Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Scans provided by The Web Archive:
http://www.archive.org/details/walladmor02dequ
2. The 3-volume German original was fictitiously attributed to Sir
Walter Scott, but actually written by G. W. H. Haering (under the pseud.
of Willibald Alexis). It was freely adapted into English by Thomas De
Quincey.
3. The diphthong oe is indicated by [oe].
WALLADMOR:
"FREELY TRANSLATED INTO GERMAN
FROM THE ENGLISH OF SIR WALTER SCOTT."
AND NOW
FREELY TRANSLATED
FROM THE GERMAN INTO ENGLISH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
My root is earthed; and I, a desolate branch,
Left scattered in the highway of the world,
Trod under foot, that might have been a column
Mainly supporting our demolished house.--_Massinger_.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR TAYLOR AND HESSEY,
93 FLEET STREET, AND 13 WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL.
1825
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X. PAGE.
Maternal Madness. 1
CHAPTER XI.
Old Friend with a New Face. 19
CHAPTER XII.
Winter Night-Wandering. 45
CHAPTER XIII.
Arrest. 69
CHAPTER XIV.
Rioting. 83
CHAPTER XV.
Feudal Castle. 95
CHAPTER XVI.
Examination. 109
CHAPTER XVII.
Unexpected Visit. 127
CHAPTER XVIII.
Distraction of Grief. 161
CHAPTER XIX.
Distraction of Love. 205
CHAPTER XX.
Trial for High Treason. 235
CHAPTER XXI.
Catastrophe. 268
WALLADMOR.
CHAPTER X.
Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits
When I have lost them?--If not, leave to talk.
_Beaumont and Fletcher_; _Philaster_.
In this perplexity, whilst sitting down to clear up his thoughts and to
consider of his future motions, Bertram suddenly remembered that
immediately before the attack on the revenue officers, a note had been
put into his hand--which he had at that time neglected to read under
the overpowering interest of the scene which followed. This note he now
drew from his pocket: it was written in pencil, and contained the
following words:
"You wish to see the ruins of Ap Gauvon. In confidence therefore let me
tell you that the funeral train will direct its course upon a different
point. Take any convenient opportunity for leaving this rabble, and
pursue your route to the Abbey through the valley which branches off on
the left. You will easily reach it by nightfall; and you will there
receive a welcome from AN OLD FRIEND."
The day was uncommonly dear and bright; the frosty air looked sharp,
keen, and "in a manner vitreous;"[1] and every thing wore a cheerful
and promising aspect, except that towards the horizon the sky took that
emerald tint which sometimes on such days foreruns the approach of
snow. However, as it was now too late to return to Machynleth whilst
the day-light lasted--and as the ruins of Ap Gauvon were both in
themselves and in their accompaniments of scenery, according to the
description which had been given of them, an object of powerful
attraction to Bertram,--he resolved to go forward in the track pointed
out. After advancing a couple of miles, he bent his steps through the
valley which opened on his left; and soon reached a humble ale-house
into which he turned for the sake of obtaining at the same time
refreshments and further directions for his route.
"How far do you call it, landlord, to the Abbey of Griffith ap Gauvon."
"To Ap Gauvon? Why let me see--it'll be a matter of eight miles; or
better than seven any way. But you'll never be thinking of going so far
to-night."
"Why,--is there any danger, then?"
"Nay, I don't know for that: we've now and then odd sort of folks come
up this way from the sea-side: but I reckon they wouldn't meddle of
_you_: for you'll never sure be going into the Abbey?"
"But, suppose I did, is there nobody at the Abbey or near it that could
give me a night's lodging?" The landlord stared with a keen expression
of wonder,--and answered, with some reserve, "Why who should there be
but the owls, and in summer time may be a few bats?"
"Well, perhaps I shall find a lodging somewhere in the neighbourhood:
meantime I would thank you to put me into the nearest road."
"Why, that's sooner said than done: its a d---d awkward cross-country
road, and there's few in this country can hit it. But the best way for
_you_ will be to keep right over the shoulder of yonder hill, and then
bear away under the hills to your right, till you come to the old
gallows of Pont-ar-Diawl: and there you must look about for somebody
able to put you in the way."
"An old gallows! Surely you can't have much need of a standing gallows
in a country so thinly peopled as this?"
"Why no, master; we don't make much use of it: not but there has been
some fine lads in my time that have taken their last look of day-light
on that gallows; and here and there you'll meet with an old body
amongst these hills that has the heart-ache when she looks that way.
But the gallows is partly built of stone: they say King Edward I. built
it, to hang the Welsh harpers on; by the dozen at once, I have heard
say. Well, all's one to you and me: by the score if it pleased him.
"But now-a-days I suppose it will not have many customers from the
harpers: what little business it has will lie chiefly among those 'odd
sort of folks from the sea-side,'--eh, landlord?"
"Why master, as to that, as long as folks do _me_ no harm, it's never
my way to say any thing ill of them. Now and then, may be, I hear a
noise of winter nights in my barn: and my wife and daughters would have
me to lock the barn-door before it's dark. But what? as I often says to
them; it's better to have folks making free with one's straw, and now
and then an armful of hay for a horse or so, than to have one's house
burnt over one's head one of these long winter nights. And, to give the
devil his due, I don't think they're much in _my_ debt: for often
enough I find a bottle or two of prime old wine left behind them."
