MERVYN'S TOWER, KENILWORTHMERVYN'S TOWER, KENILWORTH
Amy and her escort were not at liberty to view this regal magnificence. They proceeded across the court to a tower at the northwestern angle, which was doubtless intended for a prison, judging from the thickness of the walls and the small size of the rooms. It was called, for this reason, the Strong Tower, though Scott's name for it is Mervyn's Tower. During the Elizabethan festivities it was used for the accommodation of guests. Here we must leave Amy for the present and go back to trace the movements of Elizabeth.
The Queen approached by way of the Gallery Tower, heralded by the roll of drums, the blare of trumpets, the roar of cannon, and the tumultuous shouts of a vast multitude. Two hundred thick waxen torches, each borne by a horseman, cast a glare of light upon the cavalcade. The Queen, mounted upon a milk-white horse and clad in gorgeous raiment, blazing with jewels, was accompanied by the Earl of Leicester, 'glittering like a golden image with jewels and cloth of gold.' He rode a jet-black horse, renowned as one of the most splendid chargers in Europe. Both horse and rider seemed perfectly formed to grace an occasion so glorious.A great procession of the most distinguished noblemen, the ablest statesmen, and the proudest knights of England followed the Queen, together with the ladies of the Court, famed for splendour and beauty and arrayed in garments only a little less magnificent than those of the Queen herself. Passing upon the bridge or dam which stretched between the gallery and Mortimer's Tower, the royal procession paused to witness a gorgeous spectacular performance on the lake. Then, entering the Base Court, they moved through various pageants to the Inner Court, and came at length to the Great Hall, where the Queen was handed to the Throne by the Earl of Leicester.
The Pleasance was an irregular-shaped enclosure, visible to the west from Mervyn's Tower and connecting with a rectangular section on the north known as the garden. The latter had a terrace along the castle wall, ten feet high and twelve feet wide, covered with grass and decorated with obelisks, spheres, and stone bears. At each end was an arbour of trees and fragrant flowers. The garden was intersected by walks or alleys, each of which had, in the middle, a square pilaster, fifteen feet high, surmounted by an orb. In the centre of the garden was a fountain of white marble, its pedestal carved with allegorical subjects and surmounted by two Atlantes, back to back, holding a ball, from which streams of water poured into the basin. At the side of the terrace was a large aviary, well filled with birds.
This was the scene of the dramatic climax toward which the novel trends, where Queen Elizabeth finally confronts Amy Robsart and begins to unravel the whole story of Leicester's duplicity.
Aside from their associations with the novel, the ruins of Kenilworth seem to exert a strong fascination. It is as though Nature were reasserting herself. A thousand years ago the domain was untouched by the hand of man. Then came kings and conquerors, who replaced the pristine beauty with artificial structures. Stately halls and palaces sprang into existence. Their inner walls were hung with the costliest of silks. Their floors were covered with the richest carpets from the looms of the Orient. Chairs, stools, tables, and bedsteads of elaborate workmanship, gorgeously covered with lace and embroidered with cloth of gold; paintings; musical instruments; curiously wrought plate, of silver and mother-of-pearl; everything, indeed, that the handicraft of the times could fashion and the wealth of its owners could buy, was brought to the castle in mute testimonial of man's conception of beauty. But these things passed. Kings and queens no longer made the castle their home, nor honoured it with even a brief visit. The people seized the government and, jealous lest royalty should again find shelter there, demolished the costly buildings. For the sake of a few pounds of lead, the roofs were torn away and sold. The artificial dam which backed up the waters of the great lake was cut and the waters flowed once more in their natural channels. Nature again assumed control. The formal gardens became a green pasture. The spacious courts which had been worn hard by the iron hoofs of countless steeds became soft again with a covering of deep and velvety grass. The proud war-horses vanished and in their place the gentle sheep appeared. The frightful scars on the face of the ruined buildings were concealedbeneath a rich cloak of deep-green ivy. Wall-flowers sprang out of the broken crevices below the arches.
All is peaceful, all is still. Nature has brought to the castle her own conception of beauty, and once more reigns supreme.
The Shetland and Orkney Islands, seen from an aeroplane at great height on a calm day, would resemble, I fancy, two handfuls of gravel thrown upon a horizontal sheet of window-glass. When I was a boy they meant little to me except a few black specks at the top of the map of Great Britain. Upon examining a larger map, an active lad might fancy that it would be great fun to skip from one island to another, or to play tag, leaping over the numerous indentations in the coast. The Shetland group is broken into about one hundred islands, stretching north and south for seventy miles, but the total land surface is only five hundred and fifty-one square miles, or less than half the area of the State of Rhode Island. The Orkney group, lying fifty miles farther south, is even smaller, its fifty-six islands containing only three hundred and seventy-five square miles.
