Who comes from the bridal chamber? It is Azrael, the angel of death.
Thalaba.
AFTER the dreadful scene that had taken place at the castle, Lucy was
transported to her own chamber, where she remained for some time in a state of
absolute stupor. Yet afterwards, in the course of the ensuing day, she seemed to
have recovered, not merely her spirits and resolution, but a sort of flighty
levity, that was foreign to her character and situation, and which was at times
chequered by fits of deep silence and melancholy and of capricious pettishness.
Lady Ashton became much alarmed and consulted the family physicians. But as her
pulse indicated no change, they could only say that the disease was on the
spirits, and recommended gentle exercise and amusement. Miss Ashton never
alluded to what had passed in the state-room. It seemed doubtful even if she was
conscious of it, for she was often observed to raise her hands to her neck, as
if in search of the ribbon that had been taken from it, and mutter, in surprise
and discontent, when she could not find it, "It was the link that bound me to
life."
Notwithstanding all these remarkable symptoms, Lady Ashton was too deeply
pledged to delay her daughter's marriage even in her present state of health. It
cost her much trouble to keep up the fair side of appearances towards Bucklaw.
She was well aware, that if he once saw any reluctance on her daughter's part,
he would break off the treaty, to her great personal shame and dishonour. She
therefore resolved that, if Lucy continued passive, the marriage should take
place upon the day that had been previously fixed, trusting that a change of
place, of situation, and of character would operate a more speedy and effectual
cure upon the unsettled spirits of her daughter than could be attained by the
slow measures which the medical men recommended. Sir William Ashton's views of
family aggrandisement, and his desire to strengthen himself against the measures
of the Marquis of A----, readily induced him to acquiesce in what he could not
have perhaps resisted if willing to do so. As for the young men, Bucklaw and
Colonel Ashton, they protested that, after what had happened, it would be most
dishonourable to postpone for a single hour the time appointed for the marriage,
as it would be generally ascribed to their being intimidated by the intrusive
visit and threats of Ravenswood.
Bucklaw would indeed have been incapable of such precipitation, had he been
aware of the state of Miss Ashton's health, or rather of her mind. But custom,
upon these occasions, permitted only brief and sparing intercourse between the
bridegroom and the betrothed; a circumstance so well improved by Lady Ashton,
that Bucklaw neither saw nor suspected the real state of the health and feelings
of his unhappy bride.
On the eve of the bridal day, Lucy appeared to have one of her fits of
levity, and surveyed with a degree of girlish interest the various preparations
of dress, etc., etc., which the different members of the family had prepared for
the occasion.
The morning dawned bright and cheerily. The bridal guests assembled in
gallant troops from distant quarters. Not only the relations of Sir William
Ashton, and the still more dignified connexions of his lady, together with the
numerous kinsmen and allies of the bridegroom, were present upon this joyful
ceremony, gallantly mounted, arrayed, and caparisoned, but almost every
Presbyterian family of distinction within fifty miles made a point of attendance
upon an occasion which was considered as giving a sort of triumph over the
Marquis of A----, in the person of his kinsman. Splendid refreshments awaited
the guests on their arrival, and after these were finished, the cray was "To
horse." The bride was led forth betwixt her brother Henry and her mother. Her
gaiety of the preceding day had given rise [place] to a deep shade of
melancholy, which, however, did not misbecome an occasion so momentous. There
was a light in her eyes and a colour in her cheek which had not been kindled for
many a day, and which, joined to her great beauty, and the splendour of her
dress, occasioned her entrance to be greeted with an universal murmur of
applause, in which even the ladies could not refrain from joining. While the
cavalcade were getting to horse, Sir William Ashton, a man of peace and of form,
censured his son Henry for having begirt himself with a military sword of
preposterous length, belonging to his brother, Colonel Ashton.
"If you must have a weapon," he said, "upon such a peaceful occasion, why did
you not use the short poniard sent from Edinburgh on purpose?"
The boy vindicated himself by saying it was lost.
