident rendered this unnecessary at Grippy.
At this time, Kilmarkeckle and Grippy kept two bulls who cherished the most deadly hatred of each other, insomuch that their respective herds had the greatest trouble to prevent them from constantly fighting. And on the Thursday preceding the wedding-day, Leddy Grippy, in the multitude of her cares and concerns, having occasion to send a message to Glasgow, and, unable to spare any of the other servants, called the cow-boy from the field, and dispatched him on the errand. Bausy, as their bull was called, taking advantage of his keeper’s absence, went muttering and growling for some time round the enclosure, till at last discovering a gap in the hedge, he leapt through, and, flourishing his tail, and grumbling as hoarse as an earthquake, he ran, breathing wrath and defiance, straight on towards a field beyond where Gurl, Kilmarkeckle’s bull, was pasturing in the most conjugal manner with his sultanas.
Gurl knew the voice of his foe, and, raising his head from the grass, bellowed a hoarse and sonorous answer to the challenger, and, in the same moment, scampered to the hedge, on the outside of which Bausy was roaring his threats of vengeance and slaughter. The two adversaries glared for a moment at each other, and then galloped along the sides of the hedge in quest of an opening through which they might rush to satisfy their rage.
In the meantime, Kilmarkeckle’s herd-boy had flown to the house for assistance, and Miss Betty, heading all the servants, and armed with a flail, came, at double quick time, to the scene of action. But, before she could bring up her forces, Bausy burst headlong through the hedge, like a hurricane. Gurl, however, received him with such a thundering batter on the ribs, that he fell reeling from the shock. A repetition of the blow laid him on the ground, gasping and struggling with rage, agony, and death, so that, before the bride and her allies were able to drive Gurl from his fallen antagonist, he had gored and fractured him in almost every bone with the force and strength of the beam of a steam-engine. Thus was Leddy Grippy prevented from killing the cow which she had allotted for the wedding-feast, the carcase of Bausy being so unexpectedly substituted.
But, saving this accident, nothing went amiss in the preparations for the wedding either at Grippy or Kilmarkeckle. All the neighbours were invited, and the most joyous anticipations universally prevailed; even Claud himself seemed to be softened from the habitual austerity which had for years gradually encrusted his character, and he partook of the hilarity of his family, and joked with the Leddy in a manner so facetious, that her spirits mounted, and, as she said herself, ‘were flichtering in the very air.’
The bridegroom alone, of all those who took any interest in the proceedings, appeared thoughtful and moody; but it was impossible that any lover could be more devoted to his mistress: from morning to night he hovered round the skirts of her father’s mansion, and as often as he got a peep of her, he laughed, and then hastily retired, wistfully looking behind, as if he hoped that she would follow. Sometimes this manœuvre proved successful, and Miss Betty permitted him to encircle her waist with his arm, as they ranged the fields in amatory communion together.
This, although perfectly agreeable to their happy situation, was not at all times satisfactory to his mother; and she frequently chided Watty for neglecting the dinner hour, and ‘curdooing,’ as she said, ‘under cloud o’ night.’ However, at last every preparatory rite but the feet-washing was performed; and that it also might be accomplished according to the most mirthful observance of the ceremony at that period, Charles and George brought out from Glasgow, on the evening prior to the wedding-day, a score of their acquaintance to assist in the operation on the bridegroom; while Miss Meg, and all the maiden friends of the bride, assembled at Kilmarkeckle to officiate there. But when the hour arrived, Watty was absent. During the mixing of a large bowl of punch, at which Charles presided, he had slily escaped, and not answering to their summons, they were for some time surprised, till it was suggested that possibly he might have gone to the bride, whither they agreed to follow him.
Meanwhile the young ladies had commenced their operations with Miss Betty. The tub, the hot water, and the ring, were all in readiness; her stockings were pulled off, and loud laughter and merry scuffling, and many a freak of girlish gambol was played, as they rubbed her legs, and winded their fingers through the water to find the ring of Fortune, till a loud exulting neigh of gladness at the window at once silenced their mirth.
The bride raised her eyes; her maidens turning round from the tub, looked towards the window, where they beheld Watty standing, his white teeth and large delighted eyes glittering in the light of the room. It is impossible to describe the consternation of the ladies at this profane intrusion on their peculiar mysteries. The bride was the first that recovered her self-possession: leaping from her seat, and oversetting the tub in her fury, she bounded to the door, and, seizing Watty by the cuff of the neck, shook him as a tigress would a buffalo.
‘The deevil ride a-hunting on you, Watty Walkinshaw, I’ll gar you glower in at windows,’ was her endearing salutation, seconded by the whole vigour of her hand in a smack on the face, so impressive, that it made him yell till the very echoes yelled again. ‘Gang hame wi’ you, ye roaring bull o’ Bashen, or I’ll take a rung to your back,’ then followed; and the terrified bridegroom instantly fled coweringly, as if she actually was pursuing him with a staff.
