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WALLACE was yet recounting the particulars of his royal
visit to Bruce (who had anxiously watched his return), when one of the
Queen’s attendants appeared; and presenting him a silk handkerchief
curiously coiled up, said, that he brought it from her Majesty; who
supposed it must be his, as she found it in the room where he had been
playing the harp. Wallace was going to say that it did not belong to him,
when Bruce gave him a look that directed him to take
the handkerchief. He obeyed without a word, and the boy withdrew.
Bruce smiled: "There
is more in that handkerchief, than silk, my friend! Queens send not these
embassies on trifling errands." While Bruce spoke, Wallace unwrapped
it. "I told you so!" cried the Prince, with a frank archness
playing over his before pensive features, and pointing to a slip of
emblazoned vellum, which became unfolded. "Shall I look aside, while
you peruse it?"—"Look on it, my dear Prince," replied
Wallace; "for in trifles as well as in things of moment, I would hold
no reserves with you." The vellum was then opened, and these words
presented themselves :— "Presume not on condescension. This
injunction may be necessary, for the noble lady who was present at our
interview, tells me, the men of this island are very presuming. Redeem the
character of your countrymen, and transgress not on a courtesy that only
means to say, I did not leave you this morning so abruptly, out of
unkindness. I write this, because having the Countess ever with me, I
shall not even dare to whisper it in her presence. Be always faithful, and
respectful, minstrel,—and you shall ever find an indulgent mistress.
"A page will call for
you, when your attendance is desired."
Wallace and Bruce looked on
each other. Bruce spoke first: "Had you vanity, my friend, this
letter, from so lovely and innocent a creature, might be a gratification:
but in our case, the sentiment it breathes is full of danger. She knows
not the secret power, that impelled her to write this, but we do. And I
fear it will point an attention to you, which may produce effects ruinous
to our projects."—"Then;’ answered Wallace, "our
alternative is to escape it, by getting away this very night. And, as you
persevere in your resolution not to enter Scotland unaccompanied by me,
and will share my attempt to rescue Lady Helen Mar, we must direct our
course immediately to the continent."
"Yes, instantly; and
securely too, under the disguise of priests !" returned Bruce:
"I have in my possession the wardrobe of the confessor who followed
my father’s fortunes, and who, on his death, retired into the abbey
which contains his remains."
It was then settled between
the friends, that when it became dark, they should dress themselves in the
confessor’s robes; and by means of the Queen’s signet, which she had
given to Wallace at the banquet, pass the guard as priests who had entered
by some other gate, and were returned from shriving her Majesty. Once
without the city, they could make a swift progress southward, to the
nearest sea-port; and there safely embark for France. For they were well
aware, that the moment they were missed, suspicion would direct pursuit
towards the Scottish borders.
In these arrangements, and
in planning their future movements relative to the rescue of Lady Helen,
they passed several hours; and were only interrupted by the arrival of a
lute from the Queen, for her minstrel to tune. Wallace obeyed; and
returning it by the page who brought it, congratulated himself that it was
not accompanied by any new summons. Then continuing his discourse with
Bruce, on the past, present, and to come; their souls grew more closely
entwined, as they more intimately recognised their kindred natures; and
time moved on, unmarked, till the shadows of evening deepened into night.
"Now is our
hour;" cried Bruce, starting on his feet: "go you into that
room, and array yourself in the confessor’s robes, while I call my
servants, to dispense with their usual nightly attendance." With
determination, and hope, Wallace gladly obeyed. In that very same instant,
the Earl of Gloucester suddenly entered, and looking around the room with
a disturbed countenance, abruptly said, "‘Where is the minstrel
?"—"Why ?" answered Bruce, with an alarm, which he vainly
tried to prevent appearing in his face. Gloucester advanced close to him:
"Is any one within hearing ?"—"No one."—"Then;
replied the Earl, "his life is in danger. He is suspected to be, not
what he seems; and I am sorry to add, to stand in a favour with the Queen,
of a nature to incur his mortal punishment."
Bruce was so confounded
with this stoppage of all their plans, and at the imminent peril of
Wallace, that he could not speak. Gloucester proceeded: "My dear
Bruce, from the circumstance of his being with you, I cannot but suppose
that you know more of him than you think proper to disclose. Whoever he
may be, whether he came from France, or really from Scotland as he says,
his life is now forfeited. And, that by attempting to screen him, you may
not seem to share his imputed guilt, I come to warn you of this discovery.
