Sir Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh on August 15, 1771. As
a child he was feeble and sickly, and very early he was
smitten with lameness which remained with him through life,
although he matured into a man of robust health. He was
educated for the law, which he began to practise in 1792.
Although he had fair success in his profession, he soon began
to occupy his leisure time with literature, and his first work
was published in 1796. The first of the "Waverley" series made
its appearance anonymously in 1814. As the series progressed,
it became known that Walter Scott was the author of the famous
novels, and he became the idol of the hour. In 1820 a
baronetcy was bestowed upon him. Six years later he joined an
old friend in the establishment of a large printing and
publishing business in Edinburgh, but the venture was not
successful, and Scott soon found himself a bankrupt. Here his
manhood and proud integrity were most nobly shown. With stern
and unfaltering resolution, he set himself to the task of
paying his debts from the profits of his pen. Within a space
of two years he realised for his creditors the amazing sum of
nearly forty thousand pounds, but the limits of endurance had
been reached, and in 1830 he was smitten down with paralysis,
from which he never thoroughly rallied. He died at Abbotsford
on September 31, 1832. As a lyrist Scott especially excelled,
and as a novelist he takes rank among the foremost. Although
many of his works are lax and careless in structure, yet if a
final test in greatness in the field of novel writing be the
power to vitalise character, very few writers can be held to
surpass Sir Walter Scott. According to Basil Hall, "The
Antiquary" was Scott's own favourite romance. It was published
in May, 1816, the third of the Waverley Novels, and in it the
author intended to illustrate the manners of Scotland during
the last ten years of the eighteenth century. "I have been
more solicitous," he writes, "to describe manners minutely,
than to arrange in any case an artificial and combined
narrative, and have but to regret that I felt myself unable to
unite these two requisites of a good novel." Scott took
considerable pains to point out that old Edie Ochiltree, the
wandering mendicant with his blue gown, was by no means to be
confounded with the utterly degraded class of beings who now
practise that wandering trade. Although "The Antiquary" was
not so well received on its first appearance as "Waverley" or
"Guy Mannering," it soon rose to equal, and with some readers,
superior popularity.
_I.--Travelling Companions_
It was early on a fine summer's day, near the end of the eighteenth
century, when a young man of genteel appearance, journeying towards the
north-east of Scotland, provided himself with a ticket in one of those
public carriages which travel between Edinburgh and the Queensferry, at
which place there is a passage-boat for crossing the Firth of Forth.
The young gentleman was soon joined by a companion, a good-looking man
of the age of sixty, perhaps older, but his hale complexion and firm
step announced that years had not impaired his strength of health. This
senior traveller, Mr. Jonathan Oldenbuck (by popular contraction
Oldbuck), of Monkbarns, was the owner of a small property in the
neighbourhood of a thriving seaport town on the north-eastern coast of
Scotland, which we shall denominate Fairport. His tastes were
antiquarian, his wishes very moderate. The burghers of the town regarded
him with a sort of envy, as one who affected to divide himself from
their rank in society, and whose studies and pleasures seemed to them
alike incomprehensible. Some habits of hasty irritation he had
contracted, partly from an early disappointment in love, but yet more by
the obsequious attention paid to him by his maiden sister and his orphan
niece.
Mr. Oldbuck, finding his fellow-traveller an interested and intelligent
auditor, plunged at once into a sea of discussion concerning urns,
vases, and Roman camps, and when they reached Queensferry, and stopped
for dinner at the inn, he at once made some advances towards
ascertaining the name, destination, and quality of his young companion.
His name, the young gentleman said, was Lovel. His father was a north of
England gentleman. He was at present travelling to Fairport, and if he
found the place agreeable, might perhaps remain there for some weeks.
"Was Mr. Lovel's excursion solely for pleasure?"
"Not entirely."
"Perhaps on business with some of the commercial people of Fairport?"
"It was partly on business, but had no reference to commerce."
Here he paused, and Mr. Oldbuck, having pushed his inquiries as far as
good manners permitted, was obliged to change the conversation.
The mutual satisfaction which they found in each other's society induced
Mr. Oldbuck to propose, and Lovel willingly to accept, a scheme for
travelling together to the end of their journey. A postchaise having
been engaged, they arrived at Fairport about two o'clock on the
following day.
