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Chapter I
‘The Yerl o’ Wigton had three dauchters,
O braw walie! they were bonnie!
The youngest o’ them and the bonniest too,
Has fallen in love wi’ Richie Storie.’ --- Old Ballad
The Earl of Wigton, whose
name figures in Scottish annals of the reign of Charles II, had three
daughters, named Lady Frances, Lady Grizel, and Lady Jean, — the last
being by several years the youngest, and by many degrees the most
beautiful. All the three usually resided with their mother at the chief
seat of the family, Cumbernauld House, in Stirlingshire; but the two
eldest were occasionally permitted to attend their father in Edinburgh,
in order that they might have some chance of obtaining lovers at the
court held there by the Duke of Lauderdale, while Lady Jean was kept
constantly at home, and debarred from the society of the capital, lest
her superior beauty might interfere with and foil the attractions of her
sisters, who, according to the notion of that age, had a sort of "right
of primogeniture” in matrimony, as well as in what was called "heirship."
It may be easily imagined
that, while the two marriageable ladies were enjoying all the delights
of a third flat in one of the "closes" of the Canongate, spending their
days in seeing beaux, and their nights in dreaming of them, Lady Jean
led no pleasant life amidst the remote and solitary splendour of
Cumbernauld, where her chief employment was the disagreeable one of at
tending her mother, a very infirm and querulous old dame, much given (it
was said) to strong waters. At the period when our tale opens, Lady
Jean’s charms, though never seen in the capital, had begun to make some
noise there; and the curiosity excited respecting them amongst the
juvenile party of the vice-regal court, had induced Lord Wigton to
confine her ladyship even more strictly than heretofore, lest perchance
some gallant might make a pilgrimage to his country seat, in order to
behold her, and from less to more, induce her to quit her retirement, in
such a way as would effectually discomfit his schemes for the
pre-advancement of his elder daughters. He had been at pains to send an
express to Cumbernauld, ordering Lady Jean to be confined to the
precincts of the house and the terrace-garden, and to be closely
attended in all her movements by a trusty domestic. The consequence was
that the young lady complained most piteously to her deaf old
lady-mother of the tedium and listlessness of her life, and wished with
all her heart that she was as ugly, old, and happy as her sisters.
Lord Wigton was not
insensible to the cruelty of his policy, however well he might be
convinced of its advantage and necessity. He loved his youngest daughter
more than the rest; and it was only in obedience to what he conceived to
be the commands of duty, that he subjected her to the restraint. His
lordship, therefore, felt anxious to alleviate in some measure the
‘desagremens’ of her solitary confinement; and knowing her to be fond of
music, he had sent to her by the last messenger a theorbo lute, with
which he thought she would be able to amuse herself in a way very much
to her mind, — not considering that, as she could not play upon the
instrument, it would be little better to her than an unmeaning toy. By
the return of his messenger, he received a letter from Lady Jean,
thanking him for the theorbo, but making him aware of his oversight, and
begging him to send some person who could teach her to play.
The earl, whose
acquirements in the philosophy of politics had never been questioned,
felt ashamed of having committed such a solecism in so trivial a matter;
and like all men anxious to repair or conceal an error in judgment,
immediately ran into another of ten times greater consequence and
magnitude: he gratified his daughter in her wish.
The gentry of Scotland
were at that time in the custom of occasionally employing a species of
servants, whose accomplishments and duties would now appear of a very
anomalous character, though at that time naturally arising from the
peculiar situation of this country, in respect to its southern
neighbour. They were, in general, humble men who had travelled a good
deal, and acquired many foreign accomplishments; who, returning to their
native country after an absence of a few years, usually entered into the
service of the higher class of families, partly as ordinary livery-men,
and partly with the purpose of instructing the youth of both sexes, as
they grew up and required such exercises, in dancing, music, writing,
&c., besides a vast variety of other arts, comprehended in the general
phrase of "breeding." Though these men received much higher wages, and
were a thousand times more unmanageable than common serving men, they
served a good purpose in those days, when young people had scarcely any
other opportunities of acquiring the ornamental branches of education,
except by going abroad.
It so happened that not
many days after Lord Wigton received his daughter’s letter, he was
applied to for employment by one of these useful personages, a tall and
handsome youth, apparently five-and-twenty, with dark, Italian-looking
features, a slight moustache, and as much foreign peculiarity in his
dress as indicated that he was just returned from his travels. After
putting a few questions, his lordship discovered that the youth was
possessed of many agreeable accomplishments; was, in particular,
perfectly well qualified to teach the theorbo, and had no objection to
entering the service of a young lady of quality, only with the proviso
that he was to be spared the disgrace of a livery. Lord Wigton then made
no scruple in engaging him for a certain period; and next day saw the
youth on the way to Cumbernauld, with a letter from his lordship to Lady
Jean, setting forth all his good qualities, and containing among other
endearing expressions, a hope that she would both benefit by his
instructions, and be in the meantime content on their account with her
present residence.
Any occurrence at
Cumbernauld of higher import than the breaking of a needle in
embroidering, or the miscarriage of a brewing of currant-wine, would
have been quite an incident in the eyes of Lady Jean; and even to have
given alms at the castle-gate to an extraordinary beggar, or to see so
much as a "stranger" in the candle, might have supplied her with
amusement infinite, and speculation boundless. What, then, must have
been her delight, when the goodly and youthful figure of Richard Storie
alighted one dull summer afternoon at the gate, and when the credentials
he presented disclosed to her the agreeable purpose of his mission! Her
joy knew no bounds; nor did she know in what terms to welcome the
stranger; she ran from one end of the house to the other, up stairs and
down stairs, in search of she knew not what; and finally, in her
transports, she shook her mother out of a drunken slumber, which the old
lady was enjoying as usual in her large chair in the parlour.
