第 十二 章 · REPENTANCE AND A RECONCILIATION

. REPENTANCE AND A RECONCILIATION

Waverley was unaccustomed to the use of wine, excepting with great

temperance. He slept therefore soundly till late in the succeeding

morning, and then awakened to a painful recollection of the scene of

the preceding evening. He had received a personal affront—he, a

gentleman, a soldier, and a Waverley. True, the person who offered it

was not, at the time it was given, possessed of the moderate share of

sense which nature had allotted him; true also, in resenting this

insult, he would break the laws of Heaven as well as of his country;

true, in doing so, he might take the life of a young man who perhaps

respectably discharged the social duties, and render his family

miserable, or he might lose his own—no pleasant alternative even to the

bravest, when it is debated coolly and in private.

All this pressed on his mind; yet the original statement recurred with

the same irresistible force. He had received a personal insult; he was

of the house of Waverley; and he bore a commission. There was no

alternative; and he descended to the breakfast parlour with the

intention of taking leave of the family, and writing to one of his

brother officers to meet him at the inn midway between Tully-Veolan and

the town where they were quartered, in order that he might convey such

a message to the Laird of Balmawhapple as the circumstances seemed to

demand. He found Miss Bradwardine presiding over the tea and coffee,

the table loaded with warm bread, both of flour, oatmeal, and

barleymeal, in the shape of loaves, cakes, biscuits, and other

varieties, together with eggs, reindeer ham, mutton and beef ditto,

smoked salmon, marmalade, and all the other delicacies which induced

even Johnson himself to extol the luxury of a Scotch breakfast above

that of all other countries. A mess of oatmeal porridge, flanked by a

silver jug, which held an equal mixture of cream and butter-milk, was

placed for the Baron’s share of this repast; but Rose observed, he had

walked out early in the morning, after giving orders that his guest

should not be disturbed.

Waverley sat down almost in silence, and with an air of absence and

abstraction which could not give Miss Bradwardine a favourable opinion

of his talents for conversation. He answered at random one or two

observations which she ventured to make upon ordinary topics; so that,

feeling herself almost repulsed in her efforts at entertaining him, and

secretly wondering that a scarlet coat should cover no better breeding,

she left him to his mental amusement of cursing Doctor Doubleit’s

favourite constellation of Ursa Major as the cause of all the mischief

which had already happened and was likely to ensue. At once he started,

and his colour heightened, as, looking toward the window, he beheld the

Baron and young Balmawhapple pass arm in arm, apparently in deep

conversation; and he hastily asked, “Did Mr. Falconer sleep here last

night?” Rose, not much pleased with the abruptness of the first

question which the young stranger had addressed to her, answered drily

in the negative, and the conversation again sunk into silence.

At this moment Mr. Saunderson appeared, with a message from his master,

requesting to speak with Captain Waverley in another apartment. With a

heart which beat a little quicker, not indeed from fear, but from

uncertainty and anxiety, Edward obeyed the summons. He found the two

gentlemen standing together, an air of complacent dignity on the brow

of the Baron, while something like sullenness or shame, or both,

blanked the bold visage of Balmawhapple. The former slipped his arm

through that of the latter, and thus seeming to walk with him, while in

reality he led him, advanced to meet Waverley, and, stopping in the

midst of the apartment, made in great state the following oration:

“Captain Waverley—my young and esteemed friend, Mr. Falconer of

Balmawhapple, has craved of my age and experience, as of one not wholly

unskilled in the dependencies and punctilios of the duello or

monomachia, to be his interlocutor in expressing to you the regret with

which he calls to remembrance certain passages of our symposion last

night, which could not but be highly displeasing to you, as serving for

the time under this present existing government. He craves you, sir, to

drown in oblivion the memory of such solecisms against the laws of

politeness, as being what his better reason disavows, and to receive

the hand which he offers you in amity; and I must needs assure you that

nothing less than a sense of being _dans son tort_, as a gallant French

chevalier, Mons. Le Bretailleur, once said to me on such an occasion,

and an opinion also of your peculiar merit, could have extorted such

concessions; for he and all his family are, and have been, time out of

mind, _Mavortia pectora_, as Buchanan saith, a bold and warlike sept,

or people.”

Edward immediately, and with natural politeness, accepted the hand

which Balmawhapple, or rather the Baron in his character of mediator,

extended towards him. “It was impossible,” he said, “for him to

remember what a gentleman expressed his wish he had not uttered; and he

willingly imputed what had passed to the exuberant festivity of the

day.”