"You put it out of the way yourself, I suppose," said his father, "out of
ambition to wear that preposterous thing, which might have served Sir William
Wallace. But never mind, get to horse now, and take care of your sister."
The boy did so, and was placed in the centre of the gallant train. At the
time, he was too full of his own appearance, his sword, his laced cloak, his
feathered hat, and his managed horse, to pay much regard to anything else; but
he afterwards remembered to the hour of his death, that when the hand of his
sister, by which she supported hersel on the pillion behind him, touched his
own, it felt as wet and cold as sepulchral marble.
Glancing wide over hill and dale, the fair bridal procession at last reached
the parish church, which they nearly filled; for, besides domestics, above a
hundred gentlemen and ladies were present upon the occasion. The marriage
ceremony was performed according to the rites of the Presbyterian persuasion, to
which Bucklaw of late had judged it proper to conform.
On the outside of the church, a liberal dole was distributed to the poor of
the neighbouring parishes, under the direction of Johnie Mortheuch [Mortsheugh],
who had lately been promoted from his desolate quarters at the Hermitage to fill
the more eligible situation of sexton at the parish church of Ravenswood. Dame
Gourlay, with two of her contemporaries, the same who assisted at Alice's
late-wake, seated apart upon a flat monument, or "through-stane," sate enviously
comparing the shares which had been allotted to them in dividing the dole.
"Johnie Mortheuch," said Annie Winnie, "might hae minded auld lang syne, and
thought of his auld kimmers, for as braw as he is with his new black coat. I hae
gotten but five herring instead o' sax, and this disna look like a gude
saxpennys, and I dare say this bit morsel o' beef is an unce lighter than ony
that's been dealt round; and it's a bit o' the tenony hough, mair by token that
yours, Maggie, is out o' the back-sey."
"Mine, quo' she!" mumbled the paralytic hag--"mine is half banes, I trow. If
grit folk gie poor bodies ony thing for coming to their weddings and burials, it
suld be something that wad do them gude, I think."
"Their gifts," said Ailsie Gourlay, "are dealt for nae love of us, nor out of
respect for whether we feed or starve. They wad gie us whinstanes for loaves, if
it would serve their ain vanity, and yet they expect us to be as gratefu', as
they ca' it, as if they served us for true love and liking."
"And that's truly said," answered her companion.
"But, Aislie Gourlay, ye're the auldest o' us three--did ye ever see a mair
grand bridal?"
"I winna say that I have," answered the hag; "but I think soon to see as braw
a burial."
"And that wad please me as weel," said Annie Winnie; "for there's as large a
dole, and folk are no obliged to girn and laugh, and mak murgeons, and wish joy
to these hellicat quality, that lord it ower us like brute beasts. I like to
pack the dead- dole in my lap and rin ower my auld rhyme--
My loaf in my lap, my penny in my purse, Thou art ne'er the better, and I'm
ne'er the worse."
"That's right, Annie," said the paralytic woman; "God send us a green Yule
and a fat kirkyard!"
"But I wad like to ken, Luckie Gourlay, for ye're the auldest and wisest
amang us, whilk o' these revellers' turn it will be to be streikit first?"
"D'ye see yon dandilly maiden," said Dame Gourlay, "a' glistenin' wi' gowd
and jewels, that they are lifting up on the white horse behind that hare-brained
callant in scarlet, wi' the lang sword at his side?"
"But that's the bride!" said her companion, her cold heart touched with some
sort of compassion--"that's the very bride hersell! Eh, whow! sae young, sae
braw, and sae bonny--and is her time sae short?"
"I tell ye," said the sibyl, "her winding sheet is up as high as her throat
already, believe it wha list. Her sand has but few grains to rin out; and nae
wonder--they've been weel shaken. The leaves are withering fast on the trees,
but she'll never see the Martinmas wind gar them dance in swirls like the fairy
rings." "Ye waited on her for a quarter," said the paralytic woman, "and got twa
red pieces, or I am far beguiled?"
