child, for his strange nature caused her many tears. At times he would
sit contented by her side, and fixing on her his large dark eyes,
listen attentively to her words of instruction and wisdom. Or wandering
with her, as soon as he could run alone, over the hills near at hand,
he learnt the names and properties of various medicinal herbs, and the
hours when they should be gathered to render their use efficacious.
Wondrously effectual was the healing touch he inherited from his fair
young mother and brought to light in future years.
On other days a mad spirit of wild wantonness seemed to possess the
boy. He would destroy everything upon which he could lay his hand, or
tear along recklessly over the rugged walls and dangerous precipices on
which the Castle stood, where a single false step would have dashed him
to pieces on the rocks beneath. If his mother tearfully besought him to
return to her, he would burst into loud fits of laughter, and shriek
until the very sea-birds flew affrighted from the spot.
When these strange paroxysms seized him, Bragela found that nothing had
the least effect upon her wayward child save music. It was wholly by
accident she first discovered the soothing charm of melody on his
turbulent nature.
One day, after watching his wild antics till her very heart grew sick
within her, she re-entered the hall wearied and discouraged. Gradually
consoling herself as she remembered how often the young rebel had come
down in safety from his perilous haunts, she drew to her the harp, her
father's gift in days of yore, which in all her wanderings she had
carried with her. Striking chord after chord on its well-worn strings,
she at length began to mingle her sweet voice with its thrilling tones.
She sang of her childhood's happy home, and her tenderly-loved father,
of the still beloved though faithless Valbiorn, of the perils they had
together undergone, of the blissful hours she had once enjoyed when the
fierce warrior forgot everything save her gentle strains, and lay
entranced at her feet drinking in every word, and whispering in ardent
tones that "her voice was as that of the angels in heaven."
She would have sung on of sorrow and forlorn solitude, but voice and
heart alike failed her. Clasping her arms around her cold harp, the
forsaken Bragela bowed her head on its shoulder and wept aloud.
But a little rough hand was laid upon her neck. "Mother, mother,"
whispered her boy; "you must not weep, you are not forlorn or lonely,
for I am here to care for you, and to protect you."
Surprised and touched, Bragela turned to look upon the child. The wild
light had died out of his eyes, and in its place shone through those
brilliant orbs the tender protecting instinct of his sex. He drew
closer to her, and pressing his little curly head on her soft bosom, he
murmured, "I am sorry, mother dear; forgive me this time."
Poor Bragela gladly folded the young truant to her heart. Henceforward
she derived unspeakable comfort from this new influence over his
boisterous spirit. For his sake she cheerfully resumed the art she had
deemed laid aside for ever. When the wild fit again and again returned
upon her boy, she would even carry her harp into the outer court. There
inuring herself, with all a mother's courage, to behold without
shuddering his maddest freaks, by her sweet singing and playing she
gradually lured him to her side, and awakened his better self.
These happy days, however, could not continue for ever. Eudaemon's
mother had gone through too many trials, and was of too tender a nature
to endure such grief with impunity. There came a time when the gentle
Bragela laid down her wearied head to rest; her dim eye kindled not
with affection when her terrified boy bent over her, her cold hand for
the first time gave him no responsive caress. Her sorrows were over,
but loud and long were the lamentations of her child; thus left alone
with one poor old man and his faithful dog Luachan.
At dead of night strange lights and sounds arose about that rugged
dwelling. Watchers at a distance beheld the lonely castle enveloped in
fiery smoke. Amid the wreathing vapours a figure of unearthly
proportions carried to the sea a white-robed form with long flowing
hair. The repentant Valbiorn, too late to save, or even to hold
converse with his neglected Bragela, bore to his immortal home her
precious remains. There he was able by his magic skill to endow her
inanimate body with the semblance of life. He mournfully placed the
beautiful image in the vaulted halls of Thuisto, where he could for
ever gaze on the fatal beauty that had brought such misfortune on its
possessor.
Valbiorn tried every art to persuade his son to accompany him; but
before her death Bragela had warned her child of the cruel nature of
the sea-kings. She told him of her humble trust that notwithstanding
her early disobedience (so heartily repented of), her soul might ascend
to heaven, and though the still heathen Valbiorn could take her body,
yet she felt her spirit would be safe with Him who gave it.