A double guard is set around the keep; so no visible means are left for
his escape."
"Then what will become
of him?" exclaimed Bruce, forgetting all caution, in dismay for his
friend. "Am I to see the bravest of men, the saviour of my country,
butchered before my eyes by a tyrant ?—I may die, Gloucester, in his
defence, but I will never surrender him to his enemy!"
Gloucster stood aghast, at
this disclosure. He came to accuse the friend of Bruce, that Bruce might
be prepared to clear himself of connivance with so treasonable a crime;
but now that he found this friend to be Wallace, the preserver of his own
life, the restorer of his honour at Berwick, he immediately resolved to
give him freedom. "Bruce;" cried he, "when I recollect the
figure and deportment of this minstrel, I am surprised that, in spite of
his disguise, I did not recognise the invincible Regent of Scotland; but,
now I know him, he shall find that generosity is not confined to his own
breast. Give me your word, that you will not stimulate suspicion, by
remonstrating with Edward against your own arrest, till the court leaves
Durham; and I will instantly find a way to conduct your friend in safety
from the castle."—"I pledge you my word of honour," cried
Bruce, "release but him; and; if you demand it of me, I would die in
chains."— "He saved me at Berwick," replied Gloucester,
"and I am anxious to repay the debt. If he be near, explain what has
happened, in as few words as possible; for we must not delay a moment. I
left a council with the enraged King, settling what horrible death was to
be his punishment."—"When he is safe," answered Bruce,
"I will attest his innocence to you; meanwhile, rely on my faith,
that you are giving liberty to a guiltless man."
Bruce hastened to Wallace, who had
just completed his disguise. He briefly related what had passed; and
received for answer, that he would not leave his prince to the revenge of
the tyrant. But Bruce, urging that the escape of the one, could alone
secure that of the other, implored him not to persist in refusing his
offered safety, but to make direct for Normandy. "I will join you at
Rouen; and thence we can proceed to Guienne," added he: "The
hour the Court leaves Durham, is that of my escape; and when free, what
shall divide me from you and our enterprise !"
Wallace had hardly
assented, when a tumultuous noise broke the silence of the court-yard; the
great iron doors of the keep were thrown back on their hinges, and the
clangour of arms, with many voices, resounded in the hall. Thinking all
was lost, with a cry of despair, Bruce drew his sword, and threw himself
before his friend. At that instant Gloucester entered the room: "They
are quicker than I thought!" cried he; "but follow me.—Bruce,
remain where you are: sheath your sword—be
bold; deny you know anything of the minstrel, and all will be well."
As he spoke, the feet of them who were come to seize Wallace, already
sounded in the adjoining apartment. Gloucester grasped the Scottish hero
by the hand, turned into a short gallery, and plucking the broad shaft of
a cedar pilaster from under its capital, let himself and his companion
into a passage within the wall of the building. The ponderous beam closed
after them, into its former situation; and the silent pair descended, by a
long flight of stone steps, to a square dungeon without any visible
outlet; but the Earl found one, by raising a flat stone marked with an
elevated cross; and again they penetrated lower into the bosom of the
earth by a gradually declining path, till they stopped on a subterranean
level ground. "This vaulted passage," said Gloucester,
"reaches, in a direct line, to Fincklay abbey. [The
remains of this curious subterraneous passage are yet to be seen; but
parts of them are now broken in upon by water, and therefore the
communication between Durham and Fincklay is now cut off. Many strange
legends are told of this passage; and I have heard some from schoolboys
who were bold enough to enter it.—(1809.)] A
particular circumstance constrained my uncle, the then abbot of that
monastery, to discover it to me, ten years ago. He told me, that to none
but to the bishops of Durham, and the abbots of Fincklay, was the secret
of its existence revealed. Since my coming hither this time (which was to
escort the young Queen, not to bear arms against Scotland), I one day took
it into my head to revisit this recess; and, happily for the gratitude I
owe to you, I found all as I had left it in my uncle’s lifetime. But for
the sake of my honour with Edward, whose wrath would fall upon me in the
most fearful shapes should he ever know that I delivered his vanquisher
out of his hands, I must enjoin you to secrecy. Though the enemy of my
King’s ambition, you
are the friend of mankind. You were my benefactor, noble Wallace; and I
should deserve the rack, could I suffer one hair of your head to fall with
violence to the ground."
With answering frankness, Wallace
declared his sense of the Earl’s generosity; and earnestly commended the
young Bruce to his watchful friendship. "The brave impetuosity of his
mind," continued he, "at times may overthrow his prudence, and
leave him exposed to dangers, which a little virtuous caution might avoid.
