Alas, how changed from what it once had been!
‘Twas now degraded to a common inn. GAY.
An hour’s brisk walking, or thereabouts, placed me in front of
Duntarkin, which had also, I found, undergone considerable alterations,
though it had not been altogether demolished like the principal
mansion. An inn-yard extended before the door of the decent little
jointure-house, even amidst the remnants of the holly hedges which had
screened the lady’s garden. Then a broad, raw-looking, new-made road
intruded itself up the little glen, instead of the old horseway, so
seldom used that it was almost entirely covered with grass. It is
a great enormity, of which gentlemen trustees on the highways are
sometimes guilty, in adopting the breadth necessary for an avenue to the
metropolis, where all that is required is an access to some sequestered
and unpopulous district. I do not say anything of the expense--that
the trustees and their constituents may settle as they please. But the
destruction of silvan beauty is great when the breadth of the road is
more than proportioned to the vale through which it runs, and lowers, of
course, the consequence of any objects of wood or water, or broken and
varied ground, which might otherwise attract notice and give pleasure.
A bubbling runnel by the side of one of those modern Appian or Flaminian
highways is but like a kennel; the little hill is diminished to a
hillock--the romantic hillock to a molehill, almost too small for sight.
Such an enormity, however, had destroyed the quiet loneliness of
Duntarkin, and intruded its breadth of dust and gravel, and its
associations of pochays and mail-coaches, upon one of the most
sequestered spots in the Middle Ward of Clydesdale. The house was
old and dilapidated, and looked sorry for itself, as if sensible of
a derogation; but the sign was strong and new, and brightly painted,
displaying a heraldic shield (three shuttles in a field diapre), a web
partly unfolded for crest, and two stout giants for supporters, each one
holding a weaver’s beam proper. To have displayed this monstrous emblem
on the front of the house might have hazarded bringing down the wall,
but for certain would have blocked up one or two windows. It was
therefore established independent of the mansion, being displayed in an
iron framework, and suspended upon two posts, with as much wood and
iron about it as would have builded a brig; and there it hung, creaking,
groaning, and screaming in every blast of wind, and frightening for five
miles’ distance, for aught I know, the nests of thrushes and linnets,
the ancient denizens of the little glen.
When I entered the place I was received by Christie Steele herself, who
seemed uncertain whether to drop me in the kitchen, or usher me into
a separate apartment, as I called for tea, with something rather more
substantial than bread and butter, and spoke of supping and sleeping,
Christie at last inducted me into the room where she herself had been
sitting, probably the only one which had a fire, though the month was
October. This answered my plan; and as she was about to remove her
spinning-wheel, I begged she would have the goodness to remain and make
my tea, adding that I liked the sound of the wheel, and desired not to
disturb her housewife thrift in the least.
“I dinna ken, sir,” she replied, in a dry, REVECHE tone, which carried
me back twenty years, “I am nane of thae heartsome landleddies that can
tell country cracks, and make themsel’s agreeable, and I was ganging to
put on a fire for you in the Red Room; but if it is your will to stay
here, he that pays the lawing maun choose the lodging.”
I endeavoured to engage her in conversation; but though she answered,
with a kind of stiff civility, I could get her into no freedom of
discourse, and she began to look at her wheel and at the door more
than once, as if she meditated a retreat. I was obliged, therefore, to
proceed to some special questions; that might have interest for a person
whose ideas were probably of a very bounded description.
I looked round the apartment, being the same in which I had last seen my
poor mother. The author of the family history, formerly mentioned, had
taken great credit to himself for the improvements he had made in this
same jointure-house of Duntarkin, and how, upon his marriage, when his
mother took possession of the same as her jointure-house, “to his great
charges and expenses he caused box the walls of the great parlour”
(in which I was now sitting), “empanel the same, and plaster the roof,
finishing the apartment with ane concave chimney, and decorating the
same with pictures, and a barometer and thermometer.” And in particular,
which his good mother used to say she prized above all the rest, he had
caused his own portraiture be limned over the mantlepiece by a skilful
hand. And, in good faith, there he remained still, having much the
visage which I was disposed to ascribe to him on the evidence of his
handwriting,--grim and austere, yet not without a cast of shrewdness and
determination; in armour, though he never wore it, I fancy; one hand on
an open book, and one resting on the hilt of his sword, though I dare
say his head never ached with reading, nor his limbs with fencing.