She explained to Eudaemon that if he came under his dread father's
influence, the sea-king and his wild companions would strive their
utmost to make him forget and neglect her careful instructions. She
entreated him to be steadfast in his resistance to temptation,
prophesying that eventually he might even have the great happiness of
rescuing his father from the darkness of heathendom; if only he lived
on in faith and simplicity, serving his unseen but all-powerful Maker,
studying the books she left him, and endeavouring as best he might to
help the poor ignorant Highlanders around.
The crafty Valbiorn finding all his endeavours powerless to persuade
Eudaemon to quit his abode of safety, resolved to destroy his
disobedient son and his refuge at the same time. But here the loving
mother's foresight helped in the preservation of her child. Among the
other treasures carried by the fugitive Bragela to Castle Brochel, were
some fowls of the famous breed first reared by the witch Fantunina,
which by their watchfulness are able to protect their possessors from
the powers of evil.
Night after night, therefore, when the emissaries of the baffled
sea-king strove to destroy the Castle by fire, the magic cock, ever on
the alert, flapped his wings and loudly proclaimed the approach of
danger. Then Eudaemon arising from his lonely couch, wrestled in silent
prayer until the first faint streaks of daylight in the eastern sky
showed him that night's dominion was over. Thus baulked of his prey,
Valbiorn withdrew in a terrible tempest to Thuisto, nor did his son
again hear of him for many and many a long day.
A considerable period elapsed, during which Eudaemon grew apace in
stature and in knowledge. He not only studied the many books of magic
lore left to him, but he also learnt marvellous lessons from Nature
herself. In his lonely isolation he had leisure to attend to what our
common mother is ready to teach us all, would we but tarry awhile in
our busy lives and hearken to her still small voice.
Separated by his birth and dwelling-place from mankind in general,
Eudaemon strove to benefit the few he could befriend. The island people,
as a rule, rarely beheld him. But in sickness or trouble they ever
turned (tremblingly, it is true) to the Castle gate, where they waited
while the trusty Donald apprised his master of the presence of the
suppliants without.
Strange cures were wrought by the simple remedies Eudaemon compounded
from the various herbs and minerals his mother had shown to him, or
with which his studies had rendered him familiar. To seek these herbs
at a propitious time, the youth issued from the Castle at dead of
night, with his faithful Luachan, and traversed the hills till break of
day, when, wearied, and full of sleep, he often, on his return, passed
the daylight hours in repose.
He was, moreover, a keen and unerring marksman, swift and sure of foot,
and of iron nerve. The shuddering Highlanders sometimes marked his
eager pursuit of the wild goats, which at that time abounded in the
island. Master and hound seemed alike dauntless and fearless in the
chase, and whether from his early love of climbing, or from his mixed
descent, it is hard to say, but it is very certain that Eudaemon and his
dog were often seen scrambling across the beetling crags that overhung
the sea, in places where no human foot has trodden before or since. He
and Luachan also knew where the golden eagle built her eyrie. He even
caught and tamed a young nestling, which loved Castle Brochel as its
home, and would only feed from her master's hand. With Donald's
assistance moreover he had constructed a rude boat, in which they went
forth occasionally to seek a portion of their subsistence by fishing.
Passionately fond of companionship, and denied that of his own fellows,
Eudaemon, by dint of long perseverance, collected around him a motley
variety of animals. Tame seals lived on the rocks below his dwelling.
In perfect security around and beneath the Castle walls roosted and
nested a perfect colony of sea-birds. A little flock of goats amply
supplied the three inhabitants with milk; while conies, blue hares,
domestic fowls of various kinds, and last, but not least, serpents,
from time immemorial the emblems of wisdom, throve and multiplied
within the precincts or in close proximity to Eudaemon's home.
In those remote times, it is not surprising that old Donald, with his
queer, misshapen figure, and solitary glaring eye, his youthful master,
so wise beyond his years, and even the poor collie Luachan, whose
sagacity was far above the average, were one and all regarded with some
degree of superstitious mistrust.
