"Peveril of the Peak," the longest of all the Waverley novels,
was published in 1823. For the main idea of the tale Sir
Walter was indebted to some papers found by his younger
brother, Thomas Scott, in the Isle of Man. These papers gave
the story of William Christian, who took the side of the
Roundheads against the high-spirited Countess of Derby, and
was subsequently tried and executed, according to the laws of
the island, by that lady, for having dethroned his august
mistress and imprisoned her and her family. "Peveril" is one
of the most complicated, in respect of characters and
incidents, of Scott's works. The canvas is crowded with
personages, good, bad, and indifferent, yet all full of
vitality and responding to the actual forces which their
creator set in motion.
_I.--Cavalier and Roundhead_
In Charles the Second's time, the representative of an ancient family in
the county of Derbyshire, long distinguished by the proud title of
Peverils of the Peak, was Sir Geoffrey Peveril, a man with the
attributes of an old-fashioned country gentleman.
When the civil wars broke out, Peveril of the Peak raised a regiment for
the king, and performed his part with sufficient gallantry for several
rough years. He witnessed also the final defeat at Worcester, where, for
the second time, he was made prisoner, and being regarded as an
obstinate malignant, was in great danger of execution. But Sir
Geoffrey's life was preserved by the interest of a friend, who possessed
influence in the councils of Cromwell. This was a Major Bridgenorth, a
gentleman of middling quality, who had inherited from his father a
considerable sum of money, and to whom Sir Geoffrey was under pecuniary
obligations.
Moultrassie Hall, the residence of Mr. Bridgenorth, was but two miles
distant from Martindale Castle, the ancient seat of the Peverils; and
while, as Bridgenorth was a decided Roundhead, all friendly
communication which had grown up betwixt Sir Geoffrey and his neighbour
was abruptly broken asunder at the outbreak of hostilities, on the trial
and execution of Charles I., Bridgenorth was so shocked, fearing the
domination of the military, that his politics on many points became
those of the Peverils, and he favoured the return of Charles II.
Another bond of intimacy, stronger than the same political opinions, now
united the families of the castle and the hall.
In the beginning of the year 1658 Major Bridgenorth--who had lost
successively a family of six young children--was childless; ere it
ended, he had a daughter, but her birth was purchased by the death of an
affectionate wife. The same voice which told Bridgenorth that he was a
father of a living child--it was the friendly voice of Lady Peveril--
told him that he was no longer a husband.
Lady Peveril placed in Bridgenorth's arms the infant whose birth had
cost him so dear, and conjured him to remember that his Alice was not
yet dead, since she survived in the helpless child.
"Take her away--take her away!" said the unhappy man. "Let me not look
on her! It is but another blossom that has bloomed to fade."
"I will take the child for a season," said Lady Peveril, "since the
sight of her is so painful to you; and the little Alice shall share the
nursery of our Julian until it shall be pleasure, and not pain, for you
to look on her."
"That hour will never come," said the unhappy father; "she will follow
the rest--God's will be done! Lady, I thank you--I trust her to your
care."
It is enough to say that the Lady Peveril did undertake the duties of a
mother to the little orphan, and the puny infant gradually improved in
strength and in loveliness.
Sir Geoffrey was naturally fond of children, and so much compassionated
the sorrows of his neighbour, that morning after morning he made
Moultrassie Hall the termination of his walk or ride, and said a single
word of kindness as he passed. "How is it with you, Master Bridgenorth?"
the knight would say, halting his horse by the latticed window. "I just
looked in to bid you keep a good heart, man, and to tell you that Julian
is well, and little Alice is well, and all are well at Martindale
Castle."
"I thank you, Sir Geoffrey; my grateful duty waits on Lady Peveril," was
generally Bridgenorth's only answer.