Upon closer acquaintance, however, the islands do not seem so diminutive. Great rugged cliffs tower perpendicularly to enormous heights above the sea-level. Huge broken fragments of rock form gigantic towers, or stacks, rising out of the sea to a height of hundreds of feet. One of the most picturesque of these, the Old Man of Hoy, would tower above the dome of St. Peter's in Rome. Our small boy, standing on the edge of one of these cliffs, looking down upon the ocean, boiling and seething through strange caverns and natural arches,five hundred feet below, would quickly forget his desire to leap to the nearest island. The wildness of the scene is accentuated by the screaming of thousands of cormorants, guillemots, and gulls, mingling with the roar of the sea and the mournful soughing of the wind.
We sailed into the Sound of Bressay, the harbour of Lerwick, at twelve o'clock on a Saturday night in June. It was still light enough to see plainly, for in these regions the summer sun has to rise so early in the morning that he does not think it worth while to go to bed. Expecting to land at the wharf of some quiet little seaport town, we were astonished at the sight which the twilight revealed. A forest of masts crowded the sound, which is here a mile wide. It was at the height of the herring-fishing, and nearly a thousand vessels had arrived to land their fish and enable their crews to spend Sunday on shore, for these fishermen observe the Sabbath, piously or otherwise, as a day of rest. All the remainder of that night and all day Sunday the stone pavements of Lerwick resounded to the clatter of wooden shoes worn by the Dutch fishermen. These Dutchmen are largely responsible for the importance of Lerwick, having discovered many years ago that it would be a convenient centre for the curing and shipping of herring. Other nations are also represented, particularly Norway, Sweden, Germany, and France, while the native Shetlanders still retain a portion of the trade, though relatively a small one. Besides filling the harbour, the vessels were crowded along the quays, five or six deep, so that the crews of late arrivals could reach the shore only by crossing the decks of several other ships. As soon as possible after a boat arrives, its cargo is auctioned off atthe Fishmarket, after which it proceeds to one of the curing stations. Nearly all the vessels were 'steam-drifters,' which have superseded the old sailing-boats. These drifters usually carry a crew of ten men. Their engines are capable of ten knots an hour, sometimes more. As it often happens that profitable shoals of fish cannot be found without travelling at least a hundred miles, the advantage over the old sailing-ships is apparent.
Crowds of people flock to Lerwick in the season to look for employment in the curing establishments. On the little steamer which conveyed us thither, we noticed, in various out-of-the-way corners of the deck, what seemed to be piles of black and brown rags. They were there when we came on board at Aberdeen, and remained nearly all the next day. They turned out to be women, huddling together to keep warm, and covered only by their thick dresses and a few old shawls. They belonged to a class known by the not very pleasing, but thoroughly descriptive, name of gutters, and were making their annual trip to Lerwick to spend the season in the great curing establishments. These sturdy women become very expert. Each fish is eviscerated with two quick motions of the knife, assisted by the thumb and fingers, the process continuing for long hours, at the rate of about two dozen of herring a minute.
LERWICK, SHETLANDLERWICK, SHETLAND
Lerwick, the capital of the Shetland Islands, is a town of picturesque appearance. When it was built there were no carts in the islands, and no occasion for any, for there were no roads. A long zigzag street runs the length of the town, near the shore, and is the main business thoroughfare. A century ago it would have been impossible to drive an ordinary wagon through its narrow and awkwardturnings. Now the buildings are sufficiently altered to admit the passage of teams, but in many places, when a vehicle passes, the pedestrians must step into the nearest doorways. The town is built on a hillside, so that the cross-streets are steep lanes, alternating with short flights of stairs. They have rough pavements, and usually a rail is placed along the buildings for the safety of the pedestrians in icy weather. The main thoroughfare, varying in width from ten to twenty-five feet, is paved with flagging and its stone buildings, though small and of many different shapes, have a substantial look. Strolling through the streets of Lerwick, one might estimate the population at about five thousand; looking out over the harbour on Sunday morning he would be inclined to change the figure to twenty times that number; but again looking seaward on Monday afternoon, when the fishing fleet has disappeared, he would doubtless revert to his original estimate.
