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A Legendary Tale of the
Fifteenth Century
The Lady Isabel was a
Scottish baron’s daughter, and far was she famed. Were others fair, she
was fairer ; were others rich, she was richer. In short, all perfections
were said to be centred in the Lady Isabel, and yet that quality for
which she ought to have been most prized, seemed the one which made the
least noise in the world, - this was her devoted duty to her father. She
was his only child - the child of his old age, the idol of his heart,
and the lamp of his life. But still was he a cruel father; for in return
for her duteous affection, he had determined to wed her to a man she had
never seen, while he knew that her heart was another’s.
The Lord of Ormisdale was the son of his ancient friend, and the
possessor of broad lands in a distant part of Scotland. The two old men
had sworn to each other that their children should be united, but ere
this paction, the youth had been sent abroad to be initiated in the art
of war - an art but too much practised in his native country at that
time; for be it known that our peerless beauty bloomed in the 15th
century, when the feuds of the Scottish nobility were frequent and
deadly. Much was bruited abroad of the goodly person and brave qualities
of the young earl, but of this Lady Isabel had no opportunity of
judging, for never, as has been told, had she seen him. She had,
however, but too often seen his cousin Roderick, and to him was her
heart devoted. It was true he had neither title, nor lands, nor vassals;
but he was a handsome, a noble, and a gallant youth, and he had knelt at
her feet, confessed his love, and swore eternal constancy; and though,
when she thought of her father, she turned coldly away, it was but to
treasure his image in her heart, and to weep most bitter tears for the
hapless fate which doomed her to wed another. Roderick, by-and-by, went
away to a foreign land, distraught by his passion for the Lady Isabel ;
and the time was long, and he returned not, and none spoke of him, or
seemed to think of him, save his disconsolate love. But it was not so;
for the old Baron loved him for his worth and manly bearing; and when he
saw his daughter drooping her head like a lily, he too was unhappy, and
repented him of his rash vow, though he would rather have sacrificed his
own life, and hers too, than have broken his oath. And so time passed
on, and many were the suitors that sought the hand of the Lady Isabel.
Some loved her for herself, some for her great possessions, and some for
both; but all were sent hopeless away.
And now the time was at hand when the sun was to shine upon the
nineteenth birthday of the baron’s daughter, and multitudes were invited
to his castle to celebrate the festival with mirth and revelry. Many
were the reasons on which he had thrown wide his castle gates and
welcomed numerous guests, and ample the hospitable provision he had made
for them; but never, during his life, or that of his forefathers, had
there been such doings as now. Whole hecatombs of sheep and oxen bled on
the occasion, with wain-loads of deer, wild and tame fowl, and other
creatures. Every country seemed to have been taxed for fruit and other
delicacies, while beer of the strongest, and wines of the richest,
seemed, by the quantities provided, to be intended absolutely to flow in
rivers. The birthday of the Lady Isabel had been celebrated, as it came
round, ever since that on which she first drew her breath, but never had
there been even imagined such preparations as this. The tongues of all
the gossiping old dowagers in the kingdom were set a-going on the
occasion: some assigned one reason for this extraordinary entertainment,
and some another. There were several whose eager curiosity caused them
so much uneasiness, that they went so far as to ask an explanation of
the old baron himself They were all, however, foiled in the attempt to
penetrate the mystery, and therefore settled in their own minds that the
old man had either lost his wits altogether, or was in his dotage.
Nor, to speak the truth, did the young lady, on whose account was all
this turmoil, feel less surprised than other people at her father’s
unbounded extravagance, especially as there arrived from the capital
chest after chest, packed with the richest vestments, cut in the
approved fashion of the day, and boxes filled with jewellery, which,
added to the family gems she already possessed, might have furnished the
dowry of a princess.
The day at length arrived for which all this extraordinary preparation
had been made ; and the baron, not content with charging his daughter to
apparel herself in a suit which, by its exceeding splendour, seemed to
have been particularly intended for the occasion, and to wear her most
costly jewels, also commanded her maidens to tax their wits in
ornamenting and setting off, to the best advantage, the charms of their
young mistress.
And now, after having arranged all things, and being promised implicit
obedience by his daughter, the mystery of all his magnificent
proceedings was partly unravelled by his telling her that they were that
night to expect the arrival of the Earl of Ormisdale. He moreover
presented her with a mask, and informed her that he had taken order that
each of his guests should put on a visor before they enter the
ball-room, after they left the banqueting-hall, and that he had done
this for her sake, that the eye of idle curiosity should not read in her
features what was passing in her mind when she first met her betrothed.
