So! now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story.
WEBSTER
When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of Ivanhoe
demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, if he had manfully
and rightfully done his duty in the combat? “Manfully and rightfully
hath it been done,” said the Grand Master. “I pronounce the maiden free
and guiltless—The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the
will of the victor.”
“I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the Knight of Ivanhoe,
“nor condemn his corpse to shame—he hath fought for Christendom—God’s
arm, no human hand, hath this day struck him down. But let his
obsequies be private, as becomes those of a man who died in an unjust
quarrel.—And for the maiden—”
He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, advancing in such
numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before them; and the
Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was followed by a numerous
band of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete armour.
“I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “I had doomed
Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.—Ivanhoe, was this well, to take on
thee such a venture, and thou scarce able to keep thy saddle?”
“Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “hath taken this proud man for
its victim. He was not to be honoured in dying as your will had
designed.”
“Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking steadfastly on the corpse,
“if it may be so—he was a gallant knight, and has died in his steel
harness full knightly. But we must waste no time—Bohun, do thine
office!”
A Knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, and, laying his
hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, “I arrest thee of
High Treason.”
The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the appearance of so
many warriors.—He now spoke.
“Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, within the girth
of his own Preceptory, and in the presence of the Grand Master? and by
whose authority is this bold outrage offered?”
“I make the arrest,” replied the Knight—“I, Henry Bohun, Earl of Essex,
Lord High Constable of England.”
“And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his visor, “by the
order of Richard Plantagenet, here present.—Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is
well for thee thou art born no subject of mine.—But for thee,
Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother Philip, ere the world be a week
older.”
“I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master.
“Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not—look up, and behold the
Royal Standard of England floats over thy towers instead of thy Temple
banner!—Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no bootless opposition—Thy hand
is in the lion’s mouth.”
“I will appeal to Rome against thee,” said the Grand Master, “for
usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our Order.”
“Be it so,” said the King; “but for thine own sake tax me not with
usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart with thy followers to
thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which has not been made
the scene of treasonable conspiracy against the King of England—Or, if
thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.”
“To be a guest in the house where I should command?” said the Templar;
“never!—Chaplains, raise the Psalm, ‘Quare fremuerunt Gentes?’—Knights,
squires, and followers of the Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner
of ‘Beau-seant!’”
The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted even that of
England’s king himself, and inspired courage into his surprised and
dismayed followers. They gathered around him like the sheep around the
watch-dog, when they hear the baying of the wolf. But they evinced not
the timidity of the scared flock—there were dark brows of defiance, and
looks which menaced the hostility they dared not to proffer in words.
They drew together in a dark line of spears, from which the white
cloaks of the knights were visible among the dusky garments of their
retainers, like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable cloud. The
multitude, who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and
gazed in silence on the formidable and experienced body to which they
had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their front.
The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their assembled force,
dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, and galloped backwards and
forwards to array his followers, in opposition to a band so formidable.
Richard alone, as if he loved the danger his presence had provoked,
rode slowly along the front of the Templars, calling aloud, “What,
sirs! Among so many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a spear
with Richard?—Sirs of the Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if
they are not worth the shiver of a broken lance?”
“The Brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, riding forward in
advance of their body, “fight not on such idle and profane quarrel—and
not with thee, Richard of England, shall a Templar cross lance in my
presence. The Pope and Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and
whether a Christian prince has done well in bucklering the cause which
thou hast to-day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To
thine honour we refer the armour and household goods of the Order which
we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay the scandal and
offence thou hast this day given to Christendom.”
With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand Master gave
the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded a wild march, of an
Oriental character, which formed the usual signal for the Templars to
advance. They changed their array from a line to a column of march, and
moved off as slowly as their horses could step, as if to show it was
only the will of their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and
superior force, which compelled them to withdraw.
“By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow!” said King Richard, “it is pity
of their lives that these Templars are not so trusty as they are
disciplined and valiant.”
The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the object of
its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble shout as the rear of
the squadron left the ground.
During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Templars, Rebecca
saw and heard nothing—she was locked in the arms of her aged father,
giddy, and almost senseless, with the rapid change of circumstances
around her. But one word from Isaac at length recalled her scattered
feelings.
“Let us go,” he said, “my dear daughter, my recovered treasure—let us
go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good youth.”
“Not so,” said Rebecca, “O no—no—no—I must not at this moment dare to
speak to him—Alas! I should say more than—No, my father, let us
instantly leave this evil place.”
“But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “to leave him who hath come forth like
a strong man with his spear and shield, holding his life as nothing, so
he might redeem thy captivity; and thou, too, the daughter of a people
strange unto him and his—this is service to be thankfully
acknowledged.”
“It is—it is—most thankfully—most devoutly acknowledged,” said
Rebecca—“it shall be still more so—but not now—for the sake of thy
beloved Rachel, father, grant my request—not now!”
“Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “they will deem us more thankless
than mere dogs!”
“But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in presence, and
that—-”
“True, my best—my wisest Rebecca!—Let us hence—let us hence!—Money he
will lack, for he has just returned from Palestine, and, as they say,
from prison—and pretext for exacting it, should he need any, may arise
out of my simple traffic with his brother John. Away, away, let us
hence!”
And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her from the lists,
and by means of conveyance which he had provided, transported her
safely to the house of the Rabbi Nathan.
The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal interest of the
day, having now retired unobserved, the attention of the populace was
transferred to the Black Knight. They now filled the air with “Long
life to Richard with the Lion’s Heart, and down with the usurping
Templars!”
“Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to the Earl of
Essex, “it was well the King took the precaution to bring thee with
him, noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty followers.”
The Earl smiled and shook his head.
“Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “dost thou know our Master so well, and
yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution! I was drawing towards
York having heard that Prince John was making head there, when I met
King Richard, like a true knight-errant, galloping hither to achieve in
his own person this adventure of the Templar and the Jewess, with his
own single arm. I accompanied him with my band, almost maugre his
consent.”
“And what news from York, brave Earl?” said Ivanhoe; “will the rebels
bide us there?”
“No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” said the Earl;
“they are dispersing; and who should come posting to bring us the news,
but John himself!”
“The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!” said Ivanhoe; “did not
Richard order him into confinement?”
“O! he received him,” answered the Earl, “as if they had met after a
hunting party; and, pointing to me and our men-at-arms, said, ‘Thou
seest, brother, I have some angry men with me—thou wert best go to our
mother, carry her my duteous affection, and abide with her until men’s
minds are pacified.’”
“And this was all he said?” enquired Ivanhoe; “would not any one say
that this Prince invites men to treason by his clemency?”
“Just,” replied the Earl, “as the man may be said to invite death, who
undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerous wound unhealed.”
“I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; “but, remember, I
hazarded but my own life—Richard, the welfare of his kingdom.”
“Those,” replied Essex, “who are specially careless of their own
welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others—But let us
haste to the castle, for Richard meditates punishing some of the
subordinate members of the conspiracy, though he has pardoned their
principal.”
From the judicial investigations which followed on this occasion, and
which are given at length in the Wardour Manuscript, it appears that
Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, and went into the service of
Philip of France; while Philip de Malvoisin, and his brother Albert,
the Preceptor of Templestowe, were executed, although Waldemar
Fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped with banishment; and
Prince John, for whose behoof it was undertaken, was not even censured
by his good-natured brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of the
two Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they had both well
deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and oppression.
Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was summoned to the
court of Richard, which, for the purpose of quieting the counties that
had been disturbed by the ambition of his brother, was then held at
York. Cedric tushed and pshawed more than once at the message—but he
refused not obedience. In fact, the return of Richard had quenched
every hope that he had entertained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in
England; for, whatever head the Saxons might have made in the event of
a civil war, it was plain that nothing could be done under the
undisputed dominion of Richard, popular as he was by his personal good
qualities and military fame, although his administration was wilfully
careless, now too indulgent, and now allied to despotism.
But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluctant observation,
that his project for an absolute union among the Saxons, by the
marriage of Rowena and Athelstane, was now completely at an end, by the
mutual dissent of both parties concerned. This was, indeed, an event
which, in his ardour for the Saxon cause, he could not have
anticipated, and even when the disinclination of both was broadly and
plainly manifested, he could scarce bring himself to believe that two
Saxons of royal descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an
alliance so necessary for the public weal of the nation. But it was not
the less certain: Rowena had always expressed her repugnance to
Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less plain and positive in
proclaiming his resolution never to pursue his addresses to the Lady
Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy of Cedric sunk beneath these
obstacles, where he, remaining on the point of junction, had the task
of dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with each hand. He made,
however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and he found that
resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like country squires of
our own day, in a furious war with the clergy.
It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the Abbot of Saint
Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, what between the natural
indolent kindness of his own disposition, what through the prayers of
his mother Edith, attached, like most ladies, (of the period,) to the
clerical order, had terminated in his keeping the Abbot and his monks
in the dungeons of Coningsburgh for three days on a meagre diet. For
this atrocity the Abbot menaced him with excommunication, and made out
a dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and stomach, suffered by
himself and his monks, in consequence of the tyrannical and unjust
imprisonment they had sustained. With this controversy, and with the
means he had adopted to counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric
found the mind of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied, that it had
no room for another idea. And when Rowena’s name was mentioned the
noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her health, and
that she might soon be the bride of his kinsman Wilfred. It was a
desperate case therefore. There was obviously no more to be made of
Athelstane; or, as Wamba expressed it, in a phrase which has descended
from Saxon times to ours, he was a cock that would not fight.
There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination which the lovers
desired to come to, only two obstacles—his own obstinacy, and his
dislike of the Norman dynasty. The former feeling gradually gave way
before the endearments of his ward, and the pride which he could not
help nourishing in the fame of his son. Besides, he was not insensible
to the honour of allying his own line to that of Alfred, when the
superior claims of the descendant of Edward the Confessor were
abandoned for ever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race of kings was
also much undermined,—first, by consideration of the impossibility of
ridding England of the new dynasty, a feeling which goes far to create
loyalty in the subject to the king “de facto”; and, secondly, by the
personal attention of King Richard, who delighted in the blunt humour
of Cedric, and, to use the language of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt
with the noble Saxon, that, ere he had been a guest at court for seven
days, he had given his consent to the marriage of his ward Rowena and
his son Wilfred of Ivanhoe.
The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his father, were
celebrated in the most august of temples, the noble Minster of York.
The King himself attended, and from the countenance which he afforded
on this and other occasions to the distressed and hitherto degraded
Saxons, gave them a safer and more certain prospect of attaining their
just rights, than they could reasonably hope from the precarious chance
of a civil war. The Church gave her full solemnities, graced with all
the splendour which she of Rome knows how to apply with such brilliant
effect.
Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon his young master
whom he had served so faithfully, and the magnanimous Wamba, decorated
with a new cap and a most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of
Wilfred’s dangers and adversity, they remained, as they had a right to
expect, the partakers of his more prosperous career.
But besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished nuptials were
celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Normans, as well as
Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of the lower orders, that
marked the marriage of two individuals as a pledge of the future peace
and harmony betwixt two races, which, since that period, have been so
completely mingled, that the distinction has become wholly invisible.
Cedric lived to see this union approximate towards its completion; for
as the two nations mixed in society and formed intermarriages with each
other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons were refined from
their rusticity. But it was not until the reign of Edward the Third
that the mixed language, now termed English, was spoken at the court of
London, and that the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon seems
entirely to have disappeared.
It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the Lady
Rowena was made acquainted by her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel
desired admission to her presence, and solicited that their parley
might be without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious,
and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants
to withdraw.
She entered—a noble and commanding figure, the long white veil, in
which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing the
elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect,
unmingled by the least shade either of fear, or of a wish to propitiate
favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to
the feelings, of others. She arose, and would have conducted her lovely
visitor to a seat; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and again
intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. Elgitha had
no sooner retired with unwilling steps, than, to the surprise of the
Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her
hands to her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in spite of
Rowena’s resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic.
[Illustration]
“What means this, lady?” said the surprised bride; “or why do you offer
to me a deference so unusual?”
“Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Rebecca, rising up and resuming
the usual quiet dignity of her manner, “I may lawfully, and without
rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I
am—forgive the boldness which has offered to you the homage of my
country—I am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his
life against such fearful odds in the tiltyard of Templestowe.”
“Damsel,” said Rowena, “Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day rendered back
but in slight measure your unceasing charity towards him in his wounds
and misfortunes. Speak, is there aught remains in which he or I can
serve thee?”
“Nothing,” said Rebecca, calmly, “unless you will transmit to him my
grateful farewell.”
“You leave England then?” said Rowena, scarce recovering the surprise
of this extraordinary visit.
“I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father had a brother
high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada—thither we go,
secure of peace and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the
Moslem exact from our people.”
“And are you not then as well protected in England?” said Rowena. “My
husband has favour with the King—the King himself is just and
generous.”
“Lady,” said Rebecca, “I doubt it not—but the people of England are a
fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neighbours or among
themselves, and ready to plunge the sword into the bowels of each
other. Such is no safe abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is
an heartless dove—Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which stoops
between two burdens. Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by
hostile neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel
hope to rest during her wanderings.”
“But you, maiden,” said Rowena—“you surely can have nothing to fear.
She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe,” she continued, rising with
enthusiasm—“she can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and
Norman will contend who shall most do her honour.”
“Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “and thy purpose fairer; but
it may not be—there is a gulf betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith,
alike forbid either to pass over it. Farewell—yet, ere I go indulge me
one request. The bridal-veil hangs over thy face; deign to raise it,
and let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.”
“They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said Rowena; “but,
expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil.”
She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the consciousness of
beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely, that cheek,
brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed
also, but it was a momentary feeling; and, mastered by higher emotions,
past slowly from her features like the crimson cloud, which changes
colour when the sun sinks beneath the horizon.
“Lady,” she said, “the countenance you have deigned to show me will
long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in it gentleness and
goodness; and if a tinge of the world’s pride or vanities may mix with
an expression so lovely, how should we chide that which is of earth for
bearing some colour of its original? Long, long will I remember your
features, and bless God that I leave my noble deliverer united with—”
She stopped short—her eyes filled with tears. She hastily wiped them,
and answered to the anxious enquiries of Rowena—“I am well, lady—well.