The voice of Peveril suddenly assumed a new and different tone in the
month of April, 1660. He rushed into the apartment of the astonished
major with his eyes sparkling and called out, "Up, up, neighbour! No
time now to mope in the chimney-corner! Where is your buff coat and
broadsword, man? Take the true side once in your life, and mend past
mistakes. Monk has declared at London--for the king. Fairfax is up in
Yorkshire--for the king, for the king, man! I have a letter from Fairfax
to secure Derby and Chesterfield with all the men I can make. All are
friends now, and you and I, good neighbour, will charge abreast as good
neighbours should!" The sturdy cavalier's heart became too full, and
exclaiming, "Did ever I think to live to see this happy day!" he wept,
to his own surprise as much as to that of Bridgenorth.
The neighbours were both at Chesterfield when news arrived that the king
had landed in England, and Sir Geoffrey instantly announced his purpose
of waiting upon his majesty, while the major desired nothing better than
to find all well at Martindale on his return.
Accordingly, on the subsequent morning, Bridgenorth went to Martindale
Castle, and gave Lady Peveril the welcome assurances of her husband's
safety.
"May Almighty God be praised!" said the Lady Peveril. The door of the
apartment opened as she spoke, and two lovely children entered. The
eldest, Julian Peveril, a fine boy betwixt four and five years old, led
in his hand a little girl of eighteen months, who rolled and tottered
along.
Bridgenorth cast a hasty glance upon his daughter, and then caught her
in his arms and pressed her to his heart. The child, though at first
alarmed at the vehemence of his caresses, presently smiled in reply to
them.
"Julian must lose his playfellow now, I suppose?" said Lady Peveril.
"But the hall is not distant, and I will see my little charge often."
"God forbid my girl should ever come to Moultrassie," said Major
Bridgenorth hastily; "it has been the grave of her race. The air of the
low grounds suited them not. I will seek for her some other place of
abode."
"Major Bridgenorth," answered the lady, "if she goes not to her father's
house, she shall not quit mine. I will keep the little lady as a pledge
of her safety and my own skill; and since you are afraid of the damp of
the low grounds, I hope you will come here frequently to visit her."
This was a proposal which went to the heart of Major Bridgenorth. He
expressed his grateful duty to Lady Peveril, and having solemnly blessed
his little girl, took his departure for Moultrassie Hall.
_II.--Separation_
The friendly relations between the inhabitants of Martindale and
Moultrassie came to an end with the common rejoicing over the
restoration of Charles II.
The Countess of Derby, queen in the Isle of Man, whose husband had
perished for the crown, took refuge at the castle, fleeing from a
warrant for her arrest, and told her story to Lady Peveril in the
presence of Major Bridgenorth.
The countess had kept the royal standard flying in Man until her vassal,
William Christian, turned against her. Then for seven years she had
endured strict captivity, until the tide turned, and she was once more
in possession of the sovereignty of the island. "I was no sooner placed
in possession of my rightful power," said the countess, "than I ordered
the dempster to hold a high court of justice upon the traitor Christian,
according to all the formalities of the isle. He was fully convicted of
his crime, and without delay was shot to death by a file of musketeers."
At hearing this, Bridgenorth clasped his hands together and groaned
bitterly. "O Christian--worthy, well worthy of the name thou didst bear!
My friend, my brother--the brother of my blessed wife Alice, art thou,
then, cruelly murdered!"
Then, drawing himself up with resolution, he demanded the arrest of the
countess.
This Lady Peveril would not permit, and Bridgenorth left the castle. The
arrival of Sir Geoffrey from London with news that the council had sent
a herald with the king's warrant for the Countess of Derby's arrest,
made flight to the Isle of Man imperative. Bridgenorth, with a number of
the old Roundheads, attempted to prevent the escape, but were beaten off
by Sir Geoffrey and his men, and the countess embarked safely for her
son's hereditary dominions, until the accusation against her for breach
of the royal indemnity by the execution of Christian could be brought to
some compromise.
Before leaving Martindale, the countess called Julian to her, and
kissing his forehead said: "When I am safely established and have my
present affairs arranged, you must let me have this little Julian of
yours some time hence, to be nurtured in my house, held as my page, and
the playfellow of the little Derby."
Five years passed.
Major Bridgenorth left his seat of Moultrassie Hall in the care of his
old housekeeper and departed to no one knew whither, having in company
with him his daughter, Alice, and Mrs. Deborah Debbitch, the child's
early nurse at the castle.
