[Illustration: Lady Stair’s House as Restored.]
In a short alley leading between the Lawnmarket and the Earthen Mound,
and called _Lady Stair’s Close_,[47] there is a substantial old
mansion, presenting, in a sculptured stone over the doorway, a small
coat-armorial, with the initials W. G. and G. S., the date 1622, and
the legend:
FEAR THE LORD, AND DEPART
FROM EVILL.
The letters refer to Sir William Gray of Pittendrum, the original
proprietor of the house, and his wife. Within there are marks of good
style, particularly in the lofty ceiling and an inner stair apart from
the common one; but all has long been turned to common purposes; while
it must be left to the imagination to realise the terraced garden which
formerly descended towards the North Loch.
[Illustration]
This was the last residence of a lady conspicuous in Scottish society
in the early part of the last century—the widow of the celebrated
commander and diplomatist, John, Earl of Stair. Lady Eleanor Campbell
was, by paternal descent, nearly related to one of the greatest
historical figures of the preceding century, being the granddaughter
of the Chancellor, Earl of Loudon, whose talents and influence
on the Covenanting side were at one time believed to have nearly
procured him the honour of a secret death at the command of Charles
I. Her ladyship’s first adventure in matrimony led to a series of
circumstances of a marvellous nature, which I shall set down exactly as
they used to be related by friends of the lady in the last century. It
was her lot, at an early age, to be united to James, Viscount Primrose,
a man of the worst temper and most dissolute manners. Her ladyship, who
had no small share of the old chancellor in her constitution, could
have managed most men with ease, by dint of superior intellect and
force of character; but the cruelty of Lord Primrose was too much for
her. He treated her so barbarously that she had even reason to fear
that he would some day put an end to her life. One morning she was
dressing herself in her chamber, near an open window, when his lordship
entered the room behind her with a drawn sword in his hand. He had
opened the door softly, and although his face indicated a resolution of
the most horrible nature, he still had the presence of mind to approach
her with caution. Had she not caught a glimpse of his face and figure
in the glass, he would in all probability have come near enough to
execute his bloody purpose before she was aware or could have taken
any measures to save herself. Fortunately, she perceived him in time
to leap out of the open window into the street. Half-dressed as she
was, she immediately, by a very laudable exertion of her natural good
sense, went to the house of Lord Primrose’s mother, where she told her
story, and demanded protection. That protection was at once extended;
and it being now thought vain to attempt a reconciliation, they never
afterwards lived together.
Lord Primrose soon afterwards went abroad. During his absence, a
foreign conjurer, or fortune-teller, came to Edinburgh, professing,
among many other wonderful accomplishments, to be able to inform any
person of the present condition or situation of any other person, at
whatever distance, in whom the applicant might be interested. Lady
Primrose was incited by curiosity to go with a female friend to the
lodgings of the wise man in the Canongate, for the purpose of inquiring
regarding the motions of her husband, of whom she had not heard for a
considerable time. It was at night; and the two ladies went, with the
tartan _screens_ or _plaids_ of their servants drawn over their faces
by way of disguise. Lady Primrose having described the individual
in whose fate she was interested, and having expressed a desire to
know what he was at present doing, the conjurer led her to a large
mirror, in which she distinctly perceived the appearance of the inside
of a church, with a marriage-party arranged near the altar. To her
astonishment, she recognised in the shadowy bridegroom no other than
her husband. The magical scene was not exactly like a picture; or if
so, it was rather like the live pictures of the stage than the dead
and immovable delineations of the pencil. It admitted of additions
to the persons represented, and of a progress of action. As the lady
gazed on it, the ceremonial of the marriage seemed to proceed. The
necessary arrangements had at last been made, the priest seemed to
have pronounced the preliminary service; he was just on the point of
bidding the bride and bridegroom join hands, when suddenly a gentleman,
for whom the rest seemed to have waited a considerable time, and in
whom Lady Primrose thought she recognised a brother of her own, then
abroad, entered the church, and advanced hurriedly towards the party.
The aspect of this person was at first only that of a friend who had
been invited to attend the ceremony, and who had come too late; but as
he advanced, the expression of his countenance and figure was altered.
He stopped short; his face assumed a wrathful expression; he drew
his sword, and rushed up to the bridegroom, who prepared to defend
himself. The whole scene then became tumultuous and indistinct, and
soon after vanished entirely away.[48]
When Lady Primrose reached home she wrote a minute narrative of the
whole transaction, to which she appended the day of the month on which
she had seen the mysterious vision. This narrative she sealed up in the
presence of a witness, and then deposited it in one of her drawers.
Soon afterwards her brother returned from his travels, and came to
visit her. She asked if, in the course of his wanderings, he had
happened to see or hear anything of Lord Primrose. The young man only
answered by saying that he wished he might never again hear the name of
that detested personage mentioned. Lady Primrose, however, questioned
him so closely that he at last confessed having met his lordship, and
that under very strange circumstances. Having spent some time at one of
the Dutch cities—it was either Amsterdam or Rotterdam—he had become
acquainted with a rich merchant, who had a very beautiful daughter,
his only child, and the heiress of his large fortune. One day his
friend the merchant informed him that his daughter was about to be
married to a Scottish gentleman, who had lately come to reside there.