But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of
Templestowe.—Farewell. One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains
undischarged. Accept this casket—startle not at its contents.”
Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived a carcanet,
or neck lace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which were obviously of
immense value.
“It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the casket. “I dare not
accept a gift of such consequence.”
“Yet keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca.—“You have power, rank, command,
influence; we have wealth, the source both of our strength and
weakness; the value of these toys, ten times multiplied, would not
influence half so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the
gift is of little value,—and to me, what I part with is of much less.
Let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill of my nation as your
commons believe. Think ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of
stone above my liberty? or that my father values them in comparison to
the honour of his only child? Accept them, lady—to me they are
valueless. I will never wear jewels more.”
“You are then unhappy!” said Rowena, struck with the manner in which
Rebecca uttered the last words. “O, remain with us—the counsel of holy
men will wean you from your erring law, and I will be a sister to you.”
“No, lady,” answered Rebecca, the same calm melancholy reigning in her
soft voice and beautiful features—“that—may not be. I may not change
the faith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in which
I seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He, to whom I
dedicate my future life, will be my comforter, if I do His will.”
“Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to retire?” asked
Rowena.
“No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our people, since the time of
Abraham downwards, have been women who have devoted their thoughts to
Heaven, and their actions to works of kindness to men, tending the
sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among these
will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to thy lord, should he chance to
enquire after the fate of her whose life he saved.”
There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca’s voice, and a tenderness
of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she would willingly have
expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.
“Farewell,” she said. “May He, who made both Jew and Christian, shower
down on you his choicest blessings! The bark that waits us hence will
be under weigh ere we can reach the port.”
She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as if a vision
had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the singular conference
to her husband, on whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long
and happily with Rowena, for they were attached to each other by the
bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the more, from the
recollection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it
would be enquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recollection of
Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more
frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have
approved.
Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and was graced
with farther marks of the royal favour. He might have risen still
higher, but for the premature death of the heroic Cœur-de-Lion, before
the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a generous, but
rash and romantic monarch, perished all the projects which his ambition
and his generosity had formed; to whom may be applied, with a slight
alteration, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden—
His fate was destined to a foreign strand,
A petty fortress and an “humble” hand;
He left the name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a TALE.
NOTE TO CHAPTER I.
Note A.—The Ranger or the Forest, that cuts the foreclaws off our dogs.
A most sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were the Forest
Laws. These oppressive enactments were the produce of the Norman
Conquest, for the Saxon laws of the chase were mild and humane; while
those of William, enthusiastically attached to the exercise and its
rights, were to the last degree tyrannical. The formation of the New
Forest, bears evidence to his passion for hunting, where he reduced
many a happy village to the condition of that one commemorated by my
friend, Mr William Stewart Rose:
“Amongst the ruins of the church
The midnight raven found a perch,
A melancholy place;
The ruthless Conqueror cast down,
Woe worth the deed, that little town,
To lengthen out his chase.”
The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keeping flocks and
herds, from running at the deer, was called “lawing”, and was in
general use. The Charter of the Forest designed to lessen those evils,
declares that inquisition, or view, for lawing dogs, shall be made
every third year, and shall be then done by the view and testimony of
lawful men, not otherwise; and they whose dogs shall be then found
unlawed, shall give three shillings for mercy, and for the future no
man’s ox shall be taken for lawing. Such lawing also shall be done by
the assize commonly used, and which is, that three claws shall be cut
off without the ball of the right foot. See on this subject the
Historical Essay on the Magna Charta of King John, (a most beautiful
volume), by Richard Thomson.
NOTE TO CHAPTER II.
Note B.—Negro Slaves.
The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the complexion of
the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being totally out of costume
and propriety. I remember the same objection being made to a set of
sable functionaries, whom my friend, Mat Lewis, introduced as the
guards and mischief-doing satellites of the wicked Baron, in his Castle
Spectre. Mat treated the objection with great contempt, and averred in
reply, that he made the slaves black in order to obtain a striking
effect of contrast, and that, could he have derived a similar advantage
from making his heroine blue, blue she should have been.
I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highly as this;
but neither will I allow that the author of a modern antique romance is
obliged to confine himself to the introduction of those manners only
which can be proved to have absolutely existed in the times he is
depicting, so that he restrain himself to such as are plausible and
natural, and contain no obvious anachronism. In this point of view,
what can be more natural, than that the Templars, who, we know, copied
closely the luxuries of the Asiatic warriors with whom they fought,
should use the service of the enslaved Africans, whom the fate of war
transferred to new masters? I am sure, if there are no precise proofs
of their having done so, there is nothing, on the other hand, that can
entitle us positively to conclude that they never did. Besides, there
is an instance in romance.
John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertook to
effect the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presenting himself in
disguise at the court of the king, where he was confined. For this
purpose, “he stained his hair and his whole body entirely as black as
jet, so that nothing was white but his teeth,” and succeeded in
imposing himself on the king, as an Ethiopian minstrel. He effected, by
stratagem, the escape of the prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have
been known in England in the dark ages. 60
NOTE TO CHAPTER XVII.
Note C.—Minstrelsy.
The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the Norman
and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which the word Yes is
pronounced as “oui”, and the inhabitants of the southern regions, whose
speech bearing some affinity to the Italian, pronounced the same word
“oc”. The poets of the former race were called “Minstrels”, and their
poems “Lays”: those of the latter were termed “Troubadours”, and their
compositions called “sirventes”, and other names. Richard, a professed
admirer of the joyous science in all its branches, could imitate either
the minstrel or troubadour. It is less likely that he should have been
able to compose or sing an English ballad; yet so much do we wish to
assimilate Him of the Lion Heart to the band of warriors whom he led,
that the anachronism, if there be one may readily be forgiven.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXI.
Note D.—Battle of Stamford.
A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions. The
bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and won by King Harold,
over his brother the rebellious Tosti, and an auxiliary force of Danes
or Norsemen, was said, in the text, and a corresponding note, to have
taken place at Stamford, in Leicestershire, and upon the river Welland.
This is a mistake, into which the author has been led by trusting to
his memory, and so confounding two places of the same name. The
Stamford, Strangford, or Staneford, at which the battle really was
fought, is a ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance of about
seven miles from York, and situated in that large and opulent county. A
long wooden bridge over the Derwent, the site of which, with one
remaining buttress, is still shown to the curious traveller, was
furiously contested. One Norwegian long defended it by his single arm,
and was at length pierced with a spear thrust through the planks of the
bridge from a boat beneath.
The neighbourhood of Stamford, on the Derwent, contains some memorials
of the battle. Horseshoes, swords, and the heads of halberds, or bills,
are often found there; one place is called the “Danes’ well,” another
the “Battle flats.” From a tradition that the weapon with which the
Norwegian champion was slain, resembled a pear, or, as others say, that
the trough or boat in which the soldier floated under the bridge to
strike the blow, had such a shape, the country people usually begin a
great market, which is held at Stamford, with an entertainment called
the Pear-pie feast, which after all may be a corruption of the
Spear-pie feast. For more particulars, Drake’s History of York may be
referred to. The author’s mistake was pointed out to him, in the most
obliging manner, by Robert Belt, Esq. of Bossal House. The battle was
fought in 1066.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXII.