‘I trow,’ said she, addressing herself to the young ladies who had come to the door after her, ‘I’ll learn him better manners, before he’s long in my aught.’
‘I would be none surprised were he to draw back,’ said Miss Jenny Shortridge, a soft and diffident girl, who, instead of joining in the irresistible laughter of her companions, had continued silent, and seemed almost petrified.
‘Poo!’ exclaimed the bride; ‘he draw back! Watty Walkinshaw prove false to me! He dare na, woman, for his very life; but, come, let us gang in and finish the fun.’
But the fun had suffered a material abatement by the breach which had thus been made in it. Miss Meg Walkinshaw, however, had the good luck to find the ring, a certain token that she would be the next married.
In the meantime, the chastised bridegroom, in running homeward, was met by his brothers and their companions, to whose merriment he contributed quite as much as he had subtracted from that of the ladies, by the sincerity with which he related what had happened, – declaring, that he would rather stand in the kirk than tak Betty Bodle; which determination Charles, in the heedlessness and mirth of the moment, so fortified and encouraged, that, before they had returned back to the punch-bowl, Walter was swearing that neither father nor mother would force him to marry such a dragoon. The old man seemed more disturbed than might have been expected from his knowledge of the pliancy of Walter’s disposition at hearing him in this humour, while the Leddy said, with all the solemnity suitable to her sense of the indignity which her favourite had suffered, —
‘Biting and scarting may be Scotch folks’ wooing; but if that’s the gait Betty Bodle means to use you, Watty, my dear, I would see her, and a’ the Kilmarkeckles that ever were cleckit, doon the water, or strung in a wooddie, before I would hae ony thing to say to ane come o’ their seed or breed. To lift her hands to her bridegroom! – The like o’t was never heard tell o’ in a Christian land – Na, gudeman, nane o’ your winks and glooms to me, – I will speak out. She’s a perfect drum-major, – the randy cutty – deevil-do-me-good o’ her – it’s no to seek what I’ll gie her the morn.’
‘Dinna grow angry, mother,’ interposed Walter, thawing, in some degree, from the sternness of his resentment. ‘It was na a very sair knock after a’.’
‘T’ou’s a fool and a sumph to say any thing about it, Watty,’ said Grippy himself; ‘many a brawer lad has met wi’ far waur; and, if t’ou had na been egget on by Charlie to mak a complaint, it would just hae passed like a pat for true love.’
‘Eh na, father, it was na a pat, but a scud like the clap o’ a fir deal,’ said the bridegroom.
‘Weel, weel, Watty,’ exclaimed Charlie, ‘you must just put up wi’t, ye’re no a penny the waur o’t.’ By this sort of conversation Walter was in the end pacified, and reconciled to his destiny.
CHAPTER XXIX
Never did Nature show herself better pleased on any festival than on Walter’s wedding-day. The sun shone out as if his very rays were as much made up of gladness as of light. The dew-drops twinkled as if instinct with pleasure. The birds lilted – the waters and the windows sparkled; cocks crowed as if they were themselves bridegrooms, and the sounds of laughing girls, and cackling hens, made the riant banks of the Clyde joyful for many a mile.
It was originally intended that the minister should breakfast at Kilmarkeckle, to perform the ceremony there; but this, though in accordance with newer and genteeler fashions, was overruled by the young friends of the bride and bridegroom insisting that the wedding should be celebrated with a ranting dance and supper worthy of the olden, and, as they told Leddy Grippy, better times. Hence the liberality of the preparations, as intimated in the preceding chapter.
In furtherance of this plan, the minister, and all his family, were invited, and it was arranged, that the ceremony should not take place till the evening, when the whole friends of the parties, with the bride and bridegroom at their head, should walk in procession after the ceremony from the manse to Grippy, where the barn, by the fair hands of Miss Meg and her companions, was garnished and garlanded for the ball and banquet. Accordingly, as the marriage hour drew near, and as it had been previously concerted by ‘the best men’ on both sides, a numerous assemblage of the guests took place, both at Grippy and Kilmarkeckle – and, at the time appointed, the two parties, respectively carrying with them the bride and bridegroom, headed by a piper playing ‘Hey let us a’ to the bridal,’ proceeded to the manse, where they were met by their worthy parish pastor at the door.