Master Richard, as he was
commonly designated, soon found himself comfortably established in the
good graces of the whole household of Cumbernauld, and not less so in
the particular favour of his young mistress. Even the sour old lady of
the large chair was pleased with his handsome appearance, and was
occasionally seen to give a preternatural nod and smile at some of his
musical exhibitions, as much as to say she knew when he performed well,
and was willing to encourage humble merit. As for Lady Jean, whose
disposition was equally lively and generous, she could not express, in
sufficiently warm terms, her admiration of his performances, or the
delight she experienced from them. Nor was she ever content without
having Master Richard in her presence, either to play himself, or to
teach her the enchanting art. She was a most apt scholar - so apt, that
in a few days she was able to accompany him with the theorbo and voice,
while he played upon an ancient harpsichord belonging to the old lady,
which he had rescued from a lumber room. and had been at some pains to
repair. The exclusive preference thus given to music for the time threw
his other accomplishments into the shade, while it, moreover, occasioned
his more constant presence in the apartments of the ladies than he would
have been otherwise entitled to. The consequence was, that in a short
time he almost ceased to be looked upon as a servant, and began
gradually to assume the more interesting character of a friend and
equal.
It was Lady Jean’s practice to take a walk, prescribed by her father,
every day in the garden, on which occasions the countess conceived
herself as acting up to the letter of her husband’s commands, when she
ordered Master Richard to attend his pupil. This arrangement was
exceedingly agreeable to Lady Jean, as they sometimes took out the
theorbo, and added music to the pleasures of the walk. Another
out-of-doors amusement, in which music formed a chief part, was
suggested to them by the appropriate frontispiece of a book of
instruction for the theorbo, which Master Richard had brought with him
from Edinburgh. This engraving represented a beautiful young
shepherdess, dressed in the fashionable costume of that period: a
stupendous tower of hair hung round with diamonds, and a voluminous silk
gown with a jewel-adorned stomacher, a theorbo in her arms, and a crook
by her side, — sitting on a flowery bank under a tree, with sheep
planted at regular distances around her. At a little distance appeared a
shepherd with dressed hair, long-skirted coat, and silk stockings, who
seemed to survey his mistress with a languishing air of admiration, that
appeared singularly ridiculous as contrasted with the coquettish and
contemptuous aspect of the lady. The plate referred to a particular song
in the book, entitled "A Dialogue betwixt Strephon and Lydia; or the
proud Shepherdess’s Courtship," the music of which was exceedingly
beautiful, while the verses were the tamest and most affected trash
imaginable.
It occurred to Lady
Jean’s lively fancy, that if she and her teacher were to personify the
shepherdess and shepherd, and thus, as it were, to transform the song to
a sort of opera, making the terrace-garden the scene, not a little
amusement might be added to the pleasure she experienced from the mere
music alone. This fancy was easily reduced to execution; for, by seating
herself under a tree, in her ordinary dress, with the horticultural
implement called a rake by her side, she looked the very Lydia of the
copperplate; while Richard, standing at his customary respectful
distance, with his handsome person and somewhat foreign apparel, was a
sufficiently good representation of Strephon. After arranging themselves
thus, Master Richard opened the drama by addressing Lady Jean in the
first verse of the song, which contained, besides some description of
sunrise, a comparison between the beauties of nature, at that delightful
period, and the charms of Lydia, the superiority being of course awarded
to the latter. Lady Jean, with the help of the theorbo, replied to this
in a very disdainful style, affecting to hold the compliments of lovers
very cheap, and asseverating that she had no regard for any being on
earth besides her father and mother, and no care but for these dear
innocent sheep (here she looked kindly aside upon a neighbouring bed of
cabbages), which they had entrusted to her charge. Other verses of
similar nonsense succeeded, during which the representative of the fair
Lydia could not help feeling rather more emotion at hearing the ardent
addresses of Strephon than was strictly consistent with her part.
At last it was her duty
to rise and walk softly away from her swain, declaring herself utterly
insensible to both his praises and his passion, and her resolution never
again to see or speak to him. This she did in admirable style, though
perhaps rather with the dignified gait and sweeping majesty of a tragedy
queen, than with anything like the pettish or sullen strut of a
disdainful rustic.
Meanwhile, Strephon was
supposed to be left inconsolable. Her ladyship continued to support her
assumed character for a few yards, till a turn of the wall concealed her
from Master Richard when, resuming her natural manner she turned back,
with sparkling eyes, in order to ask his opinion of her performance, and
it was with some confusion and no little surprise, that on bursting
again into his sight, she discovered that Richard had not yet thrown off
his character. He was standing still as she had left him, fixed
immovably upon the spot in an attitude expressive of sorrow for her
departure, and bending forward as if imploring her return. It was the
expression of his face that astonished her most; for it was not at all
an expression appropriate to either his own character or to that which
he had assumed. It was an expression of earnest and impassioned
admiration; his whole soul seemed thrown into her face, which was
directed towards her, or rather the place where she had disappeared; and
his eyes were projected in the same direction, with such a look as that
perhaps of an enraptured saint of old at the moment when a divinity
parted from his presence. This lasted, however, but for a moment, for
scarcely had that minute space of time elapsed before Richard, startled
from his reverie by Lady Jean’s sudden return, dismissed from his face
all trace of any extraordinary expression, and stood before her,
endeavouring to appear, just what he was, her ladyship’s respectful
servant and teacher. Nevertheless, this transformation did not take
place so quickly as to prevent her ladyship from observing the present
expression, nor was it accomplished with such address as to leave her
room for passing it over as unobserved. She was surprised—she
hesitated—she seemed, in spite of herself conscious of something awkward
— and finally she blushed slightly. Richard caught the contagion of her
confusion in a double degree; and Lady Jean again became more confused
on observing that he was aware of her confusion. Richard was the first
to recover himself and speak. He made some remarks upon her singing and
acting — not, however, upon her admirable performance of the latter part
of the drama; this encouraged her also to speak, and both soon became
somewhat composed. Shortly afterwards they returned to the house; but
from that moment a chain of the most delicate, yet indissoluble
sympathies began to connect the hearts of these youthful beings, so
alike in all natural qualities, and so dissimilar in every extraneous
thing which the world is accustomed to value.