Note E.—The range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal.
This horrid species of torture may remind the reader of that to which
the Spaniards subjected Guatimozin, in order to extort a discovery of
his concealed wealth. But, in fact, an instance of similar barbarity is
to be found nearer home, and occurs in the annals of Queen Mary’s time,
containing so many other examples of atrocity. Every reader must
recollect, that after the fall of the Catholic Church, and the
Presbyterian Church Government had been established by law, the rank,
and especially the wealth, of the Bishops, Abbots, Priors, and so
forth, were no longer vested in ecclesiastics, but in lay impropriators
of the church revenues, or, as the Scottish lawyers called them,
titulars of the temporalities of the benefice, though having no claim
to the spiritual character of their predecessors in office.
Of these laymen, who were thus invested with ecclesiastical revenues,
some were men of high birth and rank, like the famous Lord James
Stewart, the Prior of St Andrews, who did not fail to keep for their
own use the rents, lands, and revenues of the church. But if, on the
other hand, the titulars were men of inferior importance, who had been
inducted into the office by the interest of some powerful person, it
was generally understood that the new Abbot should grant for his
patron’s benefit such leases and conveyances of the church lands and
tithes as might afford their protector the lion’s share of the booty.
This was the origin of those who were wittily termed Tulchan 61
Bishops, being a sort of imaginary prelate, whose image was set up to
enable his patron and principal to plunder the benefice under his name.
There were other cases, however, in which men who had got grants of
these secularised benefices, were desirous of retaining them for their
own use, without having the influence sufficient to establish their
purpose; and these became frequently unable to protect themselves,
however unwilling to submit to the exactions of the feudal tyrant of
the district.
Bannatyne, secretary to John Knox, recounts a singular course of
oppression practised on one of those titulars abbots, by the Earl of
Cassilis in Ayrshire, whose extent of feudal influence was so wide that
he was usually termed the King of Carrick. We give the fact as it
occurs in Bannatyne’s Journal, only premising that the Journalist held
his master’s opinions, both with respect to the Earl of Cassilis as an
opposer of the king’s party, and as being a detester of the practice of
granting church revenues to titulars, instead of their being devoted to
pious uses, such as the support of the clergy, expense of schools, and
the relief of the national poor. He mingles in the narrative,
therefore, a well deserved feeling of execration against the tyrant who
employed the torture, which a tone of ridicule towards the patient, as
if, after all, it had not been ill bestowed on such an equivocal and
amphibious character as a titular abbot. He entitles his narrative,
THE EARL OF CASSILIS’ TYRANNY AGAINST A QUICK (i.e. LIVING) MAN.
“Master Allan Stewart, friend to Captain James Stewart of Cardonall, by
means of the Queen’s corrupted court, obtained the Abbey of
Crossraguel. The said Earl thinking himself greater than any king in
those quarters, determined to have that whole benefice (as he hath
divers others) to pay at his pleasure; and because he could not find
sic security as his insatiable appetite required, this shift was
devised. The said Mr Allan being in company with the Laird of Bargany,
(also a Kennedy,) was, by the Earl and his friends, enticed to leave
the safeguard which he had with the Laird, and come to make good cheer
with the said Earl. The simplicity of the imprudent man was suddenly
abused; and so he passed his time with them certain days, which he did
in Maybole with Thomas Kennedie, uncle to the said Earl; after which
the said Mr Allan passed, with quiet company, to visit the place and
bounds of Crossraguel, [his abbacy,] of which the said Earl being
surely advertised, determined to put in practice the tyranny which long
before he had conceived. And so, as king of the country, apprehended
the said Mr Allan, and carried him to the house of Denure, where for a
season he was honourably treated, (if a prisoner can think any
entertainment pleasing;) but after that certain days were spent, and
that the Earl could not obtain the feus of Crossraguel according to his
own appetite, he determined to prove if a collation could work that
which neither dinner nor supper could do for a long time. And so the
said Mr Allan was carried to a secret chamber: with him passed the
honourable Earl, his worshipful brother, and such as were appointed to
be servants at that banquet. In the chamber there was a grit iron
chimlay, under it a fire; other grit provision was not seen. The first
course was,—‘My Lord Abbot,’ (said the Earl,) ‘it will please you
confess here, that with your own consent you remain in my company,
because ye durst not commit yourself to the hands of others.’ The Abbot
answered, ‘Would you, my lord, that I should make a manifest lie for
your pleasure? The truth is, my lord, it is against my will that I am
here; neither yet have I any pleasure in your company.’ ‘But ye shall
remain with me, nevertheless, at this time,’ said the Earl. ‘I am not
able to resist your will and pleasure,’ said the Abbot, ‘in this
place.’ ‘Ye must then obey me,’ said the Earl,—and with that were
presented unto him certain letters to subscribe, amongst which there
was a five years’ tack, and a nineteen years’ tack, and a charter of
feu of all the lands (of Crossraguel), with all the clauses necessary
for the Earl to haste him to hell. For if adultery, sacrilege,
oppression, barbarous cruelty, and theft heaped upon theft, deserve
hell, the great King of Carrick can no more escape hell for ever, than
the imprudent Abbot escaped the fire for a season as follows.
“After that the Earl spied repugnance, and saw that he could not come
to his purpose by fair means, he commanded his cooks to prepare the
banquet: and so first they flayed the sheep, that is, they took off the
Abbot’s cloathes even to his skin, and next they bound him to the
chimney—his legs to the one end, and his arms to the other; and so they
began to beet [i.e. feed] the fire sometimes to his buttocks, sometimes
to his legs, sometimes to his shoulders and arms; and that the roast
might not burn, but that it might rest in soppe, they spared not
flambing with oil, (basting as a cook bastes roasted meat); Lord, look
thou to sic cruelty! And that the crying of the miserable man should
not be heard, they dosed his mouth that the voice might be stopped. It
may be suspected that some partisan of the King’s [Darnley’s] murder
was there. In that torment they held the poor man, till that often he
cried for God’s sake to dispatch him; for he had as meikle gold in his
awin purse as would buy powder enough to shorten his pain. The famous
King of Carrick and his cooks perceiving the roast to be aneuch,
commanded it to be tane fra the fire, and the Earl himself began the
grace in this manner:—‘Benedicite, Jesus Maria, you are the most
obstinate man that ever I saw; gif I had known that ye had been so
stubborn, I would not for a thousand crowns have handled you so; I
never did so to man before you.’ And yet he returned to the same
practice within two days, and ceased not till that he obtained his
formost purpose, that is, that he had got all his pieces subscryvit
alsweill as ane half-roasted hand could do it. The Earl thinking
himself sure enough so long as he had the half-roasted Abbot in his own
keeping, and yet being ashamed of his presence by reason of his former
cruelty, left the place of Denure in the hands of certain of his
servants, and the half-roasted Abbot to be kept there as prisoner. The
Laird of Bargany, out of whose company the said Abbot had been enticed,
understanding, (not the extremity,) but the retaining of the man, sent
to the court, and raised letters of deliverance of the person of the
man according to the order, which being disobeyed, the said Earl for
his contempt was denounced rebel, and put to the horne. But yet hope
was there none, neither to the afflicted to be delivered, neither yet
to the purchaser [i.e. procurer] of the letters to obtain any comfort
thereby; for in that time God was despised, and the lawful authority
was contemned in Scotland, in hope of the sudden return and regiment of
that cruel murderer of her awin husband, of whose lords the said Earl
was called one; and yet, oftener than once, he was solemnly sworn to
the King and to his Regent.”