"So then, on the whole, these sea-side gentry are not uncivil: and, if
it's they that tenant Ap Gauvon, perhaps they'll show a little
hospitality to a wanderer like myself?"
"Aye, but that's more than I'll answer for. I know little about Ap
Gauvon: it's a place I never was at--nor ever will be, please God. Why
should any man go and thrust his hand into a hornet's nest, where
there's nothing to be got?"
"But landlord, if these smugglers come and visit you, I think they
couldn't be angry with you for returning the visit."
"I tell you, I know of no smugglers at Ap Gauvon: some folks say there
are ghosts at Ap Gauvon; and Merlin has been seen of moonlight nights
walking up and down the long galleries: and sometimes of dark nights
the whole Abbey in a manner has been lit up; and shouting and laughing
enough to waken all the church-yards round Snowdon. But I mustn't stand
gossiping here, master: I've my cows to fetch up, and fifty things to
do before its dark."
So saying he turned on his heel, whilst Bertram pursued his way to the
stone gallows. This he reached in about an hour and a half; by which
time the light was beginning to decay. Looking round for some person of
whom he could inquire the road, he saw or fancied that he saw--a human
figure near the gallows; and, going a little nearer he clearly
distinguished a woman sitting at its foot. He paused a little while to
watch her. Sometimes she muttered to herself, and seemed as if lost in
thought: sometimes she roused herself up suddenly, and sang in a wild
and boisterous tone of gaiety: but it easily appeared that there was no
joy in her gaiety: for the tone of exultation soon passed into
something like a ferocious expression of vengeance. Then, after a time,
she would suddenly pause and laugh: but in the next moment would seem
to recover the main recollection that haunted her; and falling back as
into the key-note of her distress, would suddenly burst into tears.
Bertram saw enough to convince him that the poor creature's wits were
unsettled; and from the words of one of the fragments which she sang, a
suspicion flashed upon his mind that it could be no other than his
hostess in the wild cottage; though how, or on what errand, come over
to this neighbourhood--he was at a loss to guess. To satisfy himself on
all these points if possible, he moved nearer and accosted her:
"A cold evening, good mother, for one so old as you to be sitting out
in the open air."
"Yes, Sir," she answered, without expressing any surprise at his sudden
interruption; "yes, Sir, its a cold evening: but I am waiting for a
young lad that was to meet me here."
Bertram now saw that his conjecture was right: it was indeed his aged
and mysterious hostess: but, before he could speak, she seemed to have
forgotten that he was present--and sang in an under tone:
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was sae trim a boy;
Thair dyed the youth whom I lov'd best
--My winsome Gilderoy.
"A young man you were expecting to meet you?" said Bertram.
"Yes, Sir, a young man:" and then, holding up her apron to her face as
if ashamed, she added--"he was a sweetheart of mine. Sir." But in a
moment, as if recollecting herself, she cried out--"No, no, no: I'll
tell you the whole truth: he was my son, my love, my darling: and they
took him, Sir, they hanged him here. And, if you'll believe my word,
Sir--they wouldn't let his old mother kiss his bonny lips before he
died. Well, well! Let's have nothing but peace and quietness. All's to
be right at last. There's more of us, I believe, that won't die in our
beds. But don't say I told you."
"My good old hostess, can you show me the road to Griffith ap Gauvon?"
"Ap Gauvon, is it? Aye, aye: there's one of them: _he_'ll never die in
his bed, rest you sure of that. Never you trouble your head about him:
I've settled all that: and Edward Nicholas will be hanged at this
gallows, if my name's Gillie Godber."
"But, Mrs. Godber, don't you remember me? I was two nights at your
cottage; and I'm now going to the Abbey of Ap Gauvon where I hope to
meet one that I may perhaps be of some service to."
"Don't think it: there's nobody can ever be of service to Edward
Nicholas. He's to be hanged, I tell you, and nobody must save him. I
have heard it sworn to. You'll say that I am but a weak old woman. But
you would not think now what a voice I have: for all it trembles so, my
voice can be heard when it curses from Anglesea to Walladmor. Not all
the waves of the sea can cry it down."
"But why must Edward Nicholas be hanged?"
"Oh, my sly Sir, you would know my secret--would you? You're a lawyer,
I believe. But stay--I'll tell you why he must be hanged:" and here she
raised her withered arm to the stars which were just then becoming
visible in the dusk. Pointing with her forefinger to a constellation
brighter than the rest, she said----
"There was a vow made when he was born; and it's written amongst the
stars. And there's not a letter in that book that can ever be blotted
out. I can read what's written there. Do you think that nobody's barns
must be hanged but mine?"
"But who then was it, my good Mrs. Godber, that hanged your son?"
"Who should it be but the old master of Walladmor? He knows by this
time what it is to have the heart-ache. Oh kite! he tore my lamb from
me. But, hark in your ear--Sir Lawyer! I visited his nest, old ravening
kite! High as it was in the air, I crept up to his nest: I did--I did!"