After this interview
there took place a slight estrangement between Master Richard and Lady
Jean that lasted a few days, during which they had much less of
conversation and music than for some time before. Both observed this
circumstance; but each ascribed it to accident, while it was in reality
occasioned by mutual reserve. Master Richard was afraid that Lady Jean
might be offended were he to propose anything like a repetition of the
garden drama; and Lady Jean, on her part, could not, consistently with
the rules of maidenly modesty, utter even a hint at such a thing,
however she might secretly wish or long for it. The very consciousness,
reciprocally felt, of having something on their minds, of which neither
durst speak, was sufficient to produce this reserve, even though the
emotions of the "tender passion" had not come in, as they did, for a
large share of the cause.
At length, however, this
reserve was so far softened down, that they began to resume their former
practice of walking together in the garden; but, though the theorbo
continued to make one of the party, no more operatic performances took
place. Nevertheless, the mutual affection which had taken root in their
hearts, experienced on this account no abatement, but, on the contrary,
continued to increase.
As for Master Richard, it
was no wonder that he should be deeply smitten with the charms of his
mistress; for, ever as he stole a long, furtive glance at her graceful
form, he thought he had never seen in Spain or Italy any such specimens
of female loveliness; and (if we may let the reader so far into the
secret) he had indeed come to Cumbernauld with the very purpose of
falling in love.
Different causes had
operated upon Lady Jean. Richard being the first love-worthy object she
had seen since the period when the female heart becomes most
susceptible, — the admiration with which she knew he beheld her, — his
musical accomplishments, which had tended so much to her gratification,
— all conspired to render him precious in her sight. In the words of a
beautiful modern ballad, "all impulses of soul and sense had thrilled "
her gentle and guileless heart —
——— hopes, and fears that
kindled hopes,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes, long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long,
had exercised their
tender and delightful influence over her; like a flower thrown upon one
of the streams of her own native land, whose course was through the
beauties, the splendours, and the terrors of nature, she was borne away
in a dream, the magic scenery of which was alternately pleasing,
fearful, and glorious, and from which she could no more awake than could
the flower restrain its course on the gliding waters. The habit of
contemplating her lover every day, and that in the dignified character
of an instructor, gradually blinded her in a great measure to his
humbler quality, and to the probable sentiments of her lather and the
world upon the subject of her passion. lf by any chance such a
consideration was forced upon her notice, and she found occasion to
tremble lest the sentiments in which she was so luxuriously indulging
should end in disgrace and disaster, she soon quieted her fears, by
reverting to an idea which had lately occurred to her, namely, that
‘Richard was not what he seemed’. She had heard and read of love
assuming strange disguises. A Lord Belhaven, in the immediately
preceding period of the civil war, had taken refuge from the fury of
Cromwell in the service of an English nobleman.
whose daughter’s heart he
won under the disguise of a gardener, and whom, on the recurrence of
better times, he carried home to Scotland as his lady. This story was
then quite popular, and at least one of the parties still survived to
attest its truth. But even in nursery tales Lady Jean could find
examples which justified her own passion. The vilest animals, she knew,
on finding some beautiful dame, who was so disinterested as to fall in
love with them, usually turned out to be the most handsome princes that
ever were seen, who invariably married and made happy the ladies whose
affection had restored them to their natural form and just inheritance.
"Who knows," she thought, "but Richard may some day, in a transport of
passion, throw open his coat, exhibit the star of nobility glittering on
his breast, and ask me to become a countess!”
Such are the excuses
which love suggests to reason, and which the reason of lovers easily
accepts; while those who are neither youthful nor in love wonder at the
hallucination of their impassioned juniors. Experience soon teaches us
that this world is not one of romance, and that few incidents in life
ever occur out of the ordinary way. But before we acquire this
experience by actual observation, we all of us regard things in a very
different light. The truth seems to be that, in the eyes of youth, "the
days of chivalry" do not appear to be gone; our ideas are, then
contemporary, or on a par with the early romantic ages of the world; and
it is only by mingling with mature men, and looking at things as they
are, that we at length advance towards, and ultimately settle down in
the real era of our existence. Was there ever yet a youth who did not
feel some chivalrous impulses, — some thirst for more glorious scenes
than those around him, — some aspirations after lofty passion and
supreme excellence — or who did not cherish some pure first-love that
could not prudentially be gratified?
The greater part of the
rest of the summer passed away before the lovers came to an ‘eclaircissement’;
and such, indeed, was their mutual reserve upon the subject, that had it
not been for the occurrence of a singular and deciding circumstance,
there appeared little probability of this ever otherwise taking place.