Dissimulation is a baseness, I should shudder at seeing him practise; but
when the flood of indignation swells his bosom, then tell him, that I
conjure him, on the life of his dearest wishes, to be silent! The storm
which threatens, must blow over; and the Power which guides through
perils, those who trust in it, will ordain that we shall meet again
!"
Gloucester replied,
"What you say, I will repeat to Bruce. I am too sensible my royal
father-in-law has trampled on his rights; and should I ever see him
restored to the throne of his ancestors, I could not but acknowledge the
hand of Heaven in the event. Far would it have been from me, to have bound
him to remain a prisoner during Edward’s sojourn at Durham, had I not
been certain that your escape and his together would now give birth to a
plausible argument in the minds of my enemies—and, grounding their
suspicions on my acknowledged attachment to Bruce, the king might have
been persuaded to believe me unfaithful to his interests. The result would
be, my disgrace; and a broken heart to her who has raised. me by her
generous love, from the humbler ranks of nobility, to that of a prince,
and her husband."
Gloucester then informed
Wallace, that about two hours before he came to alarm Bruce for his safety
on this occasion, he was summoned by Edward to attend him immediately.
When he obeyed, he found Soulis standing by the royal couch, and his
Majesty talking with violence. At sight of Gloucester, be beckoned him to
advance, and striking his hand fiercely on a letter he held, he exclaimed,
"Here, my son, behold the record of your father’s shame !—of a
King of England, dishonoured by a slave!" As he spoke he dashed it
from him. Soulis answered, smiling, "Not a slave, my Lord and King!
can you not see, through the ill-adapted disguise, the figure and mien of
nobility? He is some foreign lover of your bride, come —" —"Enough
!" interrupted the King: "I know I am dishonoured; but the
villain shall die.—Read the letter, Gloucester; and say, what tortures
shall stamp my vengeance!"
Gloucester opened the
vellum, and read, in the Queen’s hand— "Gentle minstrel! my lady
Countess tells me, I must not see you again. Were you old or ugly, as most
bards are, I might, she says; but being young; it is not for a queen to
smile upon one of your calling. She bade me remember, that when I smiled,
you smiled too; and that you asked me questions unbecoming your degree.—Pray
do not do this any more; though I see no harm in it: alas! I used to smile
as I liked, when I was in France. Oh! if it were not for those I love
best, who are now in England, I wish I were there again! and you would go
with me, gentle minstrel, would you not? And you would teach me to sing so
sweetly! I would then never talk with you, but always speak in song: how
pretty that would be! and then we should be from under the eyes of this
harsh Countess. My ladies in France; would let you come in, and stay as
long with me as I pleased. But as I cannot go back again, I will make
myself happy here in spite of the Countess; who rules me more as if she
were my step mother, than I hers; but then to be sure she is a few years
older.
"I will see you this
very evening, and your sweet harp shall sing all my heart-aches to sleep.
My French lady of honour, will conduct you secretly to my apartments. I am
sure you are too honest even to guess at what the Countess thinks you
might fancy when I smile on you. But, gentle minstrel, presume not, and
you shall ever find an indulgent mistress in M—.
"P. S. At the last
vespers to-night, my page shall come for you."
Gloucester knew the Queen’s
handwriting; and not being able to contradict that this letter was hers,
he inquired how it came into his Majesty’s hands. "I found
it," replied Soulis, "in crossing the court-yard; it lay on the
ground, where, doubtless, it had been accidentally dropped by the Queen’s
messenger.
Gloucester, wishing to
extenuate for the Queen’s sake, whose youth and inexperience he pitied,
affirmed, that from the simplicity with which the note was written; from
her innocent references to the minstrel’s profession; he could not
suppose that she addressed him in any other character.