Lady Peveril, with many tears, took a temporary leave of her son,
Julian, who was sent as had been long intended for the purpose of
sharing the education of the young Earl of Derby. The plan seemed to be
in every respect successful, and when, from time to time, Julian visited
the house of his father, Lady Peveril had the satisfaction to see him
improved in person and in manner. In process of time he became a gallant
and accomplished youth, and travelled for some time upon the Continent
with the young earl.
_III.--The Island Lovers_
Julian, leaving the earl to go on a sailing voyage, assumed the dress of
one who means to amuse himself with angling. Then, mounted upon a Manx
pony, he rode briskly over the country, and halted at one of the
mountain streams, and followed along the bank until he reached a house
where once a fastness had stood, called the Black Fort.
He received no answer to his knocks, and impatience getting the upper
hand, Julian opened the door, and passed through the hall into a summer
parlour.
"How now--how is this?" said a woman's voice. "You here, Master Peveril,
in spite of all the warnings you have had!"
"Yes, Mistress Deborah," said Peveril. "I am here once more, against
every prohibition. Where is Alice?"
"Where you will never see her, Master Julian--you may satisfy yourself
of that," answered Mistress Deborah. "For if Dame Christian should learn
that you have chosen to make your visits to her niece, I promise you we
should soon be obliged to find other quarters."
"Come now, Mistress Deborah, be good-humoured," said Julian. "Consider,
was not all this intimacy of ours of your own making? Did you not make
yourself known to me the very first time I strolled up this glen with my
fishing-rod, and tell me that you were my former keeper, and that Alice
had been my little playfellow?"
"Yes," said Dame Deborah; "but I did not bid you fall in love with us,
though, or propose such a matter as marriage either to Alice or myself.
Why, there is the knight your father, and my lady your mother; and there
is her father that is half crazy with his religion, and her aunt that
wears eternal black grogram for that unlucky Colonel Christian; and
there is the Countess of Derby that would serve us all with the same
sauce if we were thinking of anything that would displease her. Though I
may indeed have said your estates were born to be united, and sure
enough they might be were you to marry Alice Bridgenorth."
The good nature of Dame Debbitch could not, however, resist the appeal
of Julian, and she left the apartment and ran upstairs.
The visits of Julian to the Black Fort had hitherto been only
occasional, but his affections were fixed, and his ardent character had
already declared his love. To-day, on her entrance to the room, Alice
reproached him for again coming there against her earnest request. "It
were better that we should part for a long time," she said softly, "and
for heaven's sake let it be as soon as possible--perhaps it is even now
too late to prevent some unpleasant accident. Spare yourself, Julian--
spare me--and in mercy to us both depart, and return not again till you
can be more reasonable."
"Reasonable?" replied Julian. "Did you not say that if our parents could
be brought to consent to our union, you would no longer oppose my suit?"
"Indeed, indeed, Julian," said the almost weeping girl, "you ought not
to press me thus. It is ungenerous, it is cruel. You dared not to
mention the subject to your own father--how should you venture to
mention it to mine?"
"Major Bridgenorth," replied Julian, "by my mother's account, is an
estimable man. I will remind him that to my mother's care he owes the
dearest treasure and comfort of his life. Let me but know where to find
him, Alice, and you shall soon hear if I have feared to plead my cause
with him."
"Do not attempt it," said Alice. "He is already a man of sorrows.
Besides, I could not tell you if I would where he is now to be found. My
letters reach him from time to time by means of my Aunt Christian, but
of his address I am entirely ignorant."
"Then, by heaven," answered Julian, "I will watch his arrival in this
island, and he shall answer me on the subject of my suit."
"Then demand that answer now," said a voice, as the door opened, "for
here stands Ralph Bridgenorth." As he spoke, he entered the apartment
with slow and sedate step, and eyed alternately his daughter and Julian
Peveril with a penetrating glance.