The Earl of Home, a gay and somewhat foolish young nobleman, one
morning, after attending a convivial party, where the charms of Lady
Jean Fleming formed the principal topic of discourse, left Edinburgh,
and took the way to Cumbernauld, on the very pilgrimage, and with the
very purpose, which Lord Wigton had before anticipated. Resolved first
to see, then to love, and lastly to run away with the young lady, his
lordship skulked about for a few days, and at last had the pleasure of
seeing the hidden beauty over the garden-wall, as she was walking with
Master Richard. He thought he had never seen any lady who could be at
all compared to Lady Jean, and, as a matter of course, resolved to make
her his own, and surprise all his companions at Edinburgh with his
success and her beauty. He watched again next day, and happening to meet
Master Richard out of the bounds of Cumbernauld policy, accosted him,
with the intention of securing his services in making his way towards
Lady Jean. After a few words of course, he proposed the subject to
Richard, and offered a considerable bribe, to induce him to work for his
interest. Richard at first rejected the offer, but immediately after, on
bethinking himself, saw fit to accept it. He was to mention his
lordship’s purpose to Lady Jean, and to prepare the way for a private
interview with her. On the afternoon of the succeeding day, he was to
meet Lord Home at the same place, and tell him how Lady Jean had
received his proposals. With this they parted — Richard to muse on this
unexpected circumstance, which he saw might blast all his hopes, unless
he should resolve upon prompt and active measures, and the Earl of Home
to enjoy himself at the humble inn of the village of Cumbernauld, where
he had for the last few days enacted the character of "the daft lad frae
Edinburgh, that seemed to hae mair siller than sense."
On the morning of the
tenth day after Master Richard’s first interview with Lord Home, that
faithful serving-man found himself jogging swiftly along the road to
Edinburgh, mounted on a stout nag, with the fair Lady Jean seated
comfortably on a pillion behind him. It was a fine morning in autumn,
and the road had a peculiarly gay appearance from the multitude of
country people, mounted and dismounted, who seemed also hastening
towards the capital. Master Richard, upon inquiry, discovered that it
was the "market-day," a circumstance which seemed favourable to his
design, by the additional assurance it gave him of not being recognised
among the extraordinary number of strangers who might be expected to
crowd the city on such an occasion.
The lovers approached the
city by the west, and the first street they entered was the suburban one
called Portsburgh, which leads towards the great market-place of
Edinburgh. Here Richard, impatient as he was, found himself obliged,
like many other rustic cavaliers, to reduce the pace of his horse to a
walk, on account of the narrowness and crowded state of the street. This
he felt the more disagreeable, as it subjected him and his interesting
companion to the close and leisurely scrutiny of the inhabitants. Both
had endeavoured to disguise everything remarkable in their appearance,
so far as dress and demeanour could be disguised; yet, as Lady Jean
could not conceal her extraordinary beauty, and Richard had not found it
possible to part with a slight and dearly beloved moustache, it
naturally followed that they were honoured with a good deal of staring.
Many an urchin upon the street threw up his arms as they passed along,
exclaiming,"Oh! the black-bearded man!" or, "Oh! the bonnie leddie !" —
the men all admired Lady Jean, the women Master Richard — and many an
old shoemaker ogled them earnestly over his half-door, with his
spectacles pushed up above his dingy cowl. The lovers, who had thus to
run a sort of gauntlet of admiration and remark, were glad when they
reached an inn, which Richard, who was slightly acquainted with the
town, knew to be a proper place for the performance of a "half-merk
marriage."
They alighted. and were
civilly received by an obsequious landlady, who conducted them into an
apartment at the back of the house, There Lady Jean was for a short time
left to make some arrangements about her dress, while Richard disclosed
to the landlady in another room the purpose upon which he was come to
her house, and consulted her about procuring a clergyman. The dame of
the house, to whom a clandestine marriage was the merest matter of
course, showed the utmost willingness to facilitate the design of her
guests, and said that she believed a clerical official might be procured
in a few minutes, provided that neither had any scruples of conscience,
as "most part o’ fouk frae the west had," in accepting the services of
an episcopal clergyman. The lover assured her that so far from having
any objection to a "government minister" (for so they were sometimes
termed), he would prefer such to any other, as both he and his bride
belonged to that persuasion. The landlady heard this declaration with
complacency, which showed that she loved her guests the better for it,
and told Richard, that if he pleased, she would immediately introduce
him to the Dean of St Giles, who, honest man, was just now taking his
"meridian" in the little back garret-parlour, along with his friend and
gossip, Bowed Andrew, the waiter of the West Port. To this Richard
joyfully assented, and speedily he and Lady Jean were joined in their
room by the said Dean, — a squat little gentleman, with a drunken but
important-looking face, and an air of consequentiality even in his
stagger that was partly imposing and partly ridiculous. He addressed his
clients with a patronising simper, of which the effect was grievously
disconcerted by an unlucky hiccup, and in a speech which might have had
the intended tone of paternal and reverend authority, had it not been
smattered and degraded into shreds by the crapulous insufficiency of his
tongue. Richard cut short his ill-sustained attempts at dignity by
requesting him to partake of some liquor. His reverence almost leaped at
the proffered jug, which contained ale. He first took a tasting, then a
sip — shaking his head between — next a small draught, with a still more
convulsion — like shake of the head; and, lastly, he took a hearty and
persevering swill, from the effects of which his lungs did not recover
for at least twenty respirations. The impatient lover then begged him to
proceed with the ceremony; which he forthwith commenced in presence of
the landlady and the abovementioned Bowed Andrew; and in a few minutes
Richard and Lady Jean were united in the holy bonds of matrimony.