The Reverend Doctor Denholm was one of those old estimable stock characters of the best days of the presbytery, who, to great learning and sincere piety, evinced an inexhaustible fund of couthy jocularity. He was far advanced in life, an aged man, but withal hale and hearty, and as fond of an innocent ploy, such as a wedding or a christening, as the blithest spirit in its teens of any lad or lass in the parish. But he was not quite prepared to receive so numerous a company; nor, indeed, could any room in the manse have accommodated half the party. He, therefore, proposed to perform the ceremony under the great tree, which sheltered the house from the south-west wind in winter, and afforded shade and shelter to all the birds of summer that ventured to trust themselves beneath its hospitable boughs. To this, however, Walter, the bridegroom, seemed disposed to make some objection, alleging that it might be a very good place for field-preaching, or for a tent on sacramental occasions, ‘but it was an unco-like thing to think of marrying folk under the canopy of the heavens;’ adding, ‘that he did na think it was canny to be married under a tree.’
The Doctor soon, however, obviated this objection, by assuring him that Adam and Eve had been married under a tree.
‘Gude keep us a’ frae sic a wedding as they had,’ replied Watty; ‘where the deil was best-man? Howsever, Doctor, sin it’s no an apple-tree, I’ll mak a conformity.’ At which the pipes again struck up, and, led by the worthy Doctor bare-headed, the whole assemblage proceeded to the spot.
‘Noo, Doctor,’ said the bridegroom, as all present were composing themselves to listen to the religious part of the ceremony – ‘Noo, Doctor, dinna scrimp the prayer, but tie a sicker knot; I hae nae broo o’ the carnality o’ five minute marriages, like the Glasgowers, and ye can weel afford to gie us half an hour, ’cause ye’re weel payt for the wind o’ your mouth: the hat and gloves I sent you cost me four-and-twenty shillings, clean countit out to my brother Charlie, that would na in his niggerality faik me a saxpence on a’ the liveries I bought frae him.’
This address occasioned a little delay, but order being again restored, the Reverend Doctor, folding his hands together, and lowering his eyelids, and assuming his pulpit voice, began the prayer.
It was a calm and beautiful evening, the sun at the time appeared to be resting on the flaky amber that adorned his western throne, to look back on the world, as if pleased to see the corn and the fruits gathered, with which he had assisted to fill the wide lap of the matronly earth. We happened at the time to be walking alone towards Blantyre, enjoying the universal air of contentment with which all things at the golden sunsets of autumn invite the anxious spirit of man to serenity and repose. As we approached the little gate that opened to the footpath across the glebe by which the road to the village was abridged to visitors on foot, our attention was first drawn towards the wedding party, by the kindly, pleasing, deep-toned voice of the venerable pastor, whose solemn murmurs rose softly into the balmy air, diffusing all around an odour of holiness that sweetened the very sense of life.
We paused, and uncovering, walked gently and quietly towards the spot, which we reached just as the worthy Doctor had bestowed the benediction. The bride looked blushing and expectant, but Walter, instead of saluting her in the customary manner, held her by the hand at arm’s length, and said to the Doctor, ‘Be served.’
‘Ye should kiss her, bridegroom,’ said the minister.
‘I ken that,’ replied Watty, ‘but no till my betters be served. Help yoursel, Doctor.’
Upon which the Doctor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, enjoyed himself as he was requested.
‘It’s the last buss,’ added Walter, ‘it’s the last buss, Betty Bodle, ye’ll e’er gie to mortal man while am your gudeman.’
‘I did na think,’ said the Reverend Doctor aside to us, ‘that the creature had sic a knowledge o’ the vows.’
The pipes at this crisis being again filled, the guests, hand in hand, following the bridegroom and bride, then marched to the ornamented barn at Grippy, to which we were invited to follow; but what then ensued deserves a new chapter.
CHAPTER XXX
Having accepted the invitation to come with the minister’s family to the wedding, we stopped and took tea at the manse with the Reverend Doctor and Mrs. Denholm, – the young ladies and their brother having joined the procession. For all our days we have been naturally of a most sedate turn of mind; and although then but in our twenty-third year, we preferred the temperate good humour of the Doctor’s conversation, and the householdry topics of his wife, to the boisterous blair of the bagpipes. As soon, however, as tea was over, with Mrs. Denholm dressed in her best, and the pastor in his newest suit, we proceeded towards Grippy.
By this time the sun was set, but the speckless topaz of the western skies diffused a golden twilight, that tinged every object with a pleasing mellow softness. Like the wedding-ring of a bashful bride, the new moon just showed her silver rim, and the evening star was kindling her lamp, as we approached the foot of the avenue which led to the house, the windows of which sparkled with festivity; while from the barn the merry yelps of two delighted fiddles, and the good-humoured grumbling of a well-pleased bass, mingling with laughter and squeaks, and the thudding of bounding feet, made every pulse in our young blood circle as briskly as the dancers in their reeling.