The men of the islands are nearly all fishermen. They work hard in the season, which lasts from June to September, and spend their money, during the long dark days of winter, in various amusements. Some maintain small farms of five or ten acres each, known as crofts, where they raise a few cattle and sheep. Only about one sixth of the land is under cultivation, and of this about three fourths is pasture land. The soil and climate of the Shetlands is decidedly unfavourable to agriculture. The women look after the cattle, till the soil in their small kail-yards, or gardens, bring in the winter supply of peat, and attend to all the duties of housekeeping. In the intervals of their busy lives, they knit shawls and other garments, out of wool which they card and spinthemselves. Indeed, they knit nearly all the time. It is not uncommon to see them walking along the roads or across the moors, with heavy baskets of peat on their backs, the knitting-needles clicking busily, as if every woman had been born with these implements in her hands.
On the morning after our arrival we set out to discover the scenes of 'The Pirate.' Not knowing what changes had occurred since Scott's visit to the islands in 1814, I was not sure whether I should be obliged to catch a Shetland pony upon which to travel or make up my mind to walk the twenty-seven miles between Lerwick and Sumburgh Head, over a roadless country of rocks and mountains, morasses, and quagmires. It was a delight, therefore, to learn not only that there was a good road all the way, but that Lerwick now boasted the possession of an automobile, the only one on the islands. I lost no time in hiring the car, with a chauffeur who said he 'knew the road,' though he afterwards confessed he had never been over it. When he reached the mountainous regions, where the road dodges in and out around a bewildering succession of short curves, along the edges of cliffs from which we could look down upon rugged rocks or into the lakes and voes a hundred feet below, speeding the machine as though he were on level ground and familiar with every foot of it, he gave us a thrill or two at every turn.
A CROFTER'S COTTAGE, ORKNEYA CROFTER'S COTTAGE, ORKNEY
We started out in the general direction taken by Mordaunt Mertoun, when he left the comfortable home of Magnus Troil and his two pretty daughters, Minna and Brenda, to return to the forlorn habitation of his father at Jarlshof. There was just enough strong wind, with occasional dashes of rain, to suggest the storm whichMordaunt faced. But he had to find his way around the edges of the numerous inland lakes and voes by a kind of instinct, having no path to follow. We travelled, on the contrary, over a good hard road, one of the improvements of the last half-century. Most of the people whom we passed had never seen an automobile. They not only hastily gave us the road, but usually climbed high up on the adjacent banks, sometimes dragging their pony-carts after them. One old man, when he saw us coming, hastily took his horse out of the shafts, and rushed up the side of the hill with the animal, to a safe distance of a hundred yards before he dared look back. The horse gazed upon us in mild-eyed curiosity, but the man's expression of terror suggested that he might have seen old Norna of the Fitful Head herself and her leering, sneering, grinning, and goggling dwarf, Nick Strumpfer, flying along in a vehicle of the Devil's own invention. Though not particularly grateful for the implied compliment, we were obliged to accept some such explanation of the fact, which became more and more apparent, that the men and women feared us far more than did their horses.
At one point we stopped to watch some women gathering peat. Only the wealthy can afford to import coal and there is no wood on the islands, because the fierce winds and rocky soil prevent the growth of trees. The universal fuel for the poor is therefore peat, which seems to have been providentially provided. For a fee of half-a-crown a year, or in some cases a little more, paid to some large landowner, each family may take a winter's supply. Every crofter's cottage has its peat-stack near the door. Peat is simply decayed moss, the most common variety of which is calledSphagnum. It is a small plant withthin, scaly leaves. In the light it has a hue of vivid green, changing in the lower and darker places to a sickly yellow, and finally in the lowest and dampest places, where it is thoroughly decayed, to a deep black. This decayed portion is the peat, which, when well dried, burns with a smouldering fire, of greater heat than an equal weight of wood, but with far greater volume of smoke. The peat-banks resemble miniature terraces, each about a foot high. The cutting is done with a curious spade, with long narrow blade, called atwiscarortuskar. The top layer, consisting of coarse dry grasses and the roots of heather and other plants, is of no value. The second layer is a thick, moist, spongy substance of a dark brown or black colour, while the third is still more compressed, and, but for the moisture, looks somewhat like coal. Each spadeful resembles a big, blackened brick, of unusual length. They are laid in rows to dry and finally carried away to the crofter's cottages, generally in baskets. The women swing their heavy loads upon their backs and trudge long distances. Occasionally the peat is loaded upon small sledges drawn by ponies. We saw an old woman, with a very pretty granddaughter, loading their fuel upon one of these sledges, which was drawn by a little 'Sheltie' with furry coat of pure white. The old woman kindly allowed me to take her picture, a favour which two other women declined to grant, because they did n't have on their best clothes!