"Ay, ay," answered Ailsie, with a bitter grin; "and Sir William Ashton
promised me a bonny red gown to the boot o' that--a stake, and a chain, and a
tar-barrel, lass! what think ye o' that for a propine?--for being up early and
doun late for fourscore nights and mair wi' his dwining daughter. But he may
keep it for his ain leddy, cummers."
"I hae heard a sough," said Annie Winnie, "as if Leddy Ashton was nae canny
body."
"D'ye see her yonder," said Dame Gourlay, "as she prances on her grey gelding
out at the kirkyard? There's mair o' utter deevilry in that woman, as brave and
fair-fashioned as she rides yonder, than in a' the Scotch withces that ever flew
by moonlight ower North Berwick Law."
"What's that ye say about witches, ye damned hags?" said Johnie Mortheuch
[Mortsheugh]; "are ye casting yer cantrips in the very kirkyard, to mischieve
the bride and bridegroom? Get awa' hame, for if I tak my souple t'ye, I'll gar
ye find the road faster than ye wad like."
"Hegh, sirs!" answered Ailsie Gourlay; "how bra' are we wi' our new black
coat and our weel-pouthered head, as if we had never kenn'd hunger nor thirst
oursells! and we'll be screwing up our bit fiddle, doubtless, in the ha' the
night, amang a' the other elbo'-jiggers for miles round. Let's see if the pins
haud, Johnie--that's a', lad."
"I take ye a' to witness, gude people," said Morheuch, "that she threatens me
wi' mischief, and forespeaks me. If ony thing but gude happens to me or my
fiddle this night, I'll make it the blackest night's job she ever stirred in.
I'll hae her before presbytery and synod: I'm half a minister mysell, now that
I'm a bedral in an inhabited parish."
Although the mutual hatred betwixt these hags and the rest of mankind had
steeled their hearts against all impressions of festivity, this was by no means
the case with the multitude at large. The splendour of the bridal retinue, the
gay dresses, the spirited horses, the blythesome appearance of the handsome
women and gallant gentlemen assembled upon the occasion, had the usual effect
upon the minds of the populace. The repeated shouts of "Ashton and Bucklaw for
ever!" the discharge of pistols, guns, and musketoons, to give what was called
the bridal shot, evinced the interest the people took in the occasion of the
cavalcade, as they accompanied it upon their return to the castle. If there was
here and there an elder peasant or his wife who sneered at the pomp of the
upstart family, and remembered the days of the long-descended Ravenswoods, even
they, attracted by the plentiful cheer which the castle that day afforded to
rich and poor, held their way thither, and acknowledged, notwithstanding their
prejudices, the influence of l'Amphitrion ou l'on dine.
Thus accompanied with the attendance both of rich and poor, Lucy returned to
her father's house. Bucklaw used his privilege of riding next to the bride, but,
new to such a situation, rather endeavoured to attract attention by the display
of his person and horsemanship, than by any attempt to address her in private.
They reached the castle in safety, amid a thousand joyous acclamations.
It is well known that the weddings of ancient days were celebrated with a
festive publicity rejected by the delicacy of modern times. The marriage guests,
on the present occasion, were regaled with a banquet of unbounded profusion, the
relics of which, after the domestics had feasted in their turn, were distributed
among the shouting crowd, with as many barrels of ale as made the hilarity
without correspond to that within the castle. The gentlemen, according to the
fashion of the times, indulged, for the most part, in deep draughts of the
richest wines, while the ladies, prepared for the ball which always closed a
bridal entertainment, impatiently expected their arrival in the state gallery.
At length the social party broke up at a late hour, and the gentlemen crowded
into the saloon, where, enlivened by wine and the joyful occasion, they laid
aside their swords and handed their impatient partners to the floor. The music
already rung from the gallery, along the fretted roof of the ancient state
apartment. According to strict etiquette, the bride ought to have opened the
ball; but Lady Ashton, making an apology on account of her daughter's health,
offered her own hand to Bucklaw as substitute for her daughter's. But as Lady
Ashton raised her head gracefully, expecting the strain at which she was to
begin the dance, she was so much struck by an unexpected alteration in the
ornaments of the apartment that she was surprised into an exclamation, "Who has
dared to change the pictures?"