Chapter II
WHEN the ceremony was
concluded, and both the clergyman and the witnesses had been satisfied
and dismissed, the lovers left the house, with the design of walking
forward into the city. In conformity to a previous arrangement, Lady
Jean walked first, like a lady of quality, and Richard followed closely
behind, with the dress and deportment of her servant. Her ladyship was
dressed in her finest suit, and adorned with her finest jewels, all of
which she had brought from Cumbernauld on purpose, in a mail or leathern
trunk—for such was the name then given to the convenience now entitled a
portmanteau. Her step was light, and her bearing gay, as she moved
along; not on account of the success which had attended her expedition,
or her satisfaction in being now united to the man of her choice, but
because she anticipated the highest pleasure in the sight of a place
whereof she had heard such wonderful stories, and from a participation
in whose delights she had been so long withheld.
Like all persons educated
in the country, she had been regaled in her childhood with magnificent
descriptions of the capital—of its buildings, that seemed to mingle with
the clouds—its shops, which apparently contained more wealth than all
the world beside—of its paved streets (for paved streets were then
wonders in Scotland)—and, above all, of the grand folks that thronged
its Highgates, its Canongates, and its Cowgates—people whose lives
seemed a perpetual holiday, whose attire was ever new, and who all lived
in their several palaces.
Though, of course,
Edinburgh had then little to boast of, the country people who
occasionally visited it did not regard it with less admiration than that
with which the peasantry of our own day may be supposed to view it, now
that it is something so very different. It was then, as well as now, the
capital of the country, and, as such, bore the same disproportion in
point of magnificence to inferior towns, and to the country in general.
In one respect it was superior to what it is in the present day, namely,
in being the seat of government and of a court, Lady Jean had often
heard all its glorious peculiarities described by her sisters, who,
moreover, took occasion to colour the picture too highly, in order to
raise her envy, and make themselves appear great in their alliance and
association with so much greatness. She was, therefore, prepared to see
a scene of the utmost splendour—a scene in which nothing horrible or
paltry mingled, but which was altogether calculated to awe or to delight
the senses.
Her ladyship was destined
to be disappointed at the commencement, at least, of her acquaintance
with the city. The first remarkable object which struck her eye, after
leaving the inn, was the high "bow," or arch, of the gate called the
West Port. In this itself there was nothing worthy of particular
attention, and she rather directed her eyes through the opening beneath,
which half disclosed a wide space beyond, apparently crowded with
people. But when she came close up to the gate, and cast, before
passing, a last glance at the arch, she shuddered at the sight then
presented to her eyes. On the very pinnacle of the arch was stuck the
ghastly and weather-worn remains of a human head, the features of which,
half flesh, half bone, were shaded and rendered still more indistinctly
horrible by the long dark hair, which hung in meagre tresses around
them.
"Oh, Richard, Richard!"
she exclaimed, stopping and turning round, "what is that
dreadful-looking thing?’
"That, madam," said
Richard, without any emotion, "is the broken remnant of a west country
preacher, spiked up there to warn his countrymen who may approach this
port, against doing anything to incur the fate which has overtaken
himself. Methinks he has preached to small purpose, for yonder stands
the gallows, ready, I suppose, to bring him some brother in affliction.”
"Horrible!” exclaimed
Lady Jean; "and is this really the time town of Edinburgh, where I was
taught to expect so many grand sights? I thought it was just one
universal palace, and it turns out to be a great charnel-house!"
"It is indeed more like
that than anything else at times," said Richard; "but, my dear Lady
Jean, you are not going to start at this bugbear, which the l very
children, you see, do not heed in passing."
"Indeed, I think,
Richard,” answered her ladyship, "if Edinburgh is to be at all like
this, it would be just as good to turn back at once, and postpone our
visit to better times."
"But it is not all like
this,” replied Richard; "I assure you it is not. For Heaven’s sake, my
lady, move on. The people are beginning to stare at us. You shall soon
see grand sights enough, if we were once fairly out of this place. Make
for the opposite corner of the Grassmarket, and ascend the street to the
left of that horrible gibbet. We may yet get past it before the
criminals are produced.”
Thus admonished, Lady
Jean passed, not without a shudder, under the dreadful arch, and entered
the spacious oblong square called the Grassrnarket. This place was
crowded at the west end with rustics engaged in all the bustle of a
grain and cattle market, and at the eastern and most distant extremity,
with a mob of idlers, who had gathered around the gibbet in order to
witness the awful ceremony that was about to take place. The crowd,
which was scarcely so dense as that which attends the rarer scene of a
modern execution, made way on both sides for Lady Jean as she moved
along; and wherever she went, she left behind her a "wake," as it were,
of admiration and confusion. So exquisite and so new a beauty, so
splendid a suit of female attire, and so stout and handsome an
attendant—these were all calculated to inspire reverence in the minds of
the beholders. Her carriage at the same time was so stately and so
graceful, that no one could be so rude as to interrupt or disturb it.
The people, therefore, parted when she approached, and left a free
passage for her on all sides, as if she had been an angel or a spirit
come to walk amidst a mortal crowd, and whose person could not be
touched, and might scarcely be beheld—whose motions were not to be
interfered with by those among whom she chose to walk—but who was to be
received with prostration of spirit, and permitted to depart as she had
come, unquestioned and unapproached. In traversing the Grassmarket, two
or three young coxcombs, with voluminous wigs, short cloaks, rapiers,
and rose-knots at their knees and shoes, who, on observing her at a
distance, had prepared to treat her with a condescending stare, fell
back, awed and confounded, at her near approach, and spent the gaze,
perhaps, upon the humbler mark of her follower, or upon vacancy.
