CHAPTER V.
| The bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set, May'st hear the merry din! COLERIDGE—Ancient Mariner. |
The Colonel galloped through the park and down the hill, until he had approached nigh enough to Elsie's cottage to see that its porch was darkened by the bodies of several men, moving about in what seemed to him extraordinary commotion. He grew pale, and finally, drawing up his horse, beckoned to his servant, a young and active mulatto, with an exceedingly bold and free visage, to approach:
"Give me the larger pistols, Reuben," he cried, "and do you take the smaller holsters——'Pshaw, they are fiddling and dancing! It is nothing.—Follow."
He resumed his course, and drawing nigher to the little inn, saw that the group, which he at first eyed with trepidation, consisted of his own son, and two or three young gentlemen of the bridal party, with a man of strange and even ludicrous appearance, from whom they appeared to be extracting no little diversion. He was a tall man, with a French military coat of white cloth, faced with green, and on his head a chapeau-de-bras, which was, at that time, though the common cap of the Gallic auxiliaries, esteemed quite a curiosity in the confederacy. Instead of a white underdress, however, he had on breeches of broad blue and white stripes, which, being very tight, gave a pair of legs more remarkable for brawn than beauty, an appearance quite comical, and the more especially that they were decked off at the extremities with rose-coloured shoes, and were kept moving about as briskly as those of a house-fly or a monkey. In the particular of shoes, as well his silver-fringed rich waistcoat, and a cane with a head half as big as his own, he bore no little resemblance to the valet-messenger of a French field-officer,—a sort of humble aid, whose business was to fetch and carry written orders in a review, but who was sometimes mistaken by our simple-minded ancestors for a general-in-chief, in consequence of the splendour and gravity of his appearance; and such a menial Colonel Falconer supposed him to be, discarded by his late master, or driven from service by that sudden spirit of independence so apt to appear in foreign servants, when brought to the land of liberty. Besides his cane, he had a fiddle and bow in his hand; and from these, as well as the prodigious grace, restlessness, and activity of his motions, it was judged that he had betaken himself, in his distresses, to that honourable profession, to which three-fourths of the wanderers of the Grande Nation seem to have been born,—in other words, to that of the dancing-master. It did not seem, however, that he had yet profited much by the change of profession, for his attire was in somewhat a dilapidated condition, and his cheeks pinched and hollow. Such as he was, however, he seemed to be the happiest creature in existence; and as Colonel Falconer drew nigh, he saw that he was one while engaged flourishing his bow, the next his leg, and ever and anon his tongue,—the last with intense volubility,—as if in spirits irrepressibly buoyant and exuberant. The unruly member was hard at work, as the Colonel approached, and had it not been for the clatter of his horse's feet, he might have heard him deliver the following highly flattering account of himself:
"Yes, Missare Ou-at-you-call-it, and jentlemans, I am a man of figure in mine own land; and you laughs, par de deb'l! I come invite myself to de marriage, néanmoins, juste like Ménélas in l'Iliade d'Homère, mort de diable, parce qu'il etait jentleman. You are soldiare! Et moi, by mine honneur, and so am I; for autre fois, jadis, (ou-at de deb'l you call him?) I use de sword for de violon, ride de horse, chargé sur mon ennemi, in ou-at you' Shakaspeare call de 'war glorieuse.'—
| 'Ah! cruel souvenir de ma gloire passée! OEuvre de tant de jours en un jour effacée!' |
Yes, missares, I am jentleman-soldiare, ou-id fiddle. How de deb'l you make mariage wi'sout de fiddle, l'aimable violon, l'instrument des amours? Ecoutez! you s'all hear. How de ladies and jentlemans s'all dance when dey hears, 'Qu'elle est grande, qu'elle est belle!'"—And, in a rapture, he forthwith began sawing his instrument, and singing, with a voice exceedingly cracked and enthusiastic, the words of the old chorus of shepherds,
| 'Ah! qu'elle douce nouvelle! Qu'elle est grande! qu'elle est belle! Que de plaisirs! que de ris! que de jeux!' |