The Journalist then recites the complaint of the injured Allan Stewart,
Commendator of Crossraguel, to the Regent and Privy Council, averring
his having been carried, partly by flattery, partly by force, to the
black vault of Denure, a strong fortalice, built on a rock overhanging
the Irish channel, where to execute leases and conveyances of the whole
churches and parsonages belonging to the Abbey of Crossraguel, which he
utterly refused as an unreasonable demand, and the more so that he had
already conveyed them to John Stewart of Cardonah, by whose interest he
had been made Commendator. The complainant proceeds to state, that he
was, after many menaces, stript, bound, and his limbs exposed to fire
in the manner already described, till, compelled by excess of agony, he
subscribed the charter and leases presented to him, of the contents of
which he was totally ignorant. A few days afterwards, being again
required to execute a ratification of these deeds before a notary and
witnesses, and refusing to do so, he was once more subjected to the
same torture, until his agony was so excessive that he exclaimed, “Fye
on you, why do you not strike your whingers into me, or blow me up with
a barrel of powder, rather than torture me thus unmercifully?” upon
which the Earl commanded Alexander Richard, one of his attendants, to
stop the patient’s mouth with a napkin, which was done accordingly.
Thus he was once more compelled to submit to their tyranny. The
petition concluded with stating, that the Earl, under pretence of the
deeds thus iniquitously obtained, had taken possession of the whole
place and living of Crossraguel, and enjoyed the profits thereof for
three years.
The doom of the Regent and Council shows singularly the total
interruption of justice at this calamitous period, even in the most
clamant cases of oppression. The Council declined interference with the
course of the ordinary justice of the county, (which was completely
under the said Earl of Cassilis’ control,) and only enacted, that he
should forbear molestation of the unfortunate Comendator, under the
surety of two thousand pounds Scots. The Earl was appointed also to
keep the peace towards the celebrated George Buchanan, who had a
pension out of the same Abbacy, to a similar extent, and under the like
penalty.
The consequences are thus described by the Journalist already quoted.—
“The said Laird of Bargany perceiving that the ordiner justice could
neither help the oppressed, nor yet the afflicted, applied his mind to
the next remedy, and in the end, by his servants, took the house of
Denure, where the poor Abbot was kept prisoner. The bruit flew fra
Carrick to Galloway, and so suddenly assembled herd and hyre-man that
pertained to the band of the Kennedies; and so within a few hours was
the house of Denure environed again. The master of Cassilis was the
frackast [i.e. the readiest or boldest] and would not stay, but in his
heat would lay fire to the dungeon, with no small boasting that all
enemies within the house should die.
“He was required and admonished by those that were within to be more
moderate, and not to hazard himself so foolishly. But no admonition
would help, till that the wind of an hacquebute blasted his shoulder,
and then ceased he from further pursuit in fury. The Laird of Bargany
had before purchest [obtained] of the authorities, letters, charging
all faithfull subjects to the King’s Majesty, to assist him against
that cruel tyrant and mansworn traitor, the Earl of Cassilis; which
letters, with his private writings, he published, and shortly found sic
concurrence of Kyle and Cunynghame with his other friends, that the
Carrick company drew back fra the house: and so the other approached,
furnished the house with more men, delivered the said Mr Allan, and
carried him to Ayr, where, publicly at the market cross of the said
town, he declared how cruelly he was entreated, and how the murdered
King suffered not sic torment as he did, excepting only he escaped the
death: and, therefore, publickly did revoke all things that were done
in that extremity, and especially revoked the subscription of the three
writings, to wit, of a fyve yeir tack and nineteen year tack, and of a
charter of feu. And so the house remained, and remains (till this day,
the 7th of February, 1571,) in the custody of the said Laird of Bargany
and of his servants. And so cruelty was disappointed of proffeit
present, and shall be eternallie punished, unless he earnestly repent.
And this far for the cruelty committed, to give occasion unto others,
and to such as hate the monstrous dealing of degenerate nobility, to
look more diligently upon their behaviuours, and to paint them forth
unto the world, that they themselves may be ashamed of their own
beastliness, and that the world may be advertised and admonished to
abhor, detest, and avoid the company of all sic tyrants, who are not
worthy of the society of men, but ought to be sent suddenly to the
devil, with whom they must burn without end, for their contempt of God,
and cruelty committed against his creatures. Let Cassilis and his
brother be the first to be the example unto others. Amen. Amen.” 62
This extract has been somewhat amended or modernized in orthography, to
render it more intelligible to the general reader. I have to add, that
the Kennedies of Bargany, who interfered in behalf of the oppressed
Abbot, were themselves a younger branch of the Cassilis family, but
held different politics, and were powerful enough in this, and other
instances, to bid them defiance.
The ultimate issue of this affair does not appear; but as the house of
Cassilis are still in possession of the greater part of the feus and
leases which belonged to Crossraguel Abbey, it is probable the talons
of the King of Carrick were strong enough, in those disorderly times,
to retain the prey which they had so mercilessly fixed upon.
I may also add, that it appears by some papers in my possession, that
the officers or Country Keepers on the border, were accustomed to
torment their prisoners by binding them to the iron bars of their
chimneys, to extort confession.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXIX
Note F.—Heraldry
The author has been here upbraided with false heraldry, as having
charged metal upon metal. It should be remembered, however, that
heraldry had only its first rude origin during the crusades, and that
all the minutiae of its fantastic science were the work of time, and
introduced at a much later period. Those who think otherwise must
suppose that the Goddess of “Armoirers”, like the Goddess of Arms,
sprung into the world completely equipped in all the gaudy trappings of
the department she presides over.
Additional Note
In corroboration of said note, it may be observed, that the arms, which
were assumed by Godfrey of Boulogne himself, after the conquest of
Jerusalem, was a cross counter patent cantoned with four little crosses
or, upon a field azure, displaying thus metal upon metal. The heralds
have tried to explain this undeniable fact in different modes—but Ferne
gallantly contends, that a prince of Godfrey’s qualities should not be
bound by the ordinary rules. The Scottish Nisbet, and the same Ferne,
insist that the chiefs of the Crusade must have assigned to Godfrey
this extraordinary and unwonted coat-of-arms, in order to induce those
who should behold them to make enquiries; and hence give them the name
of “arma inquirenda”. But with reverence to these grave authorities, it
seems unlikely that the assembled princes of Europe should have
adjudged to Godfrey a coat armorial so much contrary to the general
rule, if such rule had then existed; at any rate, it proves that metal
upon metal, now accounted a solecism in heraldry, was admitted in other
cases similar to that in the text. See Ferne’s “Blazon of Gentrie” p.