"If he be only a base
itinerant harper," replied the King, "the deeper is my disgrace;
for, if a passion of another kind than music, be not portrayed in every
word of this artful letter, I never read a woman’s heart!" The King
continued to comment on the fatal scroll, with the lynx-eye of jealousy,
loading her name with every opprobrium. Gloucester inwardly thanked
Heaven, that none other than Soulis and himself were present, to hear
Edward fasten such foul dishonour on his Queen. The generous Earl could
not find other arguments, to assuage the mounting ire of her husband. She
might be innocent of actual guilt, or indeed of being aware of having
conceived any wish that might lead to it; but certainly more than a Queen’s
usual interest in a poor wandering minstrel was, as the King said, evident
in every line. Gloucester remaining silent, Edward believed him convinced
of the Queen’s crime; and being too wrathful to think of caution, he
sent for the Bishop, and others of his Lords; and when they entered,
vented to them also his injury and indignation. Many were not inclined to
be of the same opinion with their sovereign; some thought with Gloucester,
others deemed the letter altogether a forgery; and a few adopted the
severer inferences of her husband: but all united (even those determined
to spare the Queen), in recommending an immediate apprehension, and
private execution of the minstrel—"It is not fit," cried
Soulis, "that the man who has even been suspected of invading our
monarch’s honour, should live another hour."
This sanguinary sentence
was acceded to, and with as little remorse by the whole assembly, as if
they had merely condemned a tree to the axe. Such is the carelessness,
with which the generality of arbitrary assemblies decide on the fate of a
fellow-mortal! Earl Percy, who gave his vote for the death of the
minstrel, more from this culpable inconsideration, than that thirst of
blood which stimulated the voices of Soulis and the Cummins, proposed,—as
he believed the Queen innocent,—that to clear her, the Countess of
Gloucester, and the French lady of honour, should be examined relative to
the circumstances mentioned in the letter.
The
King immediately ordered their attendance.
The royal Jane of Acre
appeared at the first summons; and spoke with an air of truth and freedom
from alarm, which convinced every candid ear of the innocence of the
Queen. Her testimony was, that she believed the minstrel to be other than
he seemed; but she was certain, from the conversation which the Queen had
held with her after the Bishop’s feast, that it was in this very feast
she had first seen him; and that she was ignorant of his real rank. On
being questioned by the Bishop, the Countess acknowledged, that her
Majesty had praised his figure as well his singing; "yet not
more," added she, "than she afterwards did to the King, when she
awakened his curiosity to send for him." Her Highness continued to
reply to the interrogatories put to her, by saying, that it was in the
King’s presence she herself first saw the minstrel; and then she thought
his demeanour much above his situation; but, when he accompanied the Queen
and herself into her Majesty’s apartments, she had then an opportunity
to observe him narrowly, as the Queen engaged him in conversation; and by
his answers, questions, and easy, yet respectful deportment, she became
convinced he was not what he appeared.
"And why, Jane;" asked the King,
"did you not impart these suspicions to your husband or to me !"—
"Because," replied she, "remembering that my interference
on a certain public occasion, brought my late husband Clare, under your
Majesty’s displeasure; on my marriage with Monthermer, I made a solemn
vow before my confessor, never to offend in the like manner.—And
besides, the countenance of this stranger was so ingenuous, and his
sentiments so natural and honourable, I could not suspect he came on any
disloyal errand."
"Lady;" observed one of the elder
lords, "if you thought so well of the Queen, and of this man, why did
you caution her against his smiles; and deem it necessary to persuade her,
not to see him again?"
The Countess blushed at this question, but
replied; "Because I saw the minstrel was a gentleman. He possessed a
noble figure, and a handsome face in spite of his Egyptian skin. Like most
young gentlemen, he might be conscious of these advantages; and attribute
the artless approbation, the innocent smiles of my gracious Queen, to a
source more flattering to his vanity-—I have known many lords, not far
from your Majesty, make similar mistakes, on as little grounds;"
added she, looking disdainfully towards some of the younger nobles; and
therefore, to prevent such insolence, I desired his final dismission."
"Thank you, my dear
Jane," replied the King: "you almost persuade me of Margaret’s
innocence."— "Believe it, Sire!" cried she with
animation; "whatever romantic thoughtlessness her youth and
inexperience may have led her into, I pledge my life on her purity."
"First, let us hear
what that French woman has to say to the assignation," exclaimed
Soulis; whose polluted heart, could not suppose the existence of true
purity; and whose cruel disposition exulted in torturing and death:
"question her; and then her Majesty may have full acquittal !"
Again the brow of Edward
was overcast. The fiends of jealousy once more tugged at his heart; and
ordering the Countess of Gloucester to withdraw, he commanded the Baroness
de Pontoise to be brought into the presence.
When she saw the King’s
threatening looks, and beheld the fearful expression which shot from every
surrounding countenance, she shrunk with terror. Long hackneyed in secret
gallantries, the same inward whisper, which had proclaimed to Soulis, that
the Queen was guilty, induced her to believe that she had been the
confidante of an illicit passion; and therefore, though she knew nothing
really bad of her unhappy mistress, yet, fancying that she did, she stood
before the royal tribunal with the air and aspect of a culprit.