Burgh-Westra, the home of Magnus Troil and his daughters, is purely fictitious. It was supposed to be twenty miles from Sumburgh Head, which would make it seven miles south of Lerwick. We passed numerous voes, as the long arms of the sea are called, any of whichwould have answered the description of the one upon which the Udaller's residence was situated, and we could have found many sheltered places among the rocks, corresponding to that in which Mordaunt Mertoun secretly met Brenda, or to the beach of white sand beneath a precipice, where Minna offered to pledge her hand to the pirate, Cleveland, by the mysterious 'promise of Odin.'
Ten miles below Burgh-Westra was Stourburgh, where Triptolemus Yellowley and Mistress Baby took up their residence. This, too, is fictitious. Sumburgh Head, on the contrary, is very real. It is a rocky promontory, three hundred feet high, at the southern extremity of the Mainland, as the largest of the Shetland Islands is called. Conflicting tides, sweeping around the rugged headland from two oceans, make a dangerous current, called the Roost of Sumburgh, from the Icelandic word,röst, signifying a strong tide. It has been a menace to navigation for centuries and the scene of countless shipwrecks. The novelist, quite naturally, therefore, made it the scene of the wreck and rescue of Cleveland. Such a place would appeal strongly to Scott, whose visit to the islands was made on a lighthouse yacht, the business of which was to inspect just such points of danger. He climbed the grassy slope to the top of the head, where he could look down from the loftiest crag upon a wild mass of rocks below, and said it would have been a fine situation in which to compose an ode to the Genius of Sumburgh Head or an elegy upon a cormorant or to have written and spoken madness of any kind. Instead of doing this he gave vent to his enthusiasm by sitting down on the grass and sliding a few hundred feet down to the beach!Whether the performance was voluntary or involuntary, he did not see fit to inform us.
A short distance north of Sumburgh Head, and in full view of it, we found the ruins of Jarlshof, the abode of Basil Mertoun and his son. It was a poorly built house of rough, unhewn stone, and even at its best must have been desolate enough. Its age and history are not definitely known. Robert Stewart, a son of James V, who received the earldom of the Orkney and Shetland Islands from Mary Queen of Scots in 1565, may have been the builder. He is known to have dwelt in the house, as did his son, Patrick, who abandoned Jarlshof after building the Castle of Scalloway.
When Scott visited Sumburgh he saw nothing in Jarlshof more interesting than a ruined dwelling-house, partly buried by the sand, and once the residence of one of the Orkney earls. But directly beneath his feet, though he knew it not, was an object that would have delighted his antiquarian instincts more than anything else in the islands. He gave great attention to the old Pictish castles or brocks, especially to a small one on the shores of a lake near Lerwick, called by him Cleik-him-in (Clickimin), and later to the larger tower on the island of Mousa. Here at Jarlshof, though the fact was unknown to the inhabitants at the time of Scott's visit, there was once a series of brocks, as old as Mousa or Clickimin, and far more extensive.
SUMBURGH HEAD, SHETLANDSUMBURGH HEAD, SHETLAND
This interesting discovery was made in 1897. Mr. John Bruce, the principal landowner in the parish of Kinrossness, upon whose property the ruin of Jarlshof stands, noticing the encroachments of the sea after a storm, began to suspect the existence of masonry beneaththe old castle. Two friends who were visiting him saw what seemed to be jutting ends of walls. They threw off their coats and began to excavate, continuing with enthusiasm until they discovered, to their great surprise, evidences of a far more extensive building than they had suspected. Mr. Bruce then engaged labourers and continued the work of excavation for five years.
The Castle of Jarlshof was erected on top of an older structure, the existence of which was evidently entirely unknown to the builder. The excavations reveal a circular tower sixty-three feet in diameter, similar in design to the other Shetland brochs, but larger at the base. Its main wall is pierced with a passage three feet wide, evidently leading to a staircase, and it has, within its thickness several chambers. Half of the broch has been swept away by the sea. On the west are portions of three smaller buildings, resembling beehives in form, the largest of which is oval in shape with a length of thirty-four feet and a width of nineteen. Outside of this structure was a great wall, varying from ten to twenty feet thick. It has been uncovered for a distance of seventy feet. Its shape suggests that it may have been part of a great circular wall surrounding the whole group of buildings, of which the central tower was the strongest and most important. Away back in the eighth or ninth century, some Pictish ruler may have constructed this immense fortress at the southern end of the islands, to repel attacks by sea, and to afford a refuge to the inhabitants in case of danger. Had Walter Scott known of its existence, he would have fairly revelled in the discovery, and perhaps the plot of 'The Pirate' might have been different.