It was said, that in the little turret chamber, highest in the Castle
wall, from which at night streamed forth a ruddy ray of light, Eudaemon
held converse with visitants from another world, and that many a storm
was concocted and wafted abroad by their dark agency.
While the young student strove anxiously to benefit the cases of
sickness brought before him--sometimes, indeed, spending whole nights
wrestling face to face with death, by the side of some poor peasant's
bed--a few of the people were ungrateful enough to attribute his cures
to magic art and to an unholy alliance with the powers of darkness.
Some humble hearts, however, throbbed with responsive gratitude at the
very mention of his name; and there was one mother who, though the King
of Terrors had proved too powerful for his adversary's skill, never
forgot the tear of sorrow that fell from the young man's eye, as, after
long watching and many unavailing remedies, her bonnie bairn breathed
out her innocent life in Eudaemon's arms.
His fame was gradually bruited abroad, and as years rolled on he became
widely known as "the Enchanter of the North."
From all the surrounding districts the inhabitants flocked in boats to
seek his advice. Fishermen asked for charms, to ensure a successful
summer. Ere the sailors put to sea, they deemed themselves lucky if
they could secure one of Eudaemon's so-called "amulets" against
disaster. These were, in reality, small bags manufactured and sold (in
private) by the one-eyed seneschal, whose master would have been sorely
displeased, had he discovered the chaffering trade driven in "charms"
by the cunning old man, who thus rivalled Gehazi of ancient times!
Now it chanced that about this time there dwelt on the Lowland Borders,
a King and Queen of Clutha, whose only daughter was afflicted with a
terrible misfortune.
The Princess Miranda was beautiful as the day. Her parents, who had
long lived in the bonds of matrimony without possessing any children,
felt inexpressible joy as they welcomed their sweet little girl into
the world. Bells were rung and bonfires lighted upon all the hills on
either side of the river Clutha, which ran through her father's
domains. Everything went on propitiously, until, in an hour of woe, it
was discovered that the infant Princess could not speak!
This dire and unexpected calamity threw the whole Court, and indeed the
nation at large, into deep distress. All, both high and low, heartily
sympathized with the grief-stricken parents. Philosophers, astrologers,
physicians, and wise women were each consulted in their turn; but all,
alas! in vain. At last, in desperation, the unhappy parents even
offered the hand and dowry of their daughter as a reward to any man who
should be fortunate enough to set her tongue at liberty.
Years rolled on. The King and Queen were disappointed in their hope of
other offspring. Their feelings became more and more bitter, as they
reflected on the confusion that would inevitably arise, should they
die, and the dumb Miranda be called to the throne. They feared, with
reason, that wicked men might take advantage of the Princess's helpless
condition, and wrest the crown and kingdom from her hands.
Ambassadors from many surrounding countries were attracted by the
beauty of Miranda's portraits, carefully and widely disseminated by her
prudent mother. One by one, however, these envoys disappeared, on
finding that the beautiful Princess, though possessed of every other
charm, was dumb.
The King and Queen, to soften as far as possible their child's
misfortune, gave orders that her play-mates and attendants were always
to address her in writing. All at court were told to conceal from the
Princess as much as possible the difference between her own condition
and that of the maidens around her.
The consequence of these ill-judged regulations was that the Court of
Clutha became almost as silent as the grave. Even musical
instruments--with the exception of the fife and the drum, necessary for
military and state occasions--were completely banished from the
precincts of the palace, to save the youthful Miranda from discovering
what it was to be without a voice for singing or speaking.
Under these circumstances it is not to be wondered at that foreign
courtiers found King Murdoch's Court insufferably dull, especially as
the lovely Princess, herself a prey to melancholy, spent the greater
part of her time amid the wild moors and glens surrounding her father's
castle, where at least she could uninterruptedly listen to the sounds
of Nature. The sweet singing, or startled calls of the various birds,
the rippling and murmuring of the rushing waters, the ceaseless humming
of the insects, the sighing of the wind among the leaves and branches
of the trees--each and all she heard and learnt to love.
Among the ambassadors referred to there was one representing a Prince,
whose ardour could not be checked by the Princess's cruel misfortune.