Lovel probably expected that his travelling companion would have invited
him to dinner on his arrival; but his consciousness of a want of ready
preparation for unexpected guests prevented Oldbuck from paying him that
attention. He only begged to see him as early as he could make it
convenient to call in a forenoon, and recommended him to a widow who had
apartments to let.
A few days later, when his baggage had arrived from Edinburgh, Mr. Lovel
went forth to pay his respects at Monkbarns, and received a cordial
welcome from Mr. Oldbuck. They parted the best of friends, but the
antiquary was still at a loss to know what this well-informed young man,
without friends, connections, or employment, could have to do as a
resident at Fairport. Neither port wine nor whist had apparently any
charms for him. A coffee-room was his detestation, and he had as few
sympathies with the tea-table. There was never a Master Lovel of whom so
little positive was known, but nobody knew any harm of him.
"A decent, sensible lad," said the Laird of Monkbarns to himself, when
these particulars of Lovel had been reported to him. "He scorns to enter
into the fooleries and nonsense of these idiot people at Fairport. I
must do something for him--I must give him a dinner, and I will write to
Sir Arthur to come to Monkbarns to meet him. I must consult my
womankind."
Accordingly, such consultation having been held, the following letter
was sent to Sir Arthur Wardour, of Knockwinnock Castle:
"Dear Sir Arthur,--On Tuesday, the 17th inst, I hold a symposium at
Monkbarns, and pray you to assist thereat, at four o'clock precisely. If
my fair enemy, Miss Isabel, can and will honour us by accompanying you,
my womankind will be but too proud. I have a young acquaintance to make
known to you, who is touched with some stain of a better spirit than
belong to these giddy-paced times, reveres his elders, and has a pretty
notion of the classics. And as such a youth must have a natural contempt
for the people about Fairport, I wish to show him some rational as well
as worshipful society. I am, dear Sir Arthur, etc., etc."
In reply to this, at her father's request, Miss Wardour intimated, "her
own and Sir Arthur's compliments, and that they would have the honour of
waiting upon Mr. Oldbuck. Miss Wardour takes this opportunity to renew
her hostility with Mr. Oldbuck, on account of his long absence from
Knockwinnock, where his visits give so much pleasure."
_II.--The Treacherous Sands_
Sir Arthur and his daughter had set out, on leaving Monkbarns, to return
to Knockwinnock by the turnpike road; but when they discerned Lovel a
little before them Miss Wardour immediately proposed to her father that
they should take another direction, and walk home by the sands.
Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly, and the two left the high road, and
soon attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by no means so far out
as they had computed; but this gave them no alarm; there was seldom ten
days in the year when it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a
dry passage.
As they advanced together in silence a sudden change of weather made
Miss Wardour draw close to her father. As the sun sank the wind rose,
and the mass of waters began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink
in deeper furrows. Presently, through the drizzling rain, they saw a
figure coming towards them, whom Sir Arthur recognised as the old
blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree.
"Turn back! Turn back!" exclaimed the vagrant. "The tide is running on
Halket-head, like the Fall of Fyers! We will maybe get back by Ness
Point yet. The Lord help us--it's our only chance! We can but try."
The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, that the firm and
smooth footing which they had hitherto had on the sand must be exchanged
for a rougher path close to the foot of the precipice, and in some
places even raised upon its lower ledges. It would have been utterly
impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour or his daughter to have found their
way along these shelves without the guidance and encouragement of the
beggar, who had been there before in high tides, though never, he
acknowledged, "in sae awsome a night as this."
It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the storm mingled with
the shrieks of the sea-fowl. Each minute the raging tide gained ground
perceptibly. The three still struggled forward; but at length they
paused upon the highest ledge of rock to which they could attain, for it
seemed that any farther attempt to advance could only serve to
anticipate their fate.
The fearful pause gave Isabella Wardour time to collect the powers of a
mind naturally strong and courageous.
"Must we yield life," she said, "without a struggle? Is there no path,
however dreadful, by which we could climb the crag?"
"I was a bold cragsman," said Ochiltree, "once in my life; but it's lang
syne, and nae mortal could speel them without a rope. But there was a
path here ance--His name be praised!" he ejaculated suddenly, "there's
ane coming down the crag e'en now! there's ane coming down the crag e'en
now!" Then, exalting his voice, he halloo'd out to the daring adventurer
such instructions as his former practice forced upon his mind.