Bidding his daughter learn to rule her passions and retire to her
chamber, Bridgenorth turned to Julian and told him he had long known of
this attachment, and went on to point out calmly the differences which
made the union seem impossible. "But heaven hath at times opened a door
where man beholds no means of issue," continued Bridgenorth. "Julian,
your mother is, after the fashion of the world, one of the best and one
of the wisest of women, with a mind as pure as the original frailty of
our vile nature will permit. Of your father I say nothing--he is what
the times and examples of others have made him. I have power over him,
which ere now he might have felt, but there is one within his chambers
who might have suffered in his suffering. Enough, however, of this, for
to-day this is thy habitation."
So saying, he stretched out his thin, bony hand and grasped that of
Julian Peveril.
Presently, with the feeling of one who walks in a pleasant dream from
which he fears to awake, and whose delight is mingled with wonder and
with uncertainty, Julian found himself seated between Alice Bridgenorth
and her father--the being he most loved on earth and the person whom he
had ever considered as the great obstacle to their intercourse.
It was evening when he departed. "You have not, after all," said
Bridgenorth, bidding Julian farewell, "told me the cause of your coming
hither. Will you find no words to ask of me the great boon which you
seek? Nay, reply not to me now, but go, and peace be with you."
_IV.--The Popish Plot_
Julian Peveril set out for London when the fictitious "popish plot" of
Titus Oates had set England "stark staring mad," promising the countess
that he would apprise her should any danger menace the Earl of Derby or
herself. He had learnt that Bridgenorth was on the island with secret
and severe orders, and that the countess in return was issuing warrants
on her own authority for the apprehension of Bridgenorth, and before
leaving he obtained one more interview with Alice, who was alive to the
dangers on all sides.
"Break off all intercourse with our family," said Alice. "Return to your
parents--or, what will be much safer, visit the Continent, and abide
till God sends better days to England, for these are black with many a
storm. Placed as we are, with open war about to break out betwixt our
parents and friends, we must part on this spot, and at this hour, never
to meet again."
"No, by heaven!" said Peveril, venturing to throw his arm around her;
"we part not, Alice. If I am to leave my native land you shall be my
companion in my exile. Fear not for my parents; they love me, and they
will soon learn to love, in Alice, the only being on earth who could
have rendered their son happy. And for your own father, when state and
church intrigues allow him to bestow a thought upon you, will he not
think your happiness is cared for when you are my wife? What could his
pride desire better for you than the establishment which will one day be
mine?"
"It cannot--it cannot be," said Alice, faltering. "Think what I, the
cause of all, should feel when your father frowns, your mother weeps,
your noble friends stand aloof, and you--even you--shall have made the
painful discovery that you have incurred the resentment of all to
satisfy a boyish passion. Farewell, then, Julian; but first take the
solemn advice which I impart to you: shun my father--you cannot walk in
his paths; leave this island, which will soon be agitated by strange
incidents; while you stay be on your guard, distrust everything----"
Alice broke off suddenly, and with a faint shriek. Once more her father
stood unexpectedly before them.
"I thank you, Alice," he said solemnly to his daughter, "for the hints
you have thrown out; and now retire, and let me complete the conference
which you have commenced."
"I go, sir," said Alice. "Julian, to you my last words are: Farewell and
caution!"
She turned from them, and was seen no more.
Bridgenorth turned to Peveril. "You are willing to lead my only child
into exile from her native country, to give her a claim to the kindness
and protection from your family, which you know will be disregarded, on
condition I consent to bestow her hand on you, with a fortune sufficient
to have matched that of your ancestors when they had most reason to
boast of their wealth. This, young man, seems no equal bargain. And yet,
so little do I value the goods of this world, that it might not be
utterly beyond thy power to reconcile me to the match which you have
proposed."
"Show me but the means, Major Bridgenorth," said Peveril, "and you shall
see how eagerly I will obey your directions, or submit to your
conditions."
"This is a critical period," cried the major; "it becomes the duty of
all men to step forward. You, Julian Peveril, yourself know the secret
but rapid strides which Rome has made to erect her Dagon of idolatry
within our Protestant land."
"I trust to live and die in the faith of the reformed Church of
England," said Peveril. "I have seen popery too closely to be friendly
to its tenets."