When we reached the door, the moment that the venerable minister made his appearance, the music stopped, and the dancing was suspended, by which we were enabled to survey the assembly for a few minutes, in its most composed and ceremonious form. At the upper end of the barn stood two arm-chairs, one of which, appropriated to the bridegroom, was empty; in the other sat the bride, panting from the vigorous efforts she had made in the reel that was interrupted by our entrance. The bridegroom himself was standing near a table close to the musicians, stirring a large punch-bowl, and filling from time to time the glasses. His father sat in a corner by himself, with his hands leaning on his staff, and his lips firmly drawn together, contemplating the scene before him with a sharp but thoughtful eye. Old Kilmarkeckle, with an ivory snuff-box, mounted with gold, in his hand, was sitting with Mr. Keelevin on the left hand of Claud, evidently explaining some remarkable property in the flavour of the snuff, to which the honest lawyer was paying the utmost attention, looking at the philosophical Laird, however, every now and then, with a countenance at once expressive of admiration, curiosity, and laughter. Leddy Grippy sat on the left of the bride, apparelled in a crimson satin gown, made for the occasion, with a stupendous fabric of gauze and catgut, adorned with vast convolutions of broad red ribbons for a head-dress, and a costly French shawl, primly pinned open, to show her embroidered stomacher. At her side sat the meek and beautiful Isabella, like a primrose within the shadow of a peony; and on Isabella’s left the aged Lady Plealands, neatly dressed in white silk, with a close cap of black lace, black silk mittens, and a rich black apron. But we must not attempt thus to describe all the guests, who, to the number of nearly a hundred, young and old, were seated in various groups around the sides of the barn; for our attention was drawn to Milrookit, the Laird of Dirdumwhamle, a hearty widower for the second time, about forty-five – he might be older – who, cozily in a corner, was engaged in serious courtship with Miss Meg.
When the formalities of respect, with which Doctor Denholm was so properly received, had been duly performed, the bridegroom bade the fiddlers again play up, and, going towards the minister, said, ‘Do ye smell ony thing gude, Sir?’
‘No doubt, bridegroom,’ replied the Doctor, ‘I canna be insensible to the pleasant savour of the supper.’
‘Come here, then,’ rejoined Watty, ‘and I’ll show you a sight would do a hungry body good – weel I wat my mother has na spared her skill and spice.’ – In saying which, he lifted aside a carpet that had been drawn across the barn like a curtain behind the seats at the upper end of the ball-room, and showed him the supper table, on which about a dozen men and maid-servants were in the act of piling joints and pies that would have done credit to the Michaelmas dinner of the Glasgow magistrates – ‘Is na that a gallant banquet?’ said Watty. ‘Look at yon braw pastry pie wi’ the King’s crown on’t.’
The Reverend Pastor declared that it was a very edificial structure, and he had no doubt it was as good as it looked – ‘Would ye like to pree’t, Doctor? I’ll just nip off ane o’ the pearlies on the crown to let you taste how good it is. It’ll never be missed.’
The bride, who overheard part of this dialogue, started up at these words, and as Walter was in the act of stretching forth his hand to plunder the crown, she pulled him by the coat-tail, and drew him into the chair appropriated for him, sitting down, at the same time, in her own on his left, saying, in an angry whisper, – ‘Are ye fou’ already, Watty Walkinshaw? If ye mudge out o’ that seat again this night, I’ll mak you as sick o’ pies and puddings as ever a dog was o’ het kail.’
Nothing more particular happened before supper; and every thing went off at the banquet as mirthfully as on any similar occasion. The dancing was then resumed, and during the bustle and whirl of the reels, the bride and bridegroom were conducted quietly to the house to be bedded.
When they were undressed, but before the stocking was thrown, we got a hint from Charles to look at the bridal chamber, and accordingly ran with him to the house, and bolting into the room, beheld the happy pair sitting up in bed, with white napkins drawn over their heads like two shrouds, and each holding one of their hands, so as to conceal entirely their modest and downcast faces. But, before we had time to say a word, the minister, followed by the two pipers, and the best-men and bridesmaids, bringing posset and cake, came in, – and while the distribution, with the customary benedictions, was going forward, dancing was recommenced in the bedroom.
How it happened, or what was the cause, we know not; but the dancing continued so long, and was kept up with so much glee, that somehow, by the crowded state of the apartment, the young pair in bed were altogether forgotten, till the bridegroom, tired with sitting so long like a mummy, lost all patience, and, in a voice of rage and thunder, ordered every man and mother’s son instantly to quit the room, – a command which he as vehemently repeated with a menace of immediate punishment, – putting, at the same time, one of his legs out of bed, and clenching his fist, in the act of rising. The bride cowered in giggling beneath the coverlet, and all the other ladies, followed by the men and the pipers, fled pell-mell, and hurly-burly, glad to make their escape.
