“On a dewie autumn evening, mighte have been seen, pacing yn the
grounds harde by Aucklande Castell, a yong Ladye of a stiff and perky
manner, yet not ill to look on, nay, one mighte saye, faire to a
degree, save that haply that hadde been untrue.
“That yong Ladye, O miserable Man, was I” (whereon I demanded on what
score shee held mee miserable, and shee replied, yt mattered not.) “I
plumed myself yn those tymes on my exceeding not soe much beauty as
loftiness of Figure, and gretely desired that some Painter might paint
my picture; but they ever were too high, not yn skyll I trow, but yn
charges.” (At thys I most humbly enquired at what charge the then
Painters wrought, but shee loftily affirmed that money-matters were
vulgar and that she knew not, no, nor cared.)
“Now yt chaunced that a certyn Artist, hight Lorenzo, came toe that
Quarter, having wyth hym a merveillous machine called by men a Chimera
(that ys, a fabulous and wholy incredible thing;) where wyth hee took
manie pictures, each yn a single stroke of Tyme, whiles that a Man
might name ‘John, the son of Robin’ (I asked her, what might a stroke
of Tyme bee, but shee, frowning, answered not).
“He yt was that undertook my Picture: yn which I mainly required one
thyng, that yt shoulde bee at full-length, for yn none other way mighte
my Loftiness bee trulie set forth. Nevertheless, though hee took manie
Pictures, yet all fayled yn thys: for some, beginning at the Hedde
reeched not toe the Feet; others, takyng yn the Feet, yet left out the
Hedde; whereof the former were a grief unto myself, and the latter a
Laughing-Stocke unto others.
“At these thyngs I justly fumed, having at the first been frendly unto
hym (though yn sooth hee was dull), and oft smote hym gretely on the
Eares, rending from hys Hedde certyn Locks, whereat crying out hee was
wont toe saye that I made hys lyfe a burden untoe hym, whych thyng I
not so much doubted as highlie rejoyced yn.
“At the last hee counselled thys, that a Picture shoulde bee made,
showing so much skyrt as mighte reasonably bee gotte yn, and a Notice
set below toe thys effect: ‘Item, two yards and a Half Ditto, and then
the Feet.’ Byt thys no Whit contented mee, and thereon I shut hym ynto
the Cellar, where hee remaned three Weeks, growing dayly thinner and
thinner, till at the last hee floted up and downe like a Feather.
“Now yt fell at thys tyme, as I questioned hym on a certyn Day, yf
hee woulde nowe take mee at full-length, and hee replying untoe mee,
yn a little moning Voyce, lyke a Gnat, one chaunced to open the Door:
whereat the Draft bore hym uppe ynto a Cracke of the Cieling, and I
remaned awaytyng hym, holding uppe my Torche, until such time as I also
faded ynto a Ghost, yet stickyng untoe the Wall.”
Then did my Loorde and the Companie haste down ynto the Cellar, for
to see thys straunge sight, to whych place when they came, my Loorde
bravely drew hys sword, loudly crying “Death!” (though to whom or what
he explained not); then some went yn, but the more part hung back,
urging on those yn front, not soe largely bye example, as Words of
cheer; yet at last all entered, my Loorde last.
Then they removed from the wall the Casks and other stuff, and founde
the sayd Ghost, dredful toe relate, yet extant on the Wall, at which
horrid sight such screems were raysed as yn these days are seldom
or never herde; some faynted, others bye large drafts of Beer saved
themselves from that Extremity, yet were they scarcely alive for Feer.
Then dyd the Layde speak unto them yn suchwise:
“Here I bee, and here I byde,
Till such tyme as yt betyde
That a Ladye of thys place,
Lyke to mee yn name and face,
(Though my name bee never known,
My initials shall bee shown,)
Shall be fotograffed aright--
Hedde and Feet bee both yn sight--
Then my face shall disappear,
Nor agayn affrite you heer.”
Then sayd Matthew Dixon unto her, “Wherefore holdest thou uppe that
Torche?” to whych shee answered, “Candles Gyve Light”: but none
understood her.
After thys a thyn Voyce sayd from overhedde:
“Yn the Auckland Castell cellar,
Long, long ago,
I was shut--a brisk young feller--
Woe, woe, ah woe!
To take her at full-lengthe
I never hadde the strengthe
Tempore (and soe I tell her)
Practerito!”
(Yn thys Chorus they durst none joyn, seeing that Latyn was untoe them
a Tongue unknown.)
“She was hard--oh, she was cruel--
Long, long ago,
Starved mee here--not even gruel--
No, believe mee, no!--
Frae Scotland could I flee,
I’d gie my last bawbee,--
Arrah, bhoys, fair play’s a jhewel,
Lave me, darlints, goe!”
Then my Loorde, putting bye hys Sworde, (whych was layd up thereafter,
yn memory of soe grete Bravery,) bade hys Butler fetch hym presentlie
a Vessel of Beer, whych when yt was brought at hys nod, (nor, as hee
merrily sayd, hys “nod, and Bec, and wreathed smyle,”) hee drank
hugelie thereof: “for why?” quoth hee, “surely a Bec ys no longer a
Bec, when yt ys Dry.”
[30] “The Legend of Scotland” was written by Lewis Carroll for the
daughters of Archbishop Longley, while the latter, as Bishop of Durham,
was living at Auckland Castle, and between the years 1856-1860. The
legend was suggested by some markings upon the walls of a cellar in a
part of the Castle which, from its remoteness and chilliness, was, and
perhaps still is, called “Scotland.”