Some short time before the period of which we speak, the King and Queen
of Clutha, accompanied by their daughter, paid a visit to the Queen's
sister, a powerful Princess in Ireland.
Left early a widow, Queen Hildegonda had long since forgotten all the
softer charms of womanly nature. Forced, when hardly more than a girl
herself, to protect her infant son, Prince Eochy, the heir to his
father's wide domains, from the continued assaults, not only of
neighbouring chieftains, but also of rebellious and usurping subjects,
she had become a very amazon. By her wise and judicious regency, she
had secured a peaceful rule for her son. But when the time came for him
to take his rightful place, the proud mother could not bring herself to
resign the reins of power. Eochy, as effeminate and weak as his mother
was masculine and daring, willingly yielded to her the responsibilities
of government, and passed his life in idle poetical dreams and
frivolous amusements.
On Miranda's appearance, however, the susceptible Prince, as might have
been expected, was captivated by his fair cousin's matchless beauty. In
vain the maiden's parents bestowed upon Eochy their own approval. In
vain the enamoured youth besought his mother to favour his suit.
Hildegonda, inexorable and unyielding, declared that no dumb Queen
should ever reign in Cashel, and commanded her son to retire to a
distant province until his relatives had departed.
Murdoch and his spouse lost no time in quitting with their daughter
these inhospitable shores. When they once more reached home, they were
roused by Hildegonda's insulting behaviour to attempt still more
earnestly to unravel the cruel mystery that bound the lips of their
beautiful daughter.
In the meantime the hapless Eochy utterly failed to make any deep
impression on his cousin's heart. He languished in all the misery of
unrequited love, and continually breathed forth his lamentations in
odes and poems such as this:--
"What though I be King of the Emerald Isle,
And my Court in its Castle with beauty be bright,
To me it were brighter by far could the smile
Of the one I remember but gladden my sight.
"Ah yes! I remember too faithfully yet
That evening and all its enchantment to me,
That silvery wreath I shall never forget,
That star-spangled Maiden from over the sea.
"I had gazed on the snow-mantled vale as it lay
In the silence of morning all spotless and white,
And I wished that unchanged the fair prospect would stay
To delight me, no sunset, no evening, no night:
"But the evening would come, and with evening a glow
So rosy and glorious and delicate shone,
Bright Phoebus, I vowed, must be wooing the snow,
And I envied the sweet bridal blush he had won.
"I had gazed on the ocean so calm and serene,
The breezes seemed hushed to be watching her sleep:
I whispered, could mortal imagine a scene
More sweet than the peacefully slumbering deep?
"But the sun shining forth, on a sudden there grew
Such a change, every ripple seemed laughing and glad,
Such a dazzling and glancing of golden and blue,
I wondered it e'er could seem slumbering or sad.
"Sweet, when I had met thee the charms were united,
The snow of that morn of that evening the glow
On thy cheek and thy brow,--Oh, I would they were plighted
To me, as they were 'twixt the sun and the snow!
"And the laughter of ocean I saw in thine eyes,
When a light from within had enkindled the flame,--
How I wished I knew what might be worthy the prize
Those fair joyous glances for ever to claim!
"Let them boast that the daughters of Erin are bright,
Let them sing their wild songs to the maids of Kildare;
I'll sing, and I'll sing till they own I am right,
There's a maiden in Scotland, a maiden more fair!"
When Miranda received by special messengers these and other similar
effusions from the love-sick Eochy, she conjured up before her mind's
eye the sandy locks, the unmeaning grey eyes, the ungraceful lounging
figure, and the good-natured but facile countenance of the effeminate
young Prince. She smiled to herself as she contrasted him with the
ideal hero of her imagination, sprung from the well-remembered tales of
the dark impetuous sea-kings of the north.
About this time the King and Queen heard of and resolved to consult the
oracle at Cumbrae for their afflicted daughter. They hoped to gain from
the shrine of the far-famed lion some insight into her dark destiny.