238. Edition 1586. Nisbet’s “Heraldry”, vol. i. p. 113. Second Edition.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXI
Note G.—Ulrica’s Death song.
It will readily occur to the antiquary, that these verses are intended
to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds—the minstrels of the old
Scandinavians—the race, as the Laureate so happily terms them,
“Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure,
Who smiled in death.”
The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilisation and
conversion, was of a different and softer character; but in the
circumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed to return
to the wild strains which animated her forefathers during the time of
Paganism and untamed ferocity.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXII
Note H.—Richard Cœur-de-Lion.
The interchange of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirely out of
character with Richard I., if romances read him aright. In the very
curious romance on the subject of his adventures in the Holy Land, and
his return from thence, it is recorded how he exchanged a pugilistic
favour of this nature, while a prisoner in Germany. His opponent was
the son of his principal warder, and was so imprudent as to give the
challenge to this barter of buffets. The King stood forth like a true
man, and received a blow which staggered him. In requital, having
previously waxed his hand, a practice unknown, I believe, to the
gentlemen of the modern fancy, he returned the box on the ear with such
interest as to kill his antagonist on the spot.—See, in Ellis’s
Specimens of English Romance, that of Cœur-de-Lion.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXIII
Note I.—Hedge-Priests.
It is curious to observe, that in every state of society, some sort of
ghostly consolation is provided for the members of the community,
though assembled for purposes diametrically opposite to religion. A
gang of beggars have their Patrico, and the banditti of the Apennines
have among them persons acting as monks and priests, by whom they are
confessed, and who perform mass before them. Unquestionably, such
reverend persons, in such a society, must accommodate their manners and
their morals to the community in which they live; and if they can
occasionally obtain a degree of reverence for their supposed spiritual
gifts, are, on most occasions, loaded with unmerciful ridicule, as
possessing a character inconsistent with all around them.
Hence the fighting parson in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle, and
the famous friar of Robin Hood’s band. Nor were such characters ideal.
There exists a monition of the Bishop of Durham against irregular
churchmen of this class, who associated themselves with Border robbers,
and desecrated the holiest offices of the priestly function, by
celebrating them for the benefit of thieves, robbers, and murderers,
amongst ruins and in caverns of the earth, without regard to canonical
form, and with torn and dirty attire, and maimed rites, altogether
improper for the occasion.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XLI.
Note J.—Castle of Coningsburgh.
When I last saw this interesting ruin of ancient days, one of the very
few remaining examples of Saxon fortification, I was strongly impressed
with the desire of tracing out a sort of theory on the subject, which,
from some recent acquaintance with the architecture of the ancient
Scandinavians, seemed to me peculiarly interesting. I was, however,
obliged by circumstances to proceed on my journey, without leisure to
take more than a transient view of Coningsburgh. Yet the idea dwells so
strongly in my mind, that I feel considerably tempted to write a page
or two in detailing at least the outline of my hypothesis, leaving
better antiquaries to correct or refute conclusions which are perhaps
too hastily drawn.
Those who have visited the Zetland Islands, are familiar with the
description of castles called by the inhabitants Burghs; and by the
Highlanders—for they are also to be found both in the Western Isles and
on the mainland—Duns. Pennant has engraved a view of the famous
Dun-Dornadilla in Glenelg; and there are many others, all of them built
after a peculiar mode of architecture, which argues a people in the
most primitive state of society. The most perfect specimen is that upon
the island of Mousa, near to the mainland of Zetland, which is probably
in the same state as when inhabited.
It is a single round tower, the wall curving in slightly, and then
turning outward again in the form of a dice-box, so that the defenders
on the top might the better protect the base. It is formed of rough
stones, selected with care, and laid in courses or circles, with much
compactness, but without cement of any kind. The tower has never, to
appearance, had roofing of any sort; a fire was made in the centre of
the space which it encloses, and originally the building was probably
little more than a wall drawn as a sort of screen around the great
council fire of the tribe. But, although the means or ingenuity of the
builders did not extend so far as to provide a roof, they supplied the
want by constructing apartments in the interior of the walls of the
tower itself. The circumvallation formed a double enclosure, the inner
side of which was, in fact, two feet or three feet distant from the
other, and connected by a concentric range of long flat stones, thus
forming a series of concentric rings or stories of various heights,
rising to the top of the tower. Each of these stories or galleries has
four windows, facing directly to the points of the compass, and rising
of course regularly above each other. These four perpendicular ranges
of windows admitted air, and, the fire being kindled, heat, or smoke at
least, to each of the galleries. The access from gallery to gallery is
equally primitive. A path, on the principle of an inclined plane, turns
round and round the building like a screw, and gives access to the
different stories, intersecting each of them in its turn, and thus
gradually rising to the top of the wall of the tower. On the outside
there are no windows; and I may add, that an enclosure of a square, or
sometimes a round form, gave the inhabitants of the Burgh an
opportunity to secure any sheep or cattle which they might possess.
Such is the general architecture of that very early period when the
Northmen swept the seas, and brought to their rude houses, such as I
have described them, the plunder of polished nations. In Zetland there
are several scores of these Burghs, occupying in every case, capes,
headlands, islets, and similar places of advantage singularly well
chosen. I remember the remains of one upon an island in a small lake
near Lerwick, which at high tide communicates with the sea, the access
to which is very ingenious, by means of a causeway or dike, about three
or four inches under the surface of the water. This causeway makes a
sharp angle in its approach to the Burgh. The inhabitants, doubtless,
were well acquainted with this, but strangers, who might approach in a
hostile manner, and were ignorant of the curve of the causeway, would
probably plunge into the lake, which is six or seven feet in depth at
the least. This must have been the device of some Vauban or Cohorn of
those early times.
The style of these buildings evinces that the architect possessed
neither the art of using lime or cement of any kind, nor the skill to
throw an arch, construct a roof, or erect a stair; and yet, with all
this ignorance, showed great ingenuity in selecting the situation of
Burghs, and regulating the access to them, as well as neatness and
regularity in the erection, since the buildings themselves show a style
of advance in the arts scarcely consistent with the ignorance of so
many of the principal branches of architectural knowledge.
I have always thought, that one of the most curious and valuable
objects of antiquaries has been to trace the progress of society, by
the efforts made in early ages to improve the rudeness of their first
expedients, until they either approach excellence, or, as is more
frequently the case, are supplied by new and fundamental discoveries,
which supersede both the earlier and ruder system, and the improvements
which have been ingrafted upon it. For example, if we conceive the
recent discovery of gas to be so much improved and adapted to domestic
use, as to supersede all other modes of producing domestic light; we
can already suppose, some centuries afterwards, the heads of a whole
Society of Antiquaries half turned by the discovery of a pair of patent
snuffers, and by the learned theories which would be brought forward to
account for the form and purpose of so singular an implement.
Following some such principle, I am inclined to regard the singular
Castle of Coningsburgh—I mean the Saxon part of it—as a step in advance
from the rude architecture, if it deserves the name, which must have
been common to the Saxons as to other Northmen. The builders had
attained the art of using cement, and of roofing a building,—great
improvements on the original Burgh. But in the round keep, a shape only
seen in the most ancient castles—the chambers excavated in the
thickness of the walls and buttresses—the difficulty by which access is
gained from one story to those above it, Coningsburgh still retains the
simplicity of its origin, and shows by what slow degrees man proceeded
from occupying such rude and inconvenient lodgings, as were afforded by
the galleries of the Castle of Mousa, to the more splendid
accommodations of the Norman castles, with all their stern and Gothic
graces.