Standing on the sands at Jarlshof, we could see, toward the northwest, the towering promontory of the Fitful Head, rising nine hundred and twenty-eight feet above the sea. This seemed a little puzzling at first, for Scott places the residence of Norna of the Fitful Head at the extreme northwestern edge of the Mainland. The Pictish burgh, or broch, which Norna is supposed to have inhabited, is on the island of Mousa,[1] off the eastern coast about ten miles north of Sumburgh Head. The Wizard, for a very good reason, set the old tower on the top of a great headland, ten miles to the south-west, and then moved the combination fifty miles to the north.
CROSS-SECTION OF THE BROCH OF MOUSACROSS-SECTION OF THE BROCH OF MOUSA
The dwelling of Norna, therefore, which to the casual reader seems so weird, was a very real thing. It representsone of the earliest forms of architecture, a rude attempt to construct a dwelling of loose stones, without cement or timber, and with very slight knowledge of the art of building. The Norsemen did not come to the Shetland Islands until late in the eighth century and they found many of these brochs already in existence. The most perfect of them all is the one on the island of Mousa. It measures fifty-three feet in diameter at the base and thirty-eight feet at the top. It is forty-two feet high. The interior of what appears, externally, to be a rather large building, is less than twenty feet in diameter owing to the peculiar construction of the walls, which are really double. They are seventeen feet wide at the base. Inside the walls is a kind of rude stair, or inclined plane, winding around the building, and a series of very narrow galleries or chambers. These receive air through openings in the inner wall, but, excepting the door, there is no aperture in the outer wall.
This is the real building which Scott made the residence of Norna because of his profound interest in it as a structure of unknown antiquity. But standing in full view, firmly planted on a solid and easily accessible rock, its situation was too commonplace for the requirements of the story. He knew well how to create quite a different impression, by supposing the same kind of house situated in a wild and remote locality, on a ragged piece of rock split off from the main plateau and leaning outward over the sea as though the slightest weight would tumble the whole structure, rock and all, into the ocean. Then, to supply the needed air of mystery, he fancied it occupied by a crazy old witch, claiming sovereignty over the winds and the seas; her servant an ugly, big-mouthed,tongueless dwarf, with malignant features and a horrible, discordant laugh; her favourite pet an uncouth and uncanny trained seal; her companions the unseen demons of the air; and her occupations the utterance of sibylline prophecies and the incantation of weird spells. Clearly, all this would have been impossible on the island of Mousa, so the author simply adjusted the geography of the country to the requirements of his romance.
SCALLOWAY, SHETLANDSCALLOWAY, SHETLAND
Although Lerwick is now the only town of importance in the Shetlands, the village of Scalloway, directly across the Mainland on the eastern coast, once held that distinction. It is picturesquely situated on an arm of the sea. Approaching from the east, we paused at the top of the hill to look down upon it. Just below was one of those long narrow voes, so common in these islands. The whale-hunt described in 'The Pirate' came instantly to mind. It was easy to understand how one of these monsters might come in at high tide and find himself stranded at the ebb. At the mouth of this voe and circling around a small bay of its own lies the quaint little village. At the extremity of a point of land between the voe and the bay, rising higher than any of the surrounding buildings, stands the ruined Castle of Scalloway. It was built in 1600 by Patrick Stewart, the Earl of Orkney to whom I have previously referred. He was the 'Pate Stewart' whose name is still a synonym on the islands for all that is cruel and oppressive. He compelled the people to do his bidding. They were obliged to work in the quarries, drag the stone to the town, build the house as best they could without proper appliances, and perform any kind of menial service he might exact. For this they received a penny a day if the Earl feltgood-natured. Otherwise they received nothing. If they displeased him they were thrown into dungeons and not infrequently hanged. A huge iron ring near the top of the castle, which was used for this purpose, still bears witness to Pate Stewart's cruelty. He is said to have boasted that the ring seldom lacked a tassel. As mentioned in 'The Pirate,' the inhabitants only remembered one thing to his credit, and that was a law which accorded well with Patrick's own ideas of the rights of people to possess their own property. This was the law, so dear to boyish hearts, of 'finders keepers.' Property washed up from wrecks at sea belonged to those who found it. There was a prevalent superstition that to save a drowning person was unlucky, and no doubt this was one of the results of Pate Stewart's ruling. If a man was not rescued he could claim no rights of property. It was this superstition, so prevalent on the islands, that Scott wove into his plot, making the rescue of Cleveland and the saving of his chest an extremely unlucky occurrence for Mordaunt Mertoun.