“That is very handsomely said,” answered the Baron; “for undoubtedly,

if a man be _ebrius_, or intoxicated, an incident which on solemn and

festive occasions may and will take place in the life of a man of

honour; and if the same gentleman, being fresh and sober, recants the

contumelies which he hath spoken in his liquor, it must be held _vinum

locutum est;_ the words cease to be his own. Yet would I not find this

exculpation relevant in the case of one who was _ebriosus_, or an

habitual drunkard; because, if such a person choose to pass the greater

part of his time in the predicament of intoxication, he hath no title

to be exeemed from the obligations of the code of politeness, but

should learn to deport himself peaceably and courteously when under

influence of the vinous stimulus. And now let us proceed to breakfast,

and think no more of this daft business.”

I must confess, whatever inference may be drawn from the circumstance,

that Edward, after so satisfactory an explanation, did much greater

honour to the delicacies of Miss Bradwardine’s breakfast-table than his

commencement had promised. Balmawhapple, on the contrary, seemed

embarrassed and dejected; and Waverley now, for the first time,

observed that his arm was in a sling, which seemed to account for the

awkward and embarrassed manner with which he had presented his hand. To

a question from Miss Bradwardine, he muttered in answer something about

his horse having fallen; and seeming desirous to escape both from the

subject and the company, he arose as soon as breakfast was over, made

his bow to the party, and, declining the Baron’s invitation to tarry

till after dinner, mounted his horse and returned to his own home.

Waverley now announced his purpose of leaving Tully-Veolan early enough

after dinner to gain the stage at which he meant to sleep; but the

unaffected and deep mortification with which the good-natured and

affectionate old gentleman heard the proposal quite deprived him of

courage to persist in it. No sooner had he gained Waverley’s consent to

lengthen his visit for a few days than he laboured to remove the

grounds upon which he conceived he had meditated a more early retreat.

“I would not have you opine, Captain Waverley, that I am by practice or

precept an advocate of ebriety, though it may be that, in our festivity

of last night, some of our friends, if not perchance altogether

_ebrii_, or drunken, were, to say the least, _ebrioli_, by which the

ancients designed those who were fuddled, or, as your English

vernacular and metaphorical phrase goes, half-seas-over. Not that I

would so insinuate respecting you, Captain Waverley, who, like a

prudent youth, did rather abstain from potation; nor can it be truly

said of myself, who, having assisted at the tables of many great

generals and marechals at their solemn carousals, have the art to carry

my wine discreetly, and did not, during the whole evening, as ye must

have doubtless observed, exceed the bounds of a modest hilarity.”

There was no refusing assent to a proposition so decidedly laid down by

him, who undoubtedly was the best judge; although, had Edward formed

his opinion from his own recollections, he would have pronounced that

the Baron was not only _ebriolus_, but verging to become _ebrius;_ or,

in plain English, was incomparably the most drunk of the party, except

perhaps his antagonist the Laird of Balmawhapple. However, having

received the expected, or rather the required, compliment on his

sobriety, the Baron proceeded—“No, sir, though I am myself of a strong

temperament, I abhor ebriety, and detest those who swallow wine _gulæ

causa_, for the oblectation of the gullet; albeit I might deprecate the

law of Pittacus of Mitylene, who punished doubly a crime committed

under the influence of _Liber Pater;_ nor would I utterly accede to the

objurgation of the younger Plinius, in the fourteenth book of his

‘Historia Naturalis.’ No, sir, I distinguish, I discriminate, and

approve of wine so far only as it maketh glad the face, or, in the

language of Flaccus, _recepto amico_.”

Thus terminated the apology which the Baron of Bradwardine thought it

necessary to make for the superabundance of his hospitality; and it may

be easily believed that he was neither interrupted by dissent nor any

expression of incredulity.

He then invited his guest to a morning ride, and ordered that Davie

Gellatley should meet them at the _dern path_ with Ban and Buscar.

“For, until the shooting season commence, I would willingly show you

some sport, and we may, God willing, meet with a roe. The roe, Captain

Waverley, may be hunted at all times alike; for never being in what is

called _pride of grease_, he is also never out of season, though it be

a truth that his venison is not equal to that of either the red or

fallow deer.[*] But he will serve to show how my dogs run; and

therefore they shall attend us with David Gellatley.”