I am ignorant if these remarks are new, or if they will be confirmed by
closer examination; but I think, that, on a hasty observation,
Coningsburgh offers means of curious study to those who may wish to
trace the history of architecture back to the times preceding the
Norman Conquest.
It would be highly desirable that a cork model should be taken of the
Castle of Mousa, as it cannot be well understood by a plan.
The Castle of Coningsburgh is thus described:—
“The castle is large, the outer walls standing on a pleasant ascent
from the river, but much overtopt by a high hill, on which the town
stands, situated at the head of a rich and magnificent vale, formed by
an amphitheatre of woody hills, in which flows the gentle Don. Near the
castle is a barrow, said to be Hengist’s tomb. The entrance is flanked
to the left by a round tower, with a sloping base, and there are
several similar in the outer wall the entrance has piers of a gate, and
on the east side the ditch and bank are double and very steep. On the
top of the churchyard wall is a tombstone, on which are cut in high
relief, two ravens, or such-like birds. On the south side of the
churchyard lies an ancient stone, ridged like a coffin, on which is
carved a man on horseback; and another man with a shield encountering a
vast winged serpent, and a man bearing a shield behind him. It was
probably one of the rude crosses not uncommon in churchyards in this
county. See it engraved on the plate of crosses for this volume, plate
14. fig. 1. The name of Coningsburgh, by which this castle goes in the
old editions of the Britannia, would lead one to suppose it the
residence of the Saxon kings. It afterwards belonged to King Harold.
The Conqueror bestowed it on William de Warren, with all its privileges
and jurisdiction, which are said to have extended over twenty-eight
towns. At the corner of the area, which is of an irregular form, stands
the great tower, or keep, placed on a small hill of its own dimensions,
on which lies six vast projecting buttresses, ascending in a steep
direction to prop and support the building, and continued upwards up
the side as turrets. The tower within forms a complete circle,
twenty-one feet in diameter, the walls fourteen feet thick. The ascent
into the tower is by an exceeding deep flight of steep steps, four feet
and a half wide, on the south side leading to a low doorway, over which
is a circular arch crossed by a great transom stone. Within this door
is the staircase which ascends straight through the thickness of the
wall, not communicating with the room on the first floor, in whose
centre is the opening to the dungeon. Neither of these lower rooms is
lighted except from a hole in the floor of the third story; the room in
which, as well as in that above it, is finished with compact smooth
stonework, both having chimney-pieces, with an arch resting on triple
clustered pillars. In the third story, or guard-chamber, is a small
recess with a loop-hole, probably a bedchamber, and in that floor above
a niche for a saint or holy-water pot. Mr. King imagines this a Saxon
castle of the first ages of the Heptarchy. Mr. Watson thus describes
it. From the first floor to the second story, (third from the ground,)
is a way by a stair in the wall five feet wide. The next staircase is
approached by a ladder, and ends at the fourth story from the ground.
Two yards from the door, at the head of this stair, is an opening
nearly east, accessible by treading on the ledge of the wall, which
diminishes eight inches each story; and this last opening leads into a
room or chapel ten feet by twelve, and fifteen or sixteen high, arched
with free-stone, and supported by small circular columns of the same,
the capitals and arches Saxon. It has an east window, and on each side
in the wall, about four feet from the ground, a stone basin with a hole
and iron pipe to convey the water into or through the wall. This chapel
is one of the buttresses, but no sign of it without, for even the
window, though large within, is only a long narrow loop-hole, scarcely
to be seen without. On the left side of this chapel is a small oratory,
eight by six in the thickness of the wall, with a niche in the wall,
and enlightened by a like loop-hole. The fourth stair from the ground,
ten feet west from the chapel door, leads to the top of the tower
through the thickness of the wall, which at top is but three yards.
Each story is about fifteen feet high, so that the tower will be
seventy-five feet from the ground. The inside forms a circle, whose
diameter may be about twelve feet. The well at the bottom of the
dungeon is piled with stones.”—Gough’s “Edition Of Camden’s Britannia”.
Second Edition, vol. iii. p. 267.
FOOTNOTES
1 (return)
[ The motto alludes to the Author returning to the stage repeatedly
after having taken leave.]
2 (return)
[ This very curious poem, long a desideratum in Scottish literature,
and given up as irrecoverably lost, was lately brought to light by the
researches of Dr Irvine of the Advocates’ Library, and has been
reprinted by Mr David Laing, Edinburgh.]
3 (return)
[ Vol. ii. p. 167.]
4 (return)
[ Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes havock amongst the King’s game;
but by means of a sling, not of a bow; like the Hermit, too, he has his
peculiar phrases of compotation, the sign and countersign being
Passelodion and Berafriend. One can scarce conceive what humour our
ancestors found in this species of gibberish; but “I warrant it proved
an excuse for the glass.”]
5 (return)
[ The author had revised this posthumous work of Mr Strutt. See General
Preface to the present edition, Vol I. p. 65.]
6 (return)
[ This anticipation proved but too true, as my learned correspondent
did not receive my letter until a twelvemonth after it was written. I
mention this circumstance, that a gentleman attached to the cause of
learning, who now holds the principal control of the post-office, may
consider whether by some mitigation of the present enormous rates, some
favour might not be shown to the correspondents of the principal
Literary and Antiquarian Societies. I understand, indeed, that this
experiment was once tried, but that the mail-coach having broke down
under the weight of packages addressed to members of the Society of
Antiquaries, it was relinquished as a hazardous experiment. Surely,
however it would be possible to build these vehicles in a form more
substantial, stronger in the perch, and broader in the wheels, so as to
support the weight of Antiquarian learning; when, if they should be
found to travel more slowly, they would be not the less agreeable to
quiet travellers like myself.—L. T.]
7 (return)
[ Mr Skene of Rubislaw is here intimated, to whose taste and skill the
author is indebted for a series of etchings, exhibiting the various
localities alluded to in these novels.]
8 (return)
[ Note A. The Ranger of the Forest, that cuts the fore-claws off our
dogs.]
9 (return)
[ Note B. Negro Slaves.]
11 (return)
[ The original has “Cnichts”, by which the Saxons seem to have
designated a class of military attendants, sometimes free, sometimes
bondsmen, but always ranking above an ordinary domestic, whether in the
royal household or in those of the aldermen and thanes. But the term
cnicht, now spelt knight, having been received into the English
language as equivalent to the Norman word chevalier, I have avoided
using it in its more ancient sense, to prevent confusion. L. T.]
12 (return)
[ Pillage.]
13 (return)
[ These were drinks used by the Saxons, as we are informed by Mr
Turner: Morat was made of honey flavoured with the juice of mulberries;
Pigment was a sweet and rich liquor, composed of wine highly spiced,
and sweetened also with honey; the other liquors need no explanation.