Having at length passed
the gibbet, Lady Jean began to ascend the steep and tortuous street
denominated the West Bow. She had hitherto been unable to direct any
attention to what she was most anxious to behold,—the scenic wonders of
the capital. But having now got clear of the crowd, and no longer
fearing to see the gallows, she ventured to lift up her eyes and look
around. The tallness and massiveness of the buildings, some of which
bore the cross of the Knights Templar on their pinnacles, while others
seemed to be surmounted or overtopped by still taller edifices beyond,
impressed her imagination; and the effect was rendered still more
striking by the countless human figures which crowded the windows, and
even the roofs of the houses, all alike bending their attention, as she
thought, towards herself. The scene before her looked like an
amphitheatre filled with spectators, while she and Richard seemed as the
objects upon the arena. The thought caused her to hurry on, and she soon
found herself in a great measure screened from observation by the
overhanging projections of the narrower part of the West Bow, which she
now entered.
With slow and difficult,
but stately and graceful steps, she then proceeded, till she reached the
upper angle of the street, where a novel and unexpected scene awaited
her. A sound like that of rushing waters seemed first to proceed from
the part of the street still concealed from her view, and presently
appeared round the angle, the first rank of an impetuous crowd, which,
rushing downward with prodigious force, would certainly have overwhelmed
her delicate form, had she not dexterously avoided them, by stepping
aside upon a projecting stair, to which Richard also sprung just in time
to save himself from a similar fate. From this place of safety, which
was not without its own crowd of children, women, and sage—looking
elderly mechanics, with Kilmarnock cowls, they in the next moment saw
the massive mob rush past, like the first wave of a flood, bearing
either along or down everything that came in their way. Immediately
after, but at a more deliberate pace, followed a procession of figures,
which struck the heart of Lady jean with as heavy a sense of sorrow as
the crowd had just impressed with terror and surprise. First came a
small company of the veterans of the city-guard, some of whom had
perhaps figured in the campaigns of Middleton and Montrose, and whose
bronzed, inflexible faces bore on this melancholy occasion precisely the
same expression which they ordinarily exhibited on the joyful one of
attending the magistrates at the drinking of the King’s health on the
29th of May.
Behind these, and
encircled by some other soldiers of the same band, appeared two figures
of a different sort. One of them was a young-looking, but pale and
woe-worn man, the impressive wretchedness of whose appearance was
strikingly increased by the ghastly dress which he wore. He was attired
from head to foot in a white shroud, such as was sometimes worn in
Scotland by criminals at the gallows, but which was, in the present
instance, partly assumed as a badge of innocence. The excessive
whiteness and emaciation of his countenance suited well with this dismal
apparel, and, with the wild enthusiasm that kindled in his eyes, gave an
almost supernatural effect to the whole scene, which rather resembled a
pageant of the dead than a procession of earthly men. He was the only
criminal: the person who walked by his side, and occasionally supported
his steps, being, as the crowd whispered around, with many a varied
expression of sympathy—his father. The old man had the air of a devout
Presbyterian, with harsh, intelligent features, and a dress which
bespoke his being a countryman of the lower rank. According to the
report of the bystanders, he had educated this, his only son, for the
unfortunate Church of Scotland, and now attended him to the fate which
his talents and violent temperament had conspired to draw down upon his
head. If ever he felt any pride in the popular admiration with which his
son was honoured, no traces of such a sentiment now appeared. On the
contrary, he seemed humbled to the very earth with sorrow; and though he
had perhaps contemplated the issue, now about to take place, with no
small portion of satisfaction, so long as it was at a distance and
uncertain, the feelings of a father had evidently proved too much for
his fortitude, when the event approached in all its dreadful reality.
The emotions perceptible in that rough and rigid countenance were the
more striking, as being so much at variance with its natural and
characteristic expression; and the tear which gathered in his eye
excited the greater commiseration, in so far as it seemed a stranger
there. But the hero and heroine of our tale had little time to make
observations on this piteous scene, for the procession passed quickly
on, and was soon beyond their sight. When it was gone, the people of the
Bow, who seemed accustomed to such sights, uttered various expressions
of pity, indignation, and horror, according to their respective
feelings, and then slowly retired to their dens in the stairs and booths
which lined the whole of this ancient and singular street.
Lady Jean, whose
beautiful eyes were suffused with tears at beholding so melancholy a
spectacle, was then admonished by her attendant to proceed. With a heart
deadened to all sensations of wonder and delight, she moved forward, and
was soon ushered into the place called the Lawnmarket, then perhaps the
most fashionable district in Edinburgh, but the grandeur and
spaciousness of which she beheld almost without admiration. The scene
here was, however, much gayer, and approached more nearly to her
splendid preconceptions of the capital than any she had yet seen. The
shops were, in her estimation, very fine, and some of the people on the
street were of that noble description of which she had believed all
inhabitants of cities to be. There was no crowd on the street, which,
therefore, afforded room for the better, display of her stately and
beautiful person; and as she walked steadily onwards, still "ushed” (for
such was then the phrase) by her handsome and noble-looking attendant, a
greater degree of admiration was excited amongst the gay idlers whom she
passed, than even that which marked her progress through the humbler
crowd of the Grassmarket. Various noblemen, in passing towards their
homes in the Castle Hill, lifted their feathered hats and bowed
profoundly to the lovely vision; and one or two magnificent dames,
sweeping along with their long silk trains borne up by liverymen, stared
at or eyed askance the charms which threw their own so completely into
shade. By the time Lady Jean arrived at the bottom of the Lawnmarket,
that is to say, where it was partially closed up by the Tolbooth, she
had in a great measure recovered her spirits, and found herself prepared
to enjoy the sight of the public buildings, which were so thickly
clustered together at this central part of the city.