The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, flung him down the
end of the rope, which he secured around Miss Wardour. Then, availing
himself of the rope, which was made fast at the other end, Ochiltree
began to ascent the face of the crag, and after one or two perilous
escapes, was safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel. Their
joint strength was able to raise Isabella to the place of safety which
they had attained, and the next thing was to raise Sir Arthur beyond the
reach of the billows.
The prospect of passing a tempestuous night upon a precipitous piece of
rock, where the spray of the billows flew high enough to drench them,
filled old Ochiltree with apprehension for Miss Wardour.
"I'll climb up the cliff again," said Lovel, "and call for more
assistance."
"If ye gang, I'll gang too," said the bedesman.
"Hark! hark!" said Lovel. "Did I not hear a halloo?"
The unmistakable shout of human voices from above was soon augmented,
and the gleam of torches appeared.
On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had now assembled.
Oldbuck was the foremost and most earnest, pressing forward with
unwonted desperation to the very brink of the crag. Some fishermen had
brought with them the mast of a boat, and this was soon sunk in the
ground and sufficiently secured. A yard, across the upright mast, and a
rope stretched along it, and reeved through a block at each end, formed
an extempore crane, which afforded the means of lowering an arm-chair
down to the flat shelf on which the sufferers had roosted.
Lovel bound Miss Wardour to the back and arms of the chair, while
Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur quiet.
"What are ye doing wi' my bairn? She shall not be separated from me!
Isabel, stay with me, I command you!"
"Farewell, my father!" murmured Isabella; "farewell, my--my friends!"
and, shutting her eyes, she gave the signal to Lovel, and he to those
who were above.
A loud shout announced the success of the experiment. The chair was
again lowered, and Sir Arthur made fast in it; and after Sir Arthur had
been landed safe and sound, old Ochiltree was brought up; finally Lovel
was safely grounded upon the summit of the cliff. As he recovered from a
sort of half-swoon, occasioned by the giddiness of the ascent, he cast
his eyes eagerly around. The object for which they sought was already in
the act of vanishing. Her white garment was just discernible as she
followed on the path which her father had taken. She had lingered till
she saw the last of their company rescued from danger, but Lovel was not
aware that she had expressed in his fate even this degree of interest.
_III.--The Duel_
Some few weeks after the perilous escape from the tide, Sir Arthur
invited Mr. Lovel and the Monkbarns family to join him on a visit to the
ruins of a certain priory in the neighbourhood. Lovel at once accepted,
and Mr. Oldbuck decided that there would be room for his niece in a
postchaise. This niece, Mary M'Intyre, like her brother Hector, was an
orphan. They were the offspring of a sister of Monkbarns, who had
married one Captain M'Intyre, a Highlander. Both parents being dead, the
son and daughter were left to the charge of Mr. Oldbuck. The nephew was
now a captain in the army, the niece had her home at Monkbarns.
All went happily at Sir Arthur's party at the ruins, until the
unexpected arrival of Hector M'Intyre. This newcomer, a handsome young
man about five-and-twenty, had ridden to Monkbarns, and learning his
uncle's absence had come straight on to join the company. On his
introduction to Lovel the young soldier bowed with more reserve than
cordiality, and Lovel was equally frigid and haughty in return.
Miss Wardour's obvious determination not to allow Captain M'Intyre an
opportunity for private conversation with her drove Hector to speak to
his sister.
"Pray who is this Mr. Lovel, whom our old uncle has at once placed so
high in his good graces?"
"If you mean how Mr. Lovel comes to visit at Monkbarns you must ask my
uncle; and you must know that Mr. Lovel rendered Miss Wardour and him a
service of the most important kind."
"What! that romantic story is true, then? And does the valorous knight
aspire to the hand of the young lady whom he redeemed from peril? I did
think that she was uncommonly dry to me as we walked together."
"Dear Hector," said his sister, "do not continue to nourish any
affection for Miss Wardour. Your perseverance is hopeless. Above all, do
not let this violent temper of yours lead you to lose the favour of our
uncle, who has hitherto been all that is kind and paternal to us."
Captain M'Intyre promised to behave civilly, and returned to the
company.