All looked up, and those who knew the usual state of the apartment observed,
with surprise, that the picture of Sir William Ashton's father was removed from
its place, and in its stead that of old Sir Malise Ravenswood seemed to frown
wrath and vengeance upon the party assembled below. The exchange must have been
made while the apartments were empty, but had not been observed until the
torches and lights in the sconces were kindled for the ball. The haughty and
heated spirits of the gentlemen led them to demand an immediate inquiry into the
cause of what they deemed an affront to their host and to themselves; but Lady
Ashton, recovering herself, passed it over as the freak of a crazy wench who was
maintained about the castle, and whose susceptible imagination had been observed
to be much affected by the stories which Dame Gourlay delighted to tell
concerning "the former family," so Lady Ashton named the Ravenswoods. The
obnoxious picture was immediately removed, and the ball was opened by Lady
Ashton, with a grace and dignity which supplied the charms of youth, and almost
verified the extravagant encomiums of the elder part of the company, who
extolled her performance as far exceeding the dancing of the rising generation.
When Lady Ashton sat down, she was not surprised to find that her daughter
had left the apartment, and she herself followed, eager to obviate any
impression which might have been made upon her nerves by an incident so likely
to affect them as the mysterious transposition of the portraits. Apparently she
found her apprehensions groundless, for she returned in about an hour, and
whispered the bridegroom, who extricated himself from the dancers, and vanished
from the apartment. The instrumets now played their loudest strains; the dancers
pursued their exercise with all the enthusiasm inspired by youth, mirth, and
high spirits, when a cry was heard so shrill and piercing as at once to arrest
the dance and the music. All stood motionless; but when the yell was again
repeated, Colonel Ashton snatched a torch from the sconce, and demanding the key
of the bridal-chamber from Henry, to whom, as bride's-man, it had been
entrusted, rushed thither, followed by Sir William Ashton and Lady Ashton, and
one or two others, near relations of the family. The bridal guests waited their
return in stupified amazement.
Arrived at the door of the apartment, Colonel Ashton knocked and called, but
received no answer except stifled groans. He hesitated no longer to open the
door of the apartment, in which he found opposition from something which lay
against it. When he had succeeded in opening it, the body of the bridegroom was
found lying on the threshold of the bridal chamber, and all around was flooded
with blood. A cry of surprise and horror was raised by all present; and the
company, excited by this new alarm, began to rush tumultuously towards the
sleeping apartment. Colonel Ashton, first whispering to his mother, "Search for
her; she has murdered him!" drew his sword, planted himself in the passage, and
declared he would suffer no man to pass excepting the clergyman and a medical
person present. By their assistance, Bucklaw, who still breathed, was raised
from the ground, and transported to another apartment, where his friends, full
of suspicion and murmuring, assembled round him to learn the opinion of the
surgeon.
In the mean while, Lady Ashton, her husband, and their assistants in vain
sought Lucy in the bridal bed and in the chamber. There was no private passage
from the room, and they began to think that she must have thrown herself from
the window, when one of the company, holding his torch lower than the rest,
discovered something white in the corner of the great old- fashioned chimney of
the apartment. Here they found the unfortunate girl seated, or rather couched
like a hare upon its form--her head-gear dishevelled, her night-clothes torn and
dabbled with blood, her eyes glazed, and her features convulsed into a wild
paroxysm of insanity. When she saw herself discovered, she gibbered, made
mouths, and pointed at them with her bloody fingers, with the frantic gestures
of an exulting demoniac.