The nuptials were to take place in the course of a few days; and as he
was a countryman of the bridegroom, he was invited to the wedding. He
went accordingly, was a little too late for the commencement of the
ceremony, but fortunately came in time to prevent the sacrifice of an
amiable young lady to the greatest monster alive in human shape—his
own brother-in-law, Lord Primrose!
The story proceeds to say that although Lady Primrose had proved her
willingness to believe in the magical delineations of the mirror by
writing down an account of them, yet she was so much surprised by
discovering them to be the representation of actual fact that she
almost fainted. Something, however, yet remained to be ascertained.
Did Lord Primrose’s attempted marriage take place exactly at the same
time with her visit to the conjurer? She asked her brother on what day
the circumstance which he related took place. Having been informed,
she took out her key, and requested him to go to her chamber, to open
a drawer which she described, and to bring her a sealed packet which
he would find in that drawer. On the packet being opened, it was
discovered that Lady Primrose had seen the shadowy representation of
her husband’s abortive nuptials on the very evening when they were
transacted in reality.[49]
Lord Primrose died in 1706, leaving a widow who could scarcely be
expected to mourn for him. She was still a young and beautiful woman,
and might have procured her choice among twenty better matches. Such,
however, was the idea she had formed of the marriage state from her
first husband that she made a resolution never again to become a wife.
She kept her resolution for many years, and probably would have done
so till the last but for a singular circumstance. The celebrated Earl
of Stair, who resided in Edinburgh during the greater part of twenty
years, which he spent in retirement from all official employments,
became deeply smitten with her ladyship, and earnestly sued for her
hand. If she could have relented in favour of any man, it would have
been for one who had acquired so much public honour, and whose private
character was also, in general respects, so estimable. But to him also
she declared her resolution of remaining unmarried. In his desperation,
he resolved upon an expedient which strongly marks the character of
the age in respect of delicacy. By dint of bribes to her domestics, he
got himself insinuated overnight into a small room in her ladyship’s
house, where she used to say her prayers every morning, and the window
of which looked out upon the principal street of the city. At this
window, when the morning was a little advanced, he showed himself, _en
déshabillé_, to the people passing along the street; an exhibition
which threatened to have such an effect upon her ladyship’s reputation
that she saw fit to accept of him for a husband.[50]
She was more happy as Countess of Stair than she had been as Lady
Primrose. Yet her new husband had one failing, which occasioned her
no small uneasiness. Like most other gentlemen at that period, he
sometimes indulged too much in the bottle. When elevated with liquor,
his temper, contrary to the general case, was by no means improved.
Thus, on reaching home after a debauch, he generally had a quarrel
with his wife, and sometimes even treated her with violence. On one
occasion, when quite transported beyond the bounds of reason, he gave
her so severe a blow upon the upper part of the face as to occasion the
effusion of blood. He immediately after fell asleep, unconscious of
what he had done. Lady Stair was so overwhelmed by a tumult of bitter
and poignant feeling that she made no attempt to bind up her wound.
She sat down on a sofa near her torpid husband, and wept and bled
till morning. When his lordship awoke, and perceived her dishevelled
and bloody figure, he was surprised to the last degree, and eagerly
inquired how she came to be in such an unusual condition. She answered
by detailing to him the whole history of his conduct on the preceding
evening; which stung him so deeply with regret—for he naturally
possessed the most generous feelings—that he instantly vowed to his
wife never afterwards to take any species of drink except what was
first passed through her hands. This vow he kept most scrupulously till
the day of his death. He never afterwards sat in any convivial company
where his lady could not attend to sanction his potations. Whenever he
gave any entertainment, she always sat next him and filled his wine,
till it was necessary for her to retire; after which, he drank only
from a certain quantity which she had first laid aside.
With much that was respectable in her character, we must not be too
much surprised that Lady Stair was capable of using terms of speech
which a subsequent age has learned to look on as objectionable, even
in the humblest class of society. The Earl of Dundonald, it appears,
had stated to the Duke of Douglas that Lady Stair had expressed
incredulity regarding the genuineness of the birth of his nephews,
the children of Lady Jane Douglas, and did not consider Lady Jane as
entitled to any allowance from the duke on their account. In support
of what he reported, Dundonald, in a letter to the Lord Justice-Clerk,
gave the world leave to think him ‘a damned villain’ if he did not
speak the truth. This seems to have involved Lady Stair unpleasantly
with her friends of the house of Douglas, and she lost little time in
making her way to Holyroodhouse, where, before the duke and duchess
and their attendants, she declared that she had lived to a good old
age, and never till now had got entangled in any _clatters_—that is,
scandal. The old dame then thrice stamped the floor with her staff,
each time calling the Earl of Dundonald ‘a damned villain;’ after which
she retired in great wrath. Perhaps this scene was characteristic, for
we learn from letters of Lady M. W. Montagu that Lady Stair was subject
to hysterical ailments, and would be screaming and fainting in one
room, while her daughter, Miss Primrose, and Lady Mary were dancing in
another.
This venerable lady, after being long at the head of society in
Edinburgh, died in November 1759, having survived her second husband
twelve years. It was remembered of her that she had been the first
person in Edinburgh, of her time, to keep a black domestic servant.[51]