She was directed by
Richard to pass along the narrow road which then led between the houses
and the Tolbooth on the south, and which, being continued by a still
narrower passage skirting the west end of St Giles’ Church, formed the
western approach to the Parliament Close. Obeying his guidance in this
tortuous passage, she soon found herself at the opening, or the square
space—so styled on account of its being closed on more than one side by
the meeting-place of the legislative assembly of Scotland. Here a
splendid scene awaited her. The whole square was filled with the members
of the Scottish Parliament, Barons and Commons, who had just left the
House in which they sat together, —with ladies, who on days of unusual
ceremony were allowed to attend the House, and with horses richly
caparisoned, and covered with gold-embroidered foot-cloths, some of
which were mounted by their owners, while others were held in readiness
by foot-men. All was bustle and magnificence. Noblemen and gentlemen in
splendid attire threaded the crowd in search of their horses; ladies
tripped after them with timid and careful steps, endeavouring, by all in
their power, to avoid contact with such objects as were calculated to
injure their fineries; grooms strode heavily about, and more nimble
lackeys jumped everywhere, here and there, some of them as drunk as the
Parliament Close claret could make them, but all intent on doing the
duties of attendance and respect to their masters. Some smart and
well-dressed young gentlemen were arranging their cloaks and swords, and
preparing to leave the square on foot, by the passage which had given
entry to Master Richard and Lady Jean.
At sight of our heroine,
most of these gallants stood still in admiration, and one of them, with
the trained assurance of a rake, observing her to be beautiful, a
stranger, and not too well protected, accosted her in a strain of
language which caused her at once to blush and tremble. Richard’s brow
reddened with anger as he hesitated not a moment in stepping up and
telling the offender to leave the lady alone, on pain of certain
consequences which might not prove agreeable.
"And who are you, my
brave fellow?" said the youth, with bold assurance.
"Sirrah!" exclaimed
Richard, so indignant as to forget himself, "I am that lady’s
husband—her servant, I mean," and here he stopped short in some
confusion.
"Admirable!" exclaimed
the other. "Ha! ha! ha! ha! Here, sirs, is a lady’s lacquey, who does
not know whether he is his mistress’ servant or her husband. Let us give
him up to the town-guard, to see whether the black hole will make him
remember the real state of the case."
So saying, he attempted
to push Richard aside, and take hold of the lady. But he had not time to
touch her garments with so much as a finger, before her protector had a
rapier flourishing in his eyes, and threatened him with instant death,
unless he desisted from his profane purpose. At sight of the bright
steel he stepped back one or two paces, drew his own sword, and was
preparing to tight, when one of his more grave associates called
out—"For shame, Rollo! —with a lady’s lacquey, too, and in the presence
of the duke and duchess! I see their royal highnesses, already alarmed,
are inquiring the cause of the disturbance."
It was even as this
gentleman said, and presently came up to the scene of contention some of
the most distinguished personages in the crowd, one of whom demanded
from the parties an explanation of so disgraceful an occurrence.
"Why, here is a fellow,
my lord,” answered Rollo, "who says he is the husband of a lady whom he
attends as a liveryman, and a lady, too, the bonniest, I daresay, that
has been seen in Scotland since the days of Queen Magdalen! "
"And what matters it to
you,” said the inquirer, who seemed to be a judge of the Session, "in
what relation this man stands to his lady? Let the parties both come
forward, and tell their ain tale. May it please your royal highness” he
continued, addressing a very grave dignitary, who sat on horseback
behind him, as stiff and formal as a sign-post, "to hear the
‘declarator’ of thir twa strange incomers. But see—see—what is the
matter wi’ Lord Wigton?" he added, pointing to an aged personage on
horseback, who had just pushed forward, and seemed about to faint and
fall from his horse. The person alluded to, at sight of his daughter in
this unexpected place, was, in reality, confounded, and it was some time
before he mastered voice enough to ejaculate—
"Oh, Jean, Jean ! what is
this ye’ve been about? or what has brocht you to Edinburgh?"
"Lord have a care of us!"
exclaimed at this juncture another venerable peer, who had just come up,
"what has brocht my sonsie son, Richie Livingstone, to Edinburgh, when
he should have been fechtin’ the Dutch by this time in Transylvania?”
The two lovers, thus
recognised by their respective parents, stood with downcast looks, and
perfectly silent, while all was buzz and confusion in the brilliant
circle around them; for the parties concerned were not more surprised at
the aspect of their affairs, than were all the rest at the beauty of the
far-famed but hitherto unseen Lady Jean Fleming. The Earl of Linlithgow,
Richard’s father, was the first to speak aloud, after the general
astonishment had for some time subsided; and this he did in a laconic
though important query, which he couched in the simple words,—
"Are ye married, bairns?"
"Yes, dearest father,"
said his son, gathering courage, and coming close up to his saddle-bow;
and I beseech you to extricate Lady Jean and me from this crowd, and I
shall tell you all when we are alone."
"A pretty man ye are,
truly," said the old man, who never took anything very seriously to
heart, "to be staying at hame, and getting yoursel married, all this
time you should have been abroad, winning honour and wealth, as your
gallant granduncle did wi’ Gustavus i’ the thretties! Hooever, since
better mayna be, I maun try and console my Lord Wigton, who, I doot, has
the worst o' the bargain, ye ne’er-do-weel!”