Female assistance was now hastily summoned; the unhappy bride was
overpowered, not without the use of some force. As they carried her over the
threshold, she looked down, and uttered the only articulate words that she had
yet spoken, saying, with a sort of grinning exultation, "So, you have ta'en up
your bonny bridegroom?" She was, by the shuddering assistants, conveyed to
another and more retired apartment, where she was secured as her situation
required, and closely watched. The unutterable agony of the parents, the horror
and confusion of all who were in the castle, the fury of contending passions
between the friends of the different parties--passions augmented by previous
intemperance--surpass description.
The surgeon was the first who obtained something like a patient hearing; he
pronounced that the wound of Bucklaw, though severe and dangerous, was by no
means fatal, but might readily be rendered so by disturbance and hasty removal.
This silenced the numerous party of Bucklaw's friends, who had previously
insisted that he should, at all rates, be transported from the castle to the
nearest of their houses. They still demanded, however, that, in consideration of
what had happened, four of their number should remain to watch over the sick-bed
of their friend, and that a suitable number of their domestics, well armed,
should also remain in the castle. This condition being acceded to on the part of
Colonel Ashton and his father, the rest of the bridegroom's friends left the
castle, notwithstanding the hour and the darkness of the night. The cares of the
medical man were next employed in behalf of Miss Ashton, whom he pronounced to
be in a very dangerous state. Farther medical assistance was immediately
summoned. All night she remained delirious. On the morning, she fell into a
state of absolute insensibility. The next evening, the physicians said, would be
the crisis of her malady. It proved so; for although she awoke from her trance
with some appearance of calmness, and suffered her night- clothes to be changed,
or put in order, yet so soon as she put her hand to her neck, as if to search
for the for the fatal flue ribbon, a tide of recollections seemed to rush upon
her, which her mind and body were alike incapable of bearing. Convulsion
followed convulsion, till they closed in death, without her being able to utter
a word explanatory of the fatal scene.
The provincial judge of the district arrived the day after the young lady had
expired, and executed, though with all possible delicacy to the afflicted
family, the painful duty of inquiring into this fatal transaction. But there
occurred nothing to explain the general hypothesis that the bride, in a sudden
fit of insanity, had stabbed the bridegroom at the threshold of the apartment.
The fatal weapon was found in the chamber smeared with blood. It was the same
piniard which Henry should have worn on the widding-day, and the unhappy sister
had probably contrived to secrete on the preceding evening, when it had been
shown to her among other articles of preparation for the wedding.
The friends of Bucklaw expected that on his recovery he would throw some
light upon this dark story, and eagerly pressed him with inquiries, which for
some time he evaded under pretext of weakness. When, however, he had been
transported to his own house, and was considered in a state of convalescence, he
assembled those persons, both male and female, who had considered themselves as
entitled to press him on this subject, and returned them thanks for the interest
they had exhibited in his behalf, and their offers of adherence and support. "I
wish you all," he said, "my friends, to understand, however, that I have neither
story to tell nor injuries to avenge. If a lady shall question me henceforward
upon the incident of that unhappy night, I shall remain silent, and in future
consider her as one who has shown herself desirous to break of her friendship
with me; in a word, I will never speak to her again. But if a gentleman shall
ask me the same question, I shall regard the incivility as equivalent to an
invitation to meet him in the Duke's Walk, and I expect that he will rule
himself accordingly."
A declaration so decisive admitted no commentary; and it was soon after seen
that Bucklaw had arisen from the bed of sickness a sadder and a wiser man than
he had hitherto shown himself. He dismissed Craigengelt from his society, but
not without such a provision as, if well employed, might secure him against
indigence and against temptation. Bucklaw afterwards went abroad, and never
returned to Scotland; nor was he known ever to hint at the circumstances
attending his fatal marriage. By many readers this may be deemed overstrained,
romantic, and composed by the wild imagination of an author desirous of
gratifying the popular appetite for the horrible; but those who are read in the
private family history of Scotland during the period in which the scene is laid,
will readily discover, through the disguise of borrowed names and added
incidents, the leading particulars of AN OWER TRUE TALE.
|