"Repeat to me;"
demanded the King, "or answer it with your head, all that you know of
Queen Margaret’s intimacy with the man who calls himself a
minstrel."
At these words, which were
delivered in a tone that seemed the sentence of death, the French woman
fell on her knees, and in a burst of terror exclaimed, "Sire, I will
reveal all—if your Majesty will grant me a pardon, for having too
faithfully served my mistress!"
"Speak! speak !"
cried the King, with desperate impatience; "I swear to pardon you,
even if you have joined in a conspiracy against my life; but speak the
truth, and all the truth; that judgment, without mercy, may fall on the
guilty heads!"
"Then I obey;"
answered the Baroness.—"Foul betrayer!" half-exclaimed
Gloucester, turning disappointed away.—"O! what it is to be vile,
and to trust the vile!—But virtue will not be auxiliary to vice—and so
wickedness falls by its own agents !"
The Baroness, raised from
her kneeling position by Soulis, began:-
"The only time I ever
heard of, or saw this man to my knowledge, was when he was brought to play
before my lady at the bishop’s banquet. I did not much observe him,
being engaged in conversation at the other end of the room; so I cannot
say, whether I might not have seen him in France; for many noble lords
adored the Princess Margaret, though she appeared to frown upon them all.
But I must confess, when I attended her Majesty’s disrobing after the
feast, she put to me so many questions about what I thought of the
minstrel who had sung so divinely—that I began to think her admiration
too great to have been awakened by a mere song. And then she asked me, if
a king could have a nobler air than he had, and she laughed, and said, she
would send your Majesty to school to learn of him?"
"Damnable traitress!"
exclaimed the King. The Baroness paused, and retreated from before the
sudden fury which flashed from his eyes. "Go on!" cried he; "hide
neither word, nor circumstance, that my vengeance may lose nothing of its
aim!"
She proceeded: "Her Majesty
then talked of his beautiful eyes; so blue, she said, so tender, yet proud
in their looks; and only a minstrel! ‘De Pontoise,’ added she, ‘can
you explain that?’ I, being rather, perhaps, too well learned in the
idle tales of our troubadours, heedlessly answered, ‘Perhaps he is some
king in disguise; just come to look at your Majesty’s charms, and go
away again!’ She laughed much at this conceit; said, he must be one of
Pharaoh’s race, then; and that had he not such white teeth, his
complexion would be intolerable. Being pleased to see her Majesty in such
spirits, and thinking no ill, I sportively answered, ‘I read once of a
certain Spanish lover, who went to the court of Tunis to carry off the
king’s daughter; and he had so black a face, that none suspected him to
be other than the Moorish Prince of Granada; when lo! one day in a
pleasure-party on the sea, he fell overboard, and came up with the fairest
face in the world, and presently acknowledged himself to be the Christian
King of Castile!’ The Queen laughed at this story, but not answering me,
went to bed. Next morning when I entered her chamber, she received me with
even more gaiety, and putting aside my coiffure, said, ‘Let me see if I
can find the devil’s mark here!’—’What is the matter?’ I asked:
‘does your Majesty take me for a witch I’—’Exactly so,’ she
replied; ‘for a little sprite told me last night, that all you said was
true.’ And then she began to tell me, with many smiles, that she had
dreamt the minstrel was the very Prince of Portugal, whom, unseen, she had
refused for the King of England; and that he gave her a harp set with
jewels. She then went to your Majesty; and I saw no more of her, till she
sent for me late in the evening. She seemed very angry. ‘You are
faithful,’ said she to me, ‘and you know me, De Pontoise;
you know me too proud to degrade myself, and too high-minded to submit to
tyranny. The Countess of Gloucester, with persuasions too much like
commands, will not allow me to see the minstrel any more.’ She then
declared her determination, that she would see him; that she would feign
herself sick, and he should come and sing to her when she was alone; and
that she was sure he was too modest, to presume on her condescension. I
said something to dissuade her, but she overruled me; and, shame to
myself, I consented to assist her. She embraced me, and gave me a letter
to convey to him; which I did, by slipping it beneath the ornaments of the
handle of her lute, which I sent, as an excuse, for the minstrel to tune.
It was to acquaint him with her intentions; and this night he was to have
visited her apartment."