“That picture is painted on the wood, madam,” said I.
“Ay, sir, or it’s like it would not have been left there; they look a’
they could.”
“Mr. Treddles’s creditors, you mean?” said I.
“Na,” replied she dryly, “the creditors of another family, that sweepit
cleaner than this poor man’s, because I fancy there was less to gather.”
“An older family, perhaps, and probably more remembered and regretted
than later possessors?”
Christie here settled herself in her seat, and pulled her wheel towards
her. I had given her something interesting for her thoughts to dwell
upon, and her wheel was a mechanical accompaniment on such occasions,
the revolutions of which assisted her in the explanation of her ideas.
“Mair regretted--mair missed? I liked ane of the auld family very weel,
but I winna say that for them a’. How should they be mair missed than
the Treddleses? The cotton mill was such a thing for the country! The
mair bairns a cottar body had the better; they would make their awn keep
frae the time they were five years auld, and a widow wi’ three or four
bairns was a wealthy woman in the time of the Treddleses.”
“But the health of these poor children, my good friend--their education
and religious instruction--”
“For health,” said Christie, looking gloomily at me, “ye maun ken little
of the warld, sir, if ye dinna ken that the health of the poor man’s
body, as well as his youth and his strength, are all at the command of
the rich man’s purse. There never was a trade so unhealthy yet but men
would fight to get wark at it for twa pennies a day aboon the common
wage. But the bairns were reasonably weel cared for in the way of air
and exercise, and a very responsible youth heard them their Carritch,
and gied them lessons in Reediemadeasy [“Reading made Easy,” usually so
pronounced in Scotland.] Now, what did they ever get before? Maybe on a
winter day they wad be called out to beat the wood for cocks or siclike;
and then the starving weans would maybe get a bite of broken bread, and
maybe no, just as the butler was in humour--that was a’ they got.”
“They were not, then, a very kind family to the poor, these old
possessors?” said I, somewhat bitterly; for I had expected to hear
my ancestors’ praises recorded, though I certainly despaired of being
regaled with my own.
“They werena ill to them, sir, and that is aye something. They were
just decent bien bodies; ony poor creature that had face to beg got an
awmous, and welcome--they that were shamefaced gaed by, and twice
as welcome. But they keepit an honest walk before God and man, the
Croftangrys, and, as I said before, if they did little good, they did
as little ill. They lifted their rents, and spent them; called in their
kain and ate them; gaed to the kirk of a Sunday; bowed civilly if folk
took aff their bannets as they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at
them that keepit them on.”
“These are their arms that you have on the sign?”
“What! on the painted board that is skirling and groaning at the door?
Na, these are Mr. Treddles’s arms though they look as like legs as arms.
Ill pleased I was at the fule thing, that cost as muckle as would hae
repaired the house from the wa’ stane to the rigging-tree. But if I am
to bide here, I’ll hae a decent board wi’ a punch bowl on it.”
“Is there a doubt of your staying here, Mrs. Steele?”
“Dinna Mistress me,” said the cross old woman, whose fingers were now
plying their thrift in a manner which indicated nervous irritation;
“there was nae luck in the land since Luckie turned Mistress, and
Mistress my Leddy. And as for staying here, if it concerns you to ken,
I may stay if I can pay a hundred pund sterling for the lease, and I may
flit if I canna, and so gude e’en to you, Christie,”--and round went the
wheel with much activity.
“And you like the trade of keeping a public-house?”