On Lovel mentioning, in the course of conversation, that he was an
officer in a certain regiment, M'Intyre could not refrain from declaring
that he knew the officers of that regiment, and had never heard of the
name of Lovel.
Lovel blushed deeply, and taking a letter out of an envelope, handed it
to M'Intyre. The latter acknowledged the handwriting of General Sir
----, but remarked that the address was missing.
"The address, Captain M'Intyre," answered Lovel, "shall be at your
service whenever you choose to inquire after it."
"I certainly shall not fail to do so," rejoined Hector.
The party broke up, Lovel returned to Fairport, and early next morning
was waited upon by a military friend of Captain M'Intyre. Upon Lovel
declining to give his name the captain insisted on his fighting, and
that very evening the duel was arranged to take place in a valley close
by the ruins of St. Ruth.
Captain M'Intyre's ball grazed the side of his opponent, but did not
draw blood. That of Lovel was more true, and M'Intyre reeled and fell.
The grasp of old Ochiltree, who had appeared on the scene, roused Lovel
to movement, and leaving M'Intyre to the care of a surgeon, he followed
the bedesman into the recesses of the wood, in order to get away by boat
the following morning.
Amid the secret passages of the ruins, well known to Ochiltree, Lovel
was to pass the night; but all rest was impossible by the discovery of
two human figures, one of whom Lovel made out to be a German named
Donsterswivel, a swindling impostor who promised discoveries of gold to
Sir Arthur Wardour, gold buried in the ruins, and only to be unearthed
by magic and considerable expenditure of ready money.
"That other ane," whispered Edie, "maun be, according to a' likelihood,
Sir Arthur Wardour. I ken naebody but himself wad come here at this time
wi' that German blackguard."
Donsterswivel, with much talk of planetary influences, and spirits, and
"suffumigation," presently set fire to a little pile of chips, and when
the flame was at the highest flung in a handful of perfumes, which
produced a strong and pungent odour.
A violent explosion of sneezing, which the mendicant was unable to
suppress, accompanied by a grunting, half-smothered cough, confounded
the two treasure-seekers.
"I was begun to think," said the terrified German, "that this would be
bestermost done in de daylight; we was bestermost to go away just now."
"You juggling villain!" said the baronet; "this is some legerdemain
trick of yours to get off from the performance of your promise, as you
have so often done before. You shall show me that treasure, or confess
yourself a knave."
Here Edie, who began to enter into the humour of the scene, uttered an
extraordinary howl. Donsterswivel flung himself on his knees. "Dear Sir
Arthur, let us go, or let me go!"
"No, you cheating scoundrel!" said the knight, unsheathing his sword. "I
will see this treasure before you leave this place, or, by heaven, I'll
run this sword through you though all the spirits of the dead should
rise around us!"
"For de lofe of heaven, be patient, mine honoured patron; do not speak
about de spirits--it makes dem angry."
Donsterswivel at length proceeded to a corner of the building where lay
a flat stone upon the ground. With great trepidation he removed the
stone, threw out a shovelful or two of earth, and produced a small case
or casket. This was at once opened by the baronet, and appeared to be
filled with coin.
"This is being indeed in good luck," said Sir Arthur; "and if you think
it omens proportional success upon a larger venture, I will hazard the
necessary advance."
But the German's guilty conscience and superstitious fears made him
anxious to escape, and accordingly he hurried Sir Arthur from the spot.
"Saw onybody e'er the like o' that!" said Edie to Lovel.
"His faith in the fellow is entirely restored," said Lovel, "by this
deception, which he had arranged beforehand."
"Ay, ay; trust him for that. He wants to wile him out o' his last
guinea, and then escape to his own country, the land-louper."
But thanks to old Edie's efforts, Donsterswivel was checked in his
scheme for the plunder of Sir Arthur Wardour.
_IV.--The Secret is Disclosed_
Captain M'Intyre's wound turned out to be not so dangerous as was at
first suspected, and after some six weeks' nursing at Monkbarns, the
hot-tempered soldier was once more in full health.
It was during those weeks that the Antiquary met after an interval of
more than twenty years, the Earl of Glenallan, a neighbouring laird.