L. T.]
14 (return)
[ There was no language which the Normans more formally separated from
that of common life than the terms of the chase. The objects of their
pursuit, whether bird or animal, changed their name each year, and
there were a hundred conventional terms, to be ignorant of which was to
be without one of the distinguishing marks of a gentleman. The reader
may consult Dame Juliana Berners’ book on the subject. The origin of
this science was imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristrem, famous for his
tragic intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans reserved the
amusement of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms of this formal
jargon were all taken from the French language.]
15 (return)
[ In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer, specially
dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under the most
exorbitant impositions.—L. T.]
16 (return)
[ This sort of masquerade is supposed to have occasioned the
introduction of supporters into the science of heraldry.]
17 (return)
[ These lines are part of an unpublished poem, by Coleridge, whose Muse
so often tantalizes with fragments which indicate her powers, while the
manner in which she flings them from her betrays her caprice, yet whose
unfinished sketches display more talent than the laboured masterpieces
of others.]
18 (return)
[ This term of chivalry, transferred to the law, gives the phrase of
being attainted of treason.]
19 (return)
[ Presumption, insolence.]
20 (return)
[ “Beau-seant” was the name of the Templars’ banner, which was half
black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that they were candid and
fair towards Christians, but black and terrible towards infidels.]
21 (return)
[ There was nothing accounted so ignominious among the Saxons as to
merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William the Conqueror, hated as he
was by them, continued to draw a considerable army of Anglo-Saxons to
his standard, by threatening to stigmatize those who staid at home, as
nidering. Bartholinus, I think, mentions a similar phrase which had
like influence on the Danes. L. T.]
22 (return)
[ The Jolly Hermit.—All readers, however slightly acquainted with black
letter, must recognise in the Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar Tuck, the
buxom Confessor of Robin Hood’s gang, the Curtal Friar of Fountain’s
Abbey.]
23 (return)
[ Note C. Minstrelsy.]
24 (return)
[ It may be proper to remind the reader, that the chorus of “derry
down” is supposed to be as ancient, not only as the times of the
Heptarchy, but as those of the Druids, and to have furnished the chorus
to the hymns of those venerable persons when they went to the wood to
gather mistletoe.]
25 (return)
[ A rere-supper was a night-meal, and sometimes signified a collation,
which was given at a late hour, after the regular supper had made its
appearance. L. T.]
26 (return)
[ Note D. Battle of Stamford.]
27 (return)
[ “Nota Bene.”—We by no means warrant the accuracy of this piece of
natural history, which we give on the authority of the Wardour MS. L.
T.]
28 (return)
[ Note E. The range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal]
29 (return)
[ Henry’s Hist. edit. 1805, vol. vii. p..146.]
30 (return)
[ I wish the Prior had also informed them when Niobe was sainted.
Probably during that enlightened period when “Pan to Moses lent his
pagan horn.” L. T.]
31 (return)
[ “Surquedy” and “outrecuidance”—insolence and presumption]
32 (return)
[ Mantelets were temporary and movable defences formed of planks, under
cover of which the assailants advanced to the attack of fortified
places of old. Pavisses were a species of large shields covering the
whole person, employed on the same occasions.]
33 (return)
[ The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow, as that of
the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English proverb—“I will
either make a shaft or bolt of it,” signifying a determination to make
one use or other of the thing spoken of.]
34 (return)
[ The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine used in bending
that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from its square or
diamond-shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it.]
35 (return)
[ Note F. Heraldry]
36 (return)
[ Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer-walls, a
fortification composed of palisades, called the barriers, which were
often the scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily be
carried before the walls themselves could be approached. Many of those
valiant feats of arms which adorn the chivalrous pages of Froissart
took place at the barriers of besieged places.]
37 (return)
[ “Derring-do”—desperate courage.]
38 (return)
[ The author has some idea that this passage is imitated from the
appearance of Philidaspes, before the divine Mandane, when the city of
Babylon is on fire, and he proposes to carry her from the flames. But
the theft, if there be one, would be rather too severely punished by
the penance of searching for the original passage through the
interminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.]
39 (return)
[ Note G. Ulrica’s Death Song]
40 (return)
[ Thrall and bondsman.]
41 (return)
[ A lawful freeman.]
42 (return)
[ The notes upon the bugle were anciently called mots, and are
distinguished in the old treatises on hunting, not by musical
characters, but by written words.]
421 (return)
[ Note H. Richard Cœur-de-Lion.]
43 (return)
[ A commissary is said to have received similar consolation from a
certain Commander-in-chief, to whom he complained that a general
officer had used some such threat towards him as that in the text.]
44 (return)
[ Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. Hence our word to borrow,
because we pledge ourselves to restore what is lent.]
45 (return)
[ “Dortour”, or dormitory.]
46 (return)
[ Note I. Hedge-Priests.]
47 (return)
[ Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard
Brito, were the gentlemen of Henry the Second’s household, who,
instigated by some passionate expressions of their sovereign, slew the
celebrated Thomas-a-Becket.]
48 (return)
[ The establishments of the Knight Templars were called Preceptories,
and the title of those who presided in the Order was Preceptor; as the
principal Knights of Saint John were termed Commanders, and their
houses Commanderies. But these terms were sometimes, it would seem,
used indiscriminately.]
49 (return)
[ In the ordinances of the Knights of the Temple, this phrase is
repeated in a variety of forms, and occurs in almost every chapter, as
if it were the signal-word of the Order; which may account for its
being so frequently put in the Grand Master’s mouth.]
50 (return)
[ See the 13th chapter of Leviticus.]
51 (return)
[ The edict which he quotes, is against communion with women of light
character.]
53 (return)
[ The reader is again referred to the Rules of the Poor Military
Brotherhood of the Temple, which occur in the Works of St Bernard. L.
T.]
54 (return)
[ “Essoine” signifies excuse, and here relates to the appellant’s
privilege of appearing by her champion, in excuse of her own person on
account of her sex.]
55 (return)
[ “Capul”, i.e. horse; in a more limited sense, work-horse.]
56 (return)
[ “Destrier”—war-horse.]
561 (return)
[ From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this celebrated outlaw,
when in disguise, sometimes assumed the name of Locksley, from a
village where he was born, but where situated we are not distinctly
told.]
57 (return)
[ Note J. Castle of Coningsburgh.]
58 (return)
[ The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a sort of
guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were managed by a
wheel, from which the instrument took its name.]
581 (return)
[ Infamous.]
59 (return)
[ The resuscitation of Athelstane has been much criticised, as too
violent a breach of probability, even for a work of such fantastic
character. It was a “tour-de-force”, to which the author was compelled
to have recourse, by the vehement entreaties of his friend and printer,
who was inconsolable on the Saxon being conveyed to the tomb.]
60 (return)
[ Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy, prefixed to Ritson’s Ancient
Metrical Romances, p. clxxxvii.]
61 (return)
[ A “Tulchan” is a calf’s skin stuffed, and placed before a cow who has
lost its calf, to induce the animal to part with her milk. The
resemblance between such a Tulchan and a Bishop named to transmit the
temporalities of a benefice to some powerful patron, is easily
understood.]
62 (return)
[ Bannatyne’s Journal.]