“I can scarce say that,” she replied. “But worthy Mr. Prendergast is
clear of its lawfulness; and I hae gotten used to it, and made a decent
living, though I never make out a fause reckoning, or give ony ane the
means to disorder reason in my house.”
“Indeed!” said I; “in that case, there is no wonder you have not made up
the hundred pounds to purchase the lease.”
“How do you ken,” said she sharply, “that I might not have had a hundred
punds of my ain fee? If I have it not, I am sure it is my ain faut. And
I wunna ca’ it faut neither, for it gaed to her wha was weel entitled to
a’ my service.” Again she pulled stoutly at the flax, and the wheel went
smartly round.
“This old gentleman,” said I, fixing my eye on the painted panel, “seems
to have had HIS arms painted as well as Mr. Treddles--that is, if that
painting in the corner be a scutcheon.”
“Ay, ay--cushion, just sae. They maun a’ hae their cushions--there’s
sma’ gentry without that--and so the arms, as they ca’ them, of the
house of Glentanner may be seen on an auld stane in the west end of the
house. But to do them justice; they didna propale sae muckle about them
as poor Mr. Treddles did--it’s like they were better used to them.”
“Very likely. Are there any of the old family in life, goodwife?”
“No,” she replied; then added; after a moment’s hesitation, “Not that I
know of”--and the wheel, which had intermitted, began again to revolve.
“Gone abroad, perhaps?” I suggested.
She now looked up, and faced me. “No, sir. There were three sons of the
last laird of Glentanner, as he was then called. John and William were
hopeful young gentlemen, but they died early--one of a decline brought
on by the mizzles, the other lost his life in a fever. It would hae been
lucky for mony ane that Chrystal had gane the same gate.”
“Oh, he must have been the young spendthrift that sold the property?
Well, but you should you have such an ill-will against him; remember
necessity has no law. And then, goodwife, he was not more culpable than
Mr. Treddles, whom you are so sorry for.”
“I wish I could think sae, sir, for his mother’s sake. But Mr. Treddles
was in trade, and though he had no preceese right to do so, yet there
was some warrant for a man being expensive that imagined he was making
a mint of money. But this unhappy lad devoured his patrimony, when
he kenned that he was living like a ratten in a Dunlap cheese, and
diminishing his means at a’ hands. I canna bide to think on’t.” With
this she broke out into a snatch of a ballad, but little of mirth was
there either in the tone or the expression:--
“For he did spend, and make an end
Of gear that his forefathers wan;
Of land and ware he made him bare,
So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman.”
“Come, dame,” said I, “it is a long lane that has no turning. I will not
keep from you that I have heard something of this poor fellow, Chrystal
Croftangry. He has sown his wild oats, as they say, and has settled into
a steady, respectable man.”
“And wha tell’d ye that tidings?” said she, looking sharply at me.
“Not, perhaps, the best judge in the world of his character, for it was
himself, dame.”
“And if he tell’d you truth, it was a virtue he did not aye use to
practise,” said Christie.
“The devil!” said I, considerably nettled; “all the world held him to be
a man of honour.”
“Ay, ay! he would hae shot onybody wi’ his pistols and his guns that had
evened him to be a liar. But if he promised to pay an honest tradesman
the next term-day, did he keep his word then? And if he promised a puir,
silly lass to make gude her shame, did he speak truth then? And what is
that but being a liar, and a black-hearted, deceitful liar to boot?”
My indignation was rising, but I strove to suppress it; indeed, I should
only have afforded my tormentor a triumph by an angry reply. I partly
suspected she began to recognize me, yet she testified so little emotion
that I could not think my suspicion well founded. I went on, therefore,
to say, in a tone as indifferent as I could command, “Well, goodwife,
I see you will believe no good of this Chrystal of yours, till he comes
back and buys a good farm on the estate, and makes you his housekeeper.”
The old woman dropped her thread, folded her hands, as she looked up to
heaven with a face of apprehension. “The Lord,” she exclaimed, “forbid!