Lord Glenallan and Mr. Oldbuck had both loved the same lady, Eveline
Neville, and against the commands of the old countess, his mother,
Glenallan had married Miss Neville. Driven by the false taunts of the
countess to believe, as her husband did, the marriage invalid, the
unhappy Eveline had thrown herself from the cliffs into the sea, and the
child born to her had been kept in concealment in England by her
brother, Geraldin Neville. The countess died, and an old fish woman,
once the countess's confidential maid, when dying, demanded to see Lord
Glenallan, and on her death-bed told him the truth, and that his child
was living.
The scare of a French invasion brought Lord Glenallan, with Mr. Oldbuck,
and Sir Arthur Wardour, to Fairport, and to his uncle's surprise and
satisfaction, Captain M'Intyre acted as military adviser to the
volunteers with remarkable presence of mind, giving instructions calmly
and wisely.
The arrival of an officer from headquarters was eagerly expected in
Fairport, and at length a cry among the people announced "There's the
brave Major Neville come at last!" A postchaise and four drove into the
square, amidst the huzzas of the volunteers and inhabitants, and what
was the surprise of all present, but most especially that of the
Antiquary, when the handsome uniform and military cap disclosed the
person and features of the pacific Lovel! A warm embrace was necessary
to assure him that his eyes were doing him justice. Sir Arthur was no
less surprised to recognise his son, Captain Wardour, as Major Neville's
companion.
The first words of the young officers were a positive assurance to all
present that their efforts were unnecessary, that what was merely an
accidental bonfire had been taken for a beacon.
The Antiquary found his arm pressed by Lord Glenallan, who dragged him
aside. "For God's sake, who is that young gentleman who is so strikingly
like----"
"Like the unfortunate Eveline," interrupted Oldbuck. "I felt my heart
warm to him from the first. Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but
now he turns out to be Major Neville."
"Whom my brother brought up as his natural son--whom he made his
heir--the child of my Eveline!"
Mr. Oldbuck at once determined to make further investigation, and
returned to Major Neville, who was now arranging for the dispersion of
the force which had been assembled.
"Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a moment to Captain
Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I hope, you are thoroughly
reconciled"--Neville laughed, and shook hands with Hector across the
table--"and grant me a moment's audience."
"You have every claim on me," said Neville, "for having passed myself
upon you under a false name. But I am so unfortunate as to have no
better right to the name of Neville, than that of Lovel."
"I believe I know more of your birth than you do yourself, and to
convince you of it, you were educated and known as a natural son of
Geraldin Neville, of Neville's-burg, in Yorkshire."
"I did believe Mr. Geraldin Neville was my father, but during the war in
French Flanders, I found in a convent near where we were quartered, a
woman who spoke good English--a Spaniard. She discovered who I was, and
made herself known to me as the person who had charge of me in my
infancy, and intimated that Mr. Geraldin Neville was not my father. The
convent was burned by the enemy, and several nuns perished, among others
this woman. I wrote to Mr. Neville, and on my return implored him to
complete the disclosure. He refused, and, on my importunity, indignantly
upbraided me with the favours he had already conferred. We parted in
mutual displeasure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed that of
Lovel. It was at this time, when residing with a friend in the north of
England, that I became acquainted with Miss Wardour, and was romantic
enough to follow her to Scotland. When I was at Fairport, I received
news of Mr. Neville's death. He had made me his heir, but the possession
of considerable wealth did not prevent me from remembering Sir Arthur's
strong prejudices against illegitimacy. Then came my quarrel with
Captain M'Intyre, and my compelled departure from Fairport."
"Well, Major Neville, you must, I believe, exchange both of your aliases
for the style and title of the Honourable William Geraldin, commonly
called Lord Geraldin."
The Antiquary then went through the strange and melancholy circumstances
concerning his mother's death. "And now, my dear sir," said he, in
conclusion, "let me have the pleasure of introducing a son to a father."
We will not attempt to describe such a meeting. The proof on all sides
was found to be complete, for Mr. Neville had left a distinct account of
the whole transaction with his confidential steward in a small packet,
which was not to be opened until the death of the old countess.
In the evening of that day, the yeomanry and volunteers of Glenallan
drank prosperity to their young master; and a month afterwards, Lord
Glenallan was married to Miss Wardour.
Hector is rising rapidly in the army, and rises proportionally high in
his uncle's favour.
* * * * *