"Enough," said Bridgenorth, "that I find thee not as yet enlightened
with the purer doctrine, but willing to uplift thy testimony against the
errors and arts of the Church of Rome. At present thy prejudices occupy
thy mind like the strong keeper of the house mentioned in Scripture.
But, remember, thou wilt soon be called upon to justify what thou hast
said, and I trust to see thy name rank high amongst those by whom the
prey shall be rent from the mighty."
"You have spoken to me in riddles, Major Bridgenorth," said Peveril;
"and I have asked for no explanation. But we do not part in anger?"
"Not in anger, my son," answered Bridgenorth, "but in love and strong
affection. I accept not thy suit, neither do I reject it; only he that
would be my son must first show himself the true and loving child of his
oppressed and deluded country. Farewell; thou shalt hear of me sooner
than thou thinkest for."
He shook Peveril heartily by the hand, leaving him with confused
impressions of pleasure, doubt, and wonder. Surprised to find himself so
far in the good graces of Alice's father, he could not help suspecting
that Bridgenorth was desirous, as the price of his favour, that he
should adopt some line of conduct inconsistent with the principles of
his education.
Arrived in England, Julian first hastened to Martindale, only to find
the castle in the hands of officers of the House of Commons and his
mother and Sir Geoffrey prisoners on suspicion of conspiring in the
popish plot, and about to be escorted to London by a strong guard. On
their departure the property of the castle was taken possession of by an
attorney in the name of Major Bridgenorth, a large creditor of the
unfortunate knight.
Julian himself was soon seized and put to trial with his father. But the
fury of the people had, however, now begun to pass away, and men's minds
were beginning to cool. The character of the witnesses was more closely
sifted--their testimonies did not in all cases tally. Chief Justice
Scroggs, sagacious in the signs of the times, saw that court favour, and
probably popular opinion also, were about to declare against the
witnesses and in favour of the accused.
Sir Geoffrey and. Julian were both declared "not guilty" of the
monstrous and absurd charges brought against them and the accusation
against Lady Peveril was dropped.
No sooner had the Peverils, father and son, escaped to Lady Peveril's
lodgings, and the first rapturous meeting over, than Alice Bridgenorth
was presented by Julian's mother as the pretended daughter of an old
cavalier, and Sir Geoffrey embraced her warmly. Julian, to whom his
mother whispered that Alice was there by her father's authority, was as
one enchanted, when a gentleman arrived from Whitehall bidding Sir
Geoffrey and his son instantly attend upon the king's presence.
The Countess of Derby had come openly to court, braving all danger, when
she heard of the arrest of the Peverils, resolved to save their lives.
From the king's own lips she heard of the acquittal, and Charles II.,
for the moment anxious to reward the fidelity of his old follower,
invited them forthwith to Whitehall.
Sir Geoffrey, with every feeling of his early life afloat in his memory,
threw himself on his knees before the king, and Charles said, with
feeling, "My good Sir Geoffrey, you have had some hard measure; we owe
you amends, and will find time to pay our debt."
Later in the evening the Countess of Derby, who had had much private
conversation with Julian, said, "Your majesty, there is a certain Major
Bridgenorth, who designs, as we are informed, to leave England for ever.
By dint of the law he hath acquired strong possession over the domains
of Peveril, which he desires to restore to the ancient owners with much
fair land besides, conditionally that our young Julian will receive them
as the dowry of his only child."
"By my faith!" said the king, "she must be a foul-mouthed wench if
Julian requires to be pressed to accept her on such fair conditions."
"They love each other like lovers of the last age," said the countess;
"but the stout old knight likes not the roundheaded alliance."
"Our royal word shall put that to rights," said the king. "Sir Geoffrey
Peveril has not suffered hardship so often at our command that he will
refuse our recommendation when it comes to make amends for all losses."
The king did not speak without being fully aware of the ascendancy which
he possessed over the spirit of the old Tory; and within four weeks
afterwards the bells of Martindale-Moultrassie were ringing for the
union of the two families, and the beacon-light of the castle blazed
high over hill and dale.