The Lord in His mercy forbid! O sir! if you really know this unlucky
man, persuade him to settle where folk ken the good that you say he has
come to, and dinna ken the evil of his former days. He used to be proud
enough--O dinna let him come here, even for his own sake. He used once
to have some pride.”
Here she once more drew the wheel close to her, and began to pull at the
flax with both hands. “Dinna let him come here, to be looked down upon
by ony that may be left of his auld reiving companions, and to see the
decent folk that he looked over his nose at look over their noses at
him, baith at kirk and market. Dinna let him come to his ain country, to
be made a tale about when ony neighbour points him out to another, and
tells what he is, and what he was, and how he wrecked a dainty estate,
and brought harlots to the door-cheek of his father’s house, till he
made it nae residence for his mother; and how it had been foretauld by
a servant of his ain house that he was a ne’er-do-weel and a child of
perdition, and how her words were made good, and--”
“Stop there, goodwife, if you please,” said I; “you have said as much as
I can well remember, and more than it may be safe to repeat. I can use a
great deal of freedom with the gentleman we speak of; but I think,
were any other person to carry him half of your message, I would scarce
ensure his personal safety. And now, as I see the night is settled to be
a fine one, I will walk on to --, where I must meet a coach to-morrow as
it passes to Edinburgh.”
So saying, I paid my moderate reckoning, and took my leave, without
being able to discover whether the prejudiced and hard-hearted old woman
did, or did not, suspect the identity of her guest with the Chrystal
Croftangry against whom she harboured so much dislike.
The night was fine and frosty, though, when I pretended to see what its
character was, it might have rained like the deluge. I only made the
excuse to escape from old Christie Steele. The horses which run races
in the Corso at Rome without any riders, in order to stimulate their
exertion, carry each his own spurs namely, small balls of steel, with
sharp, projecting spikes, which are attached to loose straps of leather,
and, flying about in the violence of the agitation, keep the horse to
his speed by pricking him as they strike against his flanks. The old
woman’s reproaches had the same effect on me, and urged me to a rapid
pace, as if it had been possible to escape from my own recollections. In
the best days of my life, when I won one or two hard walking matches,
I doubt if I ever walked so fast as I did betwixt the Treddles Arms and
the borough town for which I was bound. Though the night was cold, I was
warm enough by the time I got to my inn; and it required a refreshing
draught of porter, with half an hour’s repose, ere I could determine to
give no further thought to Christie and her opinions than those of any
other vulgar, prejudiced old woman. I resolved at last to treat the
thing EN BAGATELLE, and calling for writing materials, I folded up a
cheque for L100, with these lines on the envelope:--
“Chrystal, the ne’er-do-weel,
Child destined to the deil,
Sends this to Christie Steele.”
And I was so much pleased with this new mode of viewing the subject,
that I regretted the lateness of the hour prevented my finding a person
to carry the letter express to its destination.
“But with the morning cool reflection came.”
I considered that the money, and probably more, was actually due by me
on my mother’s account to Christie, who had lent it in a moment of great
necessity, and that the returning it in a light or ludicrous manner
was not unlikely to prevent so touchy and punctilious a person from
accepting a debt which was most justly her due, and which it became me
particularly to see satisfied. Sacrificing, then, my triad with little
regret (for it looked better by candlelight, and through the medium of a
pot of porter, than it did by daylight, and with bohea for a menstruum),
I determined to employ Mr. Fairscribe’s mediation in buying up the lease
of the little inn, and conferring it upon Christie in the way which
should make it most acceptable to her feelings. It is only necessary
to add that my plan succeeded, and that Widow Steele even yet keeps the
Treddles Arms. Do not say, therefore, that I have been disingenuous with
you, reader; since, if I have not told all the ill of myself I might
have done, I have indicated to you a person able and willing to supply
the blank, by relating all my delinquencies as well as my misfortunes.
In the meantime I totally abandoned the idea of redeeming any part of
my paternal property, and resolved to take Christie Steele’s advice, as
young Norval does Glenalvon’s, “although it sounded harshly.”