[* The learned in cookery dissent from the Baron of Bradwardine, and

hold the roe venison dry and indifferent food, unless when dressed in

soup and Scotch collops.]

Waverley expressed his surprise that his friend Davie was capable of

such trust; but the Baron gave him to understand that this poor

simpleton was neither fatuous, _nec naturaliter idiota_, as is

expressed in the brieves of furiosity, but simply a crack-brained

knave, who could execute very well any commission which jumped with his

own humour, and made his folly a plea for avoiding every other. “He has

made an interest with us,” continued the Baron, “by saving Rose from a

great danger with his own proper peril; and the roguish loon must

therefore eat of our bread and drink of our cup, and do what he can, or

what he will, which, if the suspicions of Saunderson and the Bailie are

well founded, may perchance in his case be commensurate terms.”

Miss Bradwardine then gave Waverley to understand that this poor

simpleton was dotingly fond of music, deeply affected by that which was

melancholy, and transported into extravagant gaiety by light and lively

airs. He had in this respect a prodigious memory, stored with

miscellaneous snatches and fragments of all tunes and songs, which he

sometimes applied, with considerable address, as the vehicles of

remonstrance, explanation, or satire. Davie was much attached to the

few who showed him kindness; and both aware of any slight or ill usage

which he happened to receive, and sufficiently apt, where he saw

opportunity, to revenge it. The common people, who often judge hardly

of each other as well as of their betters, although they had expressed

great compassion for the poor _innocent_ while suffered to wander in

rags about the village, no sooner beheld him decently clothed, provided

for, and even a sort of favourite, than they called up all the

instances of sharpness and ingenuity, in action and repartee, which his

annals afforded, and charitably bottomed thereupon a hypothesis that

David Gellatley was no farther fool than was necessary to avoid hard

labour. This opinion was not better founded than that of the Negroes,

who, from the acute and mischievous pranks of the monkeys, suppose that

they have the gift of speech, and only suppress their powers of

elocution to escape being set to work. But the hypothesis was entirely

imaginary; David Gellatley was in good earnest the half-crazed

simpleton which he appeared, and was incapable of any constant and

steady exertion. He had just so much solidity as kept on the windy side

of insanity, so much wild wit as saved him from the imputation of

idiocy, some dexterity in field-sports (in which we have known as great

fools excel), great kindness and humanity in the treatment of animals

entrusted to him, warm affections, a prodigious memory, and an ear for

music.

The stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and Davie’s voice

singing to the two large deer greyhounds,

Hie away, hie away,

Over bank and over brae,

Where the copsewood is the greenest,

Where the fountains glisten sheenest,

Where the lady-fern grows strongest,

Where the morning dew lies longest,

Where the black-cock sweetest sips it,

Where the fairy latest trips it.

Hie to haunts right seldom seen,

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,

Over bank and over brae,

Hie away, hie away.

“Do the verses he sings,” asked Waverley, “belong to old Scottish

poetry, Miss Bradwardine?”

“I believe not,” she replied. “This poor creature had a brother, and

Heaven, as if to compensate to the family Davie’s deficiencies, had

given him what the hamlet thought uncommon talents. An uncle contrived

to educate him for the Scottish kirk, but he could not get preferment

because he came from our _ground_. He returned from college hopeless

and brokenhearted, and fell into a decline. My father supported him

till his death, which happened before he was nineteen. He played

beautifully on the flute, and was supposed to have a great turn for

poetry. He was affectionate and compassionate to his brother, who

followed him like his shadow, and we think that from him Davie gathered

many fragments of songs and music unlike those of this country. But if

we ask him where he got such a fragment as he is now singing, he either

answers with wild and long fits of laughter, or else breaks into tears

of lamentation; but was never heard to give any explanation, or to

mention his brother’s name since his death.”

“Surely,” said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale bordering

on the romantic, “surely more might be learned by more particular

inquiry.”

“Perhaps so,” answered Rose; “but my father will not permit any one to

practise on his feelings on this subject.”

By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson, had indued a

pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now invited our hero to

follow him as he stalked clattering down the ample stair-case, tapping

each huge balustrade as he passed with the butt of his massive

horse-whip, and humming, with the air of a _chasseur_ of Louis

Quatorze,—

“Pour la chasse ordonnée il faut preparer tout.

Ho la ho! Vite! vite debout!”