After they had offered the richest gifts, and personally invoked its
mysterious aid, the oracle returned the following enigmatical answer to
their prayers, nor could the utmost entreaties gain from it any further
explanation:--
"The Eagle that soared o'er Kyle Akin's swift strait,
Hath wooed and hath won the soft dove for his mate;
Affliction hath wearied affection to rest,
And cold is the heart in that mother's fond breast.
"The strange freaks of fate in one web have entwined,
What the Eaglet and maiden alone can unbind;
By chequered adventure, and music's soft thrill,
The compass shall aid in deliverance from ill.
Arise and speed northward, the prophet hath spoken,
Miranda's long silence by love shall be broken."
Enquiries were at once set on foot regarding the mysterious "Eaglet"
mentioned by the oracle. It was discovered that a certain Enchanter of
the north named Eudaemon, was sometimes called "the Tamer of the Golden
Eagle," and was indeed by some supposed to have been reared in an
eagle's nest. The hopes of the afflicted parents rose high as they
listened to the wondrous tales told of the great Enchanter's power.
A gorgeous galley was forthwith prepared wherein the King and Queen
with their daughter embarked, taking with them but a slender retinue,
for it was rumoured that the wise man lived secluded from his fellows,
and would not brook intrusion. A small flotilla to protect and watch
over the royal vessel received orders to hover near, but on no account
to come within sight of the wizard's castle, for fear of exciting his
displeasure.
The voyage was long and perilous. Autumn had already far advanced.
Equinoctial gales lashed the western sea into swelling billows, so that
after struggling with difficulty up the stormy sounds of Mull and
Sleat, the galley containing the Princess and her parents, at length
became separated from all her convoys and stranded on the western coast
of Raasay. The King, Queen, and Princess barely escaped with their
lives; their attendants also were saved, but the choice treasures
intended to propitiate the Enchanter were carried by mermaidens as
spoil to the palace of the sea gods.
Drenched and perishing with cold, the unfortunate voyagers were rescued
from the bleak shore, and hospitably entertained by the poor islanders,
who little imagined that in these storm-beaten mariners they beheld the
great King Murdoch, the wise Queen Margaret, and the unfortunate
Princess Miranda.
It is true that the Queen, with that prudence and forethought which
occasionally guided her smaller actions, had caused her chief dresser
to sew their three second-best Crowns into a small package, which was
still attached to her belt and concealed by her dress, but with this
exception (which seemed of little practical use), nothing remained to
mark the exalted station of the royal wanderers.
Great, however, was their satisfaction to find that they were
shipwrecked on the _very_ island where the Enchanter of the North
had his lonely abode. They made many enquiries concerning him, and
heard that his actions were beneficent, and his cures almost certain.
They were, nevertheless, warned by the islanders that nothing more
excited his indignation than the presence of many people at his gate.
He had, indeed, been known to refuse aid altogether to their comrades,
who, from superstition or folly, had gone in numbers to beset the
Castle entrance.
It was now therefore customary among these simple yet considerate
people, to convoy the suppliant within a short distance of Castle
Brochel. They then remained waiting on the hill above, while their
fellow descended and returned. So universal had this practice become,
that a small shieling was gradually thrown together stone upon stone by
islanders waiting on different occasions for some friend below; exposed
for the time being to all the inclemency of that most variable climate.
Here then the King and Queen waited while their beloved daughter
(bearing with her the white and silver tablets by means of which she
was wont to communicate with others) was told to present herself at the
wicket-gate of the Castle. She was moreover given money wherewith to
propitiate the much-dreaded Donald--the stern one-eyed guardian of the
Enchanter's abode.
It was one of those days in early November when the exquisite "Indian
summer" sometimes casts a perfect halo of beauty over the "soft"
north-western atmosphere of Scotland. The little group paused on the
eminence immediately commanding the tall gaunt building below. In
reality, the Castle top was above them; but to gain access to its
portals, it was necessary to descend to a considerable depth, and then
remount by a narrow cause-way to its frowning door.
The afternoon sun gilded the turrets with golden radiance, beyond
slumbered the blue rippling waters, calm and treacherous, giving no
sign of their cruel strength. Far in the distance like faint clouds,
lay the curving outline of the Highland hills, tipped with snow, and
dimly visible as they blushed pink in the parting rays of the monarch
of day.