It was in vain that the afflicted Lady Isabel pled most movingly for a
more private meeting, for her father was deaf to her entreaties, while
he affirmed that his precaution of the visor would do away all
objections, and was so peremptory in the matter, that, as usual, she
acquiesced; and having thanked and kissed his dutiful daughter, he
withdrew from her with renewed youth in his step, and joy in his eye.
How different, however, were the feelings of his daughter on this
momentous subject ! and sore averse was she to meet the man she was sure
that she could never love; and many were the tears shed, and many the
resolves she made to retract all her promises, and live and die in
solitude. But then she bethought her of the despair of her poor old
father—of his tender, though mistaken love—of the few remaining years of
his life embittered by disappointment—and his death probably hurried on
through her means. All this was too much when laid in the balance with
only her own happiness, and she still sustained the character of a
dutiful daughter, by heroically determining to sacrifice all selfishness
at the altar of filial duty and affection.
But though this was her ultimate resolve, we need not be surprised that,
when decked in her splendid attire, and presiding in the gorgeous
banqueting-hall of her father, she looked and felt as if assisting at a
funeral feast, and that she even then would have been the better of the
visor to prevent many conjectures on what her saddened looks might mean.
But the time for assuming the mask arrived, and the nobles of the land,
with their haughty dames, and many a knight, and many a damsel fair,
bedight in silk and cloth of gold, and blazing with jewels, graced the
tapestried ball-room, on which a flood of brilliant light was poured
from lamp and torch. And each in joyous mood, cheered by the merry
minstrels, and by the sound of harp and viol, impatiently awaited the
commencement of the dance, when they were informed that it was stayed
for an expected and honourable guest. And now again curiosity was at its
height. But presently there was a flourish of the music, and a cry of
the ushers to make way for the noble Earl of Ormisdale, and the large
doors at the foot of the hall were flung wide open, and the gallant
young earl, masked, and attended by a train of young gentlemen, all his
kinsmen, or picked and chosen friends, advanced amid murmurs of
admiration to the middle of the hall. Here they were met and welcomed by
the baron, who led the earl to his lovely daughter, and having presented
him to her, the guests were presently gratified by seeing the gallant
young nobleman take the hand of the Lady Isabel, and lead her out to
dance, Nor were there any present whose eyes did not follow them with
admiration, though the measure chosen by the high-born damsel savoured
more that night of grace and dignity than lightness of either heart or
heel. Meantime, the old baron was so full of joy and delight, that it
was remarked by all, as he was still seen near his daughter and her
partner. But their hearts were both quaking: the unhappy Lady Isabel’s
with thinking of her promise to her father, and that of her betrothed
with a fear known only to himself, for he had heard that she had loved,
and now observed her narrowly. And, not content with this, he asked her,
as he sat beside her, many a wily question, till at last he spoke his
fears in plain guise, and she, with many sighs and tears shed within her
mask, confessed the truth; still saying, that for her father’s sake she
would be his wife, if he accepted of her on such terms. But now her
father whispered to her that she must presently prepare to keep her
word, as this must be her bridal-night, for to that purpose alone was
this high wassail kept. Her lover, too, no way daunted by his knowledge
of her heart, pressed on his suit to have it so. And now was the
despairing damsel almost beside herself when her father, announcing
aloud his purpose to the astonished guests, called for the priest, and
caused all to unmask. But in what words shall we paint the surprise, the
delight, the flood of joy that came upon the heart of the Lady Isabel,
when the earl’s mask was removed, and she beheld in him her much beloved
Roderick, who, his cousin being dead, was now the Earl of Ormisdale!
And now was each corner of the castle, from basement stone to turret
height, filled with joyous greetings, and the health and happiness of
the noble Earl Roderick, and of his bride, the dutiful Lady Isabel,
deeply drank in many a wassail bowl.
The stately castle and its revels, the proud baron and his pomp, the
beauteous dame and her children’s children, have now passed away into
oblivion, save this slight record, which has only been preserved in
remembrance of the daughter’s virtue, who preferred her father’s
happiness to her own.
- CHAMBER'S EDINBURGH
JOURNAL, 1833 |