And here she clapped her hands, and expressed a frantic exultation:
but, in a moment after, she groaned and sate down; and, covering her
face with her hands, she burst into tears; and soon appeared to have
sunk into thought, and to be unconscious of Bertram's presence.
Once more he attempted to rouse her attention by asking the road to Ap
Gauvon; but the sound of his voice only woke her into expressing her
thoughts aloud:
"Nay, nay,--my old gentleman, that's a saying that'll never come true:
When black men storm the outer door,
Grief than be over At Walladmor!
It's an old saying I'll grant, but it's a false one: grief will never
be over at Walladmor: that's past all black men's healing!"
"But, Mrs. Godber, will you not come with me to Griffith ap Gauvon;"
She started up at the words _Ap Gauvon_; without speaking a word, she
drew her cloak about her; and, as if possessed by some sudden
remembrance, she strode off at so rapid a pace over the moor that
Bertram had some difficulty in keeping up with her. This however he
determined to do: for he remarked that her course lay towards a
towering range of heights which seemed to overlook the valley in which
they were walking, and which he had reason to believe was a principal
range of Snowdon: he had been nearing it through the whole afternoon;
and he knew that Ap Gauvon lay somewhere at the foot of that mountain.
For some time his aged companion kept up her speed: but, on reaching a
part of the moor which was intersected with turf pits, she was
compelled to suit her pace to the intricacy of the ground; though even
here she selected her path from the labyrinth before her with a
promptitude and decision which showed that she was well acquainted with
the ground she was traversing. On emerging again into smoother roads,
she resumed at intervals her rapid motions: and again, on some sudden
caprice as it seemed, would slink into a stealthy pace--and walk on
tiptoe, as if in the act of listening or surprising some one before
her. Once only she spoke, upon Bertram's asking if the abbey were a
safe place for a stranger: "Oh aye," she replied, "Edward Nicholas is a
lamb when he's not provoked: but his hand is red with blood for all
that."
No question after this roused her attention. Now and then she sang;
sometimes she crooned a word or two to herself; and more often she sank
into thoughtful silence: until at length, after advancing in this way
for about a mile and a half,--suddenly Bertram missed her; and looking
round he saw the outline of a figure stealing away in the dusk and
muttering some indistinct sounds of complaint. He felt considerable
perplexity at being thus suddenly abandoned by his guide: but from this
he was relieved by now distinguishing a group of towers and turrets
close to him--which at first had escaped his eye from the dark
background of mountainous barrier with which they seemed to blend: and
going a few steps nearer, he perceived a light issuing from the window
of a vault. To this window, for the purpose of reconnoitring the
inmates of so lonely an abode, he now pushed his way with some
difficulty through heaps of ruins and of tangled thorns. The upper edge
of the window-frame however being on a level with the ground, he could
perceive little more than a small part of a stone floor which lay at a
great depth below him; and on this, by the strong light of a blazing
fire, he saw the moving shadows of human figures as they passed and
repassed: and at intervals he heard the rolling of casks and barrels.
Determined to examine a little further, he stretched himself along the
steep declivity of earth which sloped down to the lower edge of the
window. In this posture he gained a complete view of the vault, which
to his astonishment he now discovered to be a subterraneous church of
vast dimensions, such as are sometimes found in the old monasteries
below the ordinary chapel of the order. Seated at a table near the fire
was a young man whose face, as it was at this moment lit up by a
blazing fire, proclaimed him at once for the stranger whose services to
Miss Walladmor and mysterious interview with her he had witnessed with
so much interest. Round about him stood groups of armed men; but of
these he took little notice. Bertram remarked that all of them treated
him with an air of respect, and addressed him by the title of Captain:
to which on his part he replied with an air of good natured familiarity
that seemed to disown the station of authority which they were disposed
to confer upon him. Anxious to hear and see a little more before he
ventured into such a company, he endeavoured to shift his position for
one more convenient to his purpose; but in this attempt he nearly,
precipitated himself through the window. He recovered his footing
however by suddenly catching at a mountain ash; but, in so doing, he
dislodged a quantity of earth and stones which fell rattling down
amongst the party below.
"Rats! rats!" instantaneously exclaimed the whole body: "shall we fire,
Captain?"
"Stop a moment," said Nicholas; and mounting up a ladder, which stood
near the window, he held up a lighted bough of Scotch fir to the place
of Bertram's concealment.
"God bless my soul," exclaimed he, "its my young friend in search of
the picturesque: I protest I never looked for is coming through the
window. Here, bear a hand, and help him in."
The ladder was now applied and steadied; with some little difficulty in
extricating himself from the rubbish and thorns which beset him,
Bertram descended: and was not sorry to find himself, though amongst
such society, suddenly translated from the severe cold of the air and a
situation of considerable peril to the luxury of rest and a warm fire.
FOOTNOTE TO "CHAPTER X.":
[Footnote 1: A picturesque expression borrowed from a celebrated
English author in one of his letters from Paris, published in the
Morning Chronicle.]