He then went up to Lady
Jean’s father, shook him by the hand, and said, that "though they had
been made relations against their wills, he hoped they would continue
good friends. The young people," he observed, "are no that ill-matched;
and it is not the first time that the Flemings and the Livingstones have
melled together, as witness the blithe marriage of the Queen’s Marie to
Lord Fleming in the fifteen-saxty-five. At ony rate, my lord, let us put
a good face on the matter, afore thae glowerin’ gentles, and whipper-snapper
duchesses. I’ll get horses for the two, and they`ll join the riding’
down the street; and de’il hae me, if Lady Jean doesna outshine the hale
o’ them!"
“My Lord Linlithgow,"
responded the graver and more implacable Earl of Wigton, "it may set you
to take this matter blithely, but let me tell you, it’s a muckle mair
serious affair for me. What think ye am I to do wi’ Frances and Grizzy
noo?"
"Hoot toot, my lord,"
said Linlithgow with a sly smile, "their chance is as gude as ever it
was, I assure you, and sae will everybody think that kens them. I maun
ca’ horses though, or the young folk will be ridden ower afore ever they
do more gude, by thae rampaugin’ young men.” So saying, and taking Lord
Wigton’s moody silence for assent, he proceeded to cry to his servants
for the best pair of horses they could get, and these being speedily
procured, Lord Richard and his bride were requested to mount; after
which they were formally introduced to the gracious notice of the Duke
and Duchess of York, and the Princess Anne, who happened to attend
Parliament on this the last day of its session, when it was customary
for all the members to ride both to and from the House in an orderly
cavalcade.
The order was given to
proceed, and the lovers were soon relieved in a great measure from the
embarrassing notice of the crowd, by assuming a particular place in the
procession, and finding themselves confounded with more than three
hundred equally splendid figures. As the pageant, however, moved down
the High Street in a continuous and open line, it was impossible not to
distinguish the singular loveliness of Lady Jean, and the gallant
carriage of her husband, from all the rest. Accordingly, the trained
bands and city guard, who lined the street, and who were in general
quite as insensible to the splendours of "the Riding” as are the
musicians in a modern orchestra to the wonders of a l melodrama in its
fortieth night,—even they perceived and admired the graces of the young
couple, whom they could not help gazing after with a stupid and
lingering delight. From the windows, too, and the “stair-heads,” their
beauty was well observed, and amply conjectured and commented on; while
many a young cavalier endeavoured, by all sorts of pretences, to find
occasion to break the order of the cavalcade, and get himself haply
placed nearer to the exquisite figure, of which he had got just one
killing glance in the square. Slowly and majestically the brilliant
train paced down the great street of Edinburgh—the acclamations of the
multitude ceaselessly expressing the delight which the people of
Scotland felt in this sensible type and emblem of their ancient
independence.
At length they reached
the courtyard of Holyrood-house, where the duke and duchess invited the
whole assemblage to a ball, which they designed to give that evening in
the hall of the palace; after which all departed to their respective
residences throughout the town, Lords Wigton and Linlithgow taking their
young friends under their immediate protection, and seeking the
residence of the former nobleman, a little way up the Canongate. In
riding thither, the lovers had leisure to explain to their parents the
singular circumstances of their union, and address enough to obtain
unqualified forgiveness for their impudence.
On alighting at Lord
Wigton’s house, Lady Jean found her sisters confined to their rooms with
headache, or some such serious indisposition, and in the utmost
dejection on account of having been thereby withheld from the Riding of
the Parliament. Their spirits, as may be supposed, were not much
elevated, when, on coming forth in dishabille to welcome their sister,
they learned that she had had the good fortune to be married before
them. Their ill-luck was, however, irremediable, and so, making a merit
of submitting to it, they condescended to be rather agreeable during the
dinner and the afternoon. It was not long before all parties were
perfectly reconciled to what had taken place; and by the time it was
necessary to dress for the ball, the elder young ladies declared
themselves so much recovered as to be able to accompany their happy
sister.
The Earl of Linlithgow
and his son then sent a servant for proper dresses, and prepared
themselves for the occasion without leaving the house. When all were
ready, a number of chairs were called to transport their dainty persons
down the street. The news of Lady Jean’s arrival, and of her marriage,
having now spread abroad, the court in front of the house, the alley,
and even the open street, were crowded with people of all ranks, anxious
to catch a passing glimpse of the heroine of so strange a tale. As her
chair was carried along, a buzz of admiration from all who were so happy
as to be near it, marked its progress. Happy, too, was the gentleman who
had the good luck to be near her chair as it was set down at the
palace-gate, and assist her in stepping from it upon the lighted
pavement. From the outer gate, along the piazza of the inner court, and
all the way up the broad staircase to the illuminated hall, two rows of
noblemen and gentlemen formed a brilliant avenue, as she passed along,
while a hundred plumed caps were doffed in honour of so much beauty, and
as many youthful eyes glanced bright with satisfaction at beholding it.
The object of all this attention tripped modestly along in the hand of
the Earl of Linlithgow, acknowledging, with many a graceful flexure and
undulation of person, the compliments of the spectators.
At length the company
entered the spacious and splendid room in which the ball was to be held.
At the extremity, opposite to the entry, upon an elevated platform, sat
the three royal personages, all of whom, on Lady Jean’s introduction,
rose and came forward to welcome her and her husband to the
entertainments of Holyrood, and to hope that her ladyship would often
adorn their circle. In a short time the dancing commenced; and, amidst
all the ladies who exhibited their charms and their magnificent attire
in that captivating exercise, who was, either in person or dress, half
so brilliant as Lady Jean? —Chambers’ Edin. Journal. |