During this recital, the
King sat with compressed lips listening, but with a countenance
proclaiming the collecting tempest within; changing to livid paleness, or
portentous fire, at almost every sentence. On mentioning the letter, he
clenched his hand, as if then he grasped the thunderbolt. The lords
immediately apprehended, that this was the letter which Soulis found.
"And is this all you know of
the affair?" inquired Percy, seeing that she made a pause. "And
enough too !" cried Soulis, "to blast the most vaunted chastity
in Christendom."
"Take the woman
hence;" cried the King, in a burst of wrath, that gave his voice a
preternatural force, which yet resounded from the vaulted roof, while he
added; "never let me see her traitor face again!" The Baroness
withdrew in terror; and Edward calling Sir Piers Gaveston, commanded him
to place himself at the head of a double guard, and go in person, to bring
the object of his officious introduction, to meet the punishment due to
his crime: "For;" cried the King, "be he prince or peasant;
I will see him hanged before my eyes; and then return his wanton paramour,
branded with infamy, to her disgraced family!"
Soulis now suggested, that
as the delinquent was to be found with Bruce, most likely that young
nobleman was privy to his designs. "We shall see to him,
hereafter:" replied the King; "meanwhile, look that I am
obeyed."
The moment this order
passed the King’s lips, Gloucester now not doubting the Queen’s guilt,
hastened to warn Bruce of what had occurred; that he might separate
himself from the crime of a man, who appeared to have been under his
protection. But when he found that the accused, was no other than the
universally feared, universally beloved, and generous Wallace, all other
considerations were lost in the desire of delivering him from the
impending danger. He knew the means, and he did not hesitate to employ
them.
During the recital of this
narrative, Gloucester narrowly observed his auditor; and, by the ingenuous
bursts of his indignation, and the horror he evinced at the crime he was
suspected of having committed, the Earl, while more fully convinced of his
innocence, easily conceived how the Queen’s sentiments for him might
have gone no further than a childish admiration, very pardonable in a
guileless creature hardly more than sixteen.
"See," cried
Wallace, "the power which lies with the describer of actions! The
chaste mind of your Countess, saw nothing in the conduct of the Queen, but
thoughtless simplicity. The contaminated heart of the Baroness de Pontoise,
descried passion in every word, wantonness in every movement; and, judging
of her mistress by herself, she has wrought this mighty ruin. How then
does it behove virtue, to admit the virtuous only to her intimacy;
association with the vicious, makes her to be seen in their colours!
Impress your King, with this self-evident conclusion: and, were it not for
endangering the safety of Bruce, the hope of my country, I myself would
return, and stake my life, on proving the innocence of the Queen of
England.—But if a letter, with my word of honour, could convince the
king—"
"I accept the
offer," interrupted Gloucester; "I am too warmly the friend of
Bruce; too truly grateful to you, to betray either into danger; but from
Sunderland, whither I recommend you to go, and there embark for France,
write the declaration you mention, and enclose it to me. I can contrive
that the King shall have your letter without suspecting by what channel;
and then, I trust, all will be well."
During this discourse, they
passed on through the vaulted passage, till arriving at a wooden crucifix,
which marked the boundary of the domain of Durham, Gloucester stopped :—"I
must not go further. Should I prolong my stay from the castle during the
search for you, suspicion may be awakened. You must therefore proceed
alone.— Go straight forward; and, at the extremity of the vault, you
will find a flag-stone surmounted like the one by which we descended;
raise it, and it will let you into the cemetery of the abbey of Fincklay.
One end of that burying-place, is always open to the east. Thence you will
emerge to the open world; and may it in future, noble Wallace, ever treat
you according to your unequalled merits. Fare well !"
The Earl turned to retrace
his steps; and Wallace pursued his way through the rayless darkness,
towards the Fincklay extremity of the
vault.
[T here
are few scenes more romantic than those which surround the palatine city
of Durham. Hill and dale, wood and water; and historical recollections, to
people them with the most interesting inhabitants, at every step. The site
of this ancient city itself, covering a large insulated hill, round which
the river Wear winds its clear and green-banked stream (a natural and
beautiful fosse), can hardly be equalled, and certainly not excelled in
any country. The ancient cathedral, coeval in date with the introduction
of Christianity itself into this island, stands in venerable grandeur on
the summit of this fortress-hill; with the ruins of the old castle tower,
and the present episcopal palace, within, the picturesque area of its
former embattled walls. The great philanthropist, Howard, when he visited
it, nearly half a century ago, called it "the British Sion."-(1809)]
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