We left Lerwick at midnight and stood on deck for an hour enjoying the scenery by twilight. The little steamer was loaded to the gunwales with barrels of fish, piled upon the decks in every nook and corner, so that there was scarcely room to stand, making us feel like two very insignificant bits of merchandise in the midst of such a valuable cargo of good salt herring. In the morning we reached the port of Kirkwall, the capital and chief city of the Orkneys.
Instead of a long busy quay, lined with hundreds of steam-drifters as at Lerwick, we saw an almost empty harbour and a dock, which, but for the arrival of ourown vessel, would have been deserted. The permanent population of the two towns is about the same, Kirkwall having the advantage of the better agricultural facilities of the Orkneys. Its streets are narrow like those in Lerwick. Bridge Street, up which the pirates marched so insolently to meet the city magistrates, and down which they swaggered again, dragging the terrified Triptolemus Yellowley, is one of the narrowest of thoroughfares. It is commonly said that here, 'two wheelbarrows tremble as they meet.' At the end, or 'top' of this street we turned to the right and found ourselves in Albert Street, one striking feature of which is a solitary tree. It was said, enviously, in Lerwick, that the people of Kirkwall were so proud of this wonderful vegetation that they took it in every night and set it out again in the morning.
Kirkwall is far more interesting than Lerwick because of its historical associations, most of which centre about the Cathedral of St. Magnus. The ancient building looks almost modern as you approach the wide plaza opening out from Broad Street. Although older than Melrose, Dryburgh, Holyrood, and Dunfermline abbeys, all of which are now in ruins, and in spite of the fact that it is built of the soft red and yellow sandstone, it still stands, complete and proudly erect. When Melrose was rebuilt, through the munificence of Robert Bruce in the fourteenth century, the central portions of St. Magnus had been standing for two centuries. In the sixteenth century, when an English king was battering down the fine old Gothic churches of Scotland, the people of Kirkwall not only protected their cathedral, but witnessed the addition of some of its finest features, notably the west doorway. In earlier times it had a spire, which, judgingfrom the massive columns upon which it rested, must have been an imposing one. The steeple was burned in 1671, and never replaced, except by a stumpy little tower which completely spoils the effect of an otherwise impressive building.
The story of the founding of St. Magnus is one of the most interesting of the sagas of the Orkneys. Hakon and Magnus, both grandsons of the great Earl Thorfinn, were joint rulers of the islands. Hakon was ambitious and treacherous; Magnus was virtuous, kind-hearted, and well-beloved. By a wicked conspiracy of Hakon and his associates, the saintly Magnus was murdered in the island of Egilsay in 1115, bravely meeting his death as a noble martyr. Hakon died soon after, and his son Paul inherited the earldom. Another claimant appeared in the person of Rognvald, a nephew of Earl Magnus, now called 'Saint' Magnus, a bold and skilful warrior and a born leader of men. Before proceeding against Paul, Rognvald accepted the advice of his father, who told him not to trust to his own strength, but to make a vow, that if, by the grace of St. Magnus, he should succeed in gaining his inheritance, he would build and dedicate to him a minster in Kirkwall, more magnificent in size and splendour than any other in the North. With the powerful but mysterious assistance of Sweyn Asleifson, 'the last of the Vikings,' who seized Earl Paul and carried him away bodily, Earl Rognvald became the sole ruler of the earldom. He set to work at once to fulfil his vow, and began work upon the cathedral in the year 1137.
The massiveness of the building is best realized by looking into the nave from the west doorway. The roofis supported by immense round pillars of red sandstone, seven on each side. On the north and south of these pillars are long aisles, the walls of which are covered with ancient tombstones, taken up from the floor and set on end. In the north aisle is a mort-brod, or death-board, inscribed with the name of a departed Orcadian, whose picture is shown, sitting on the ground in his grave-clothes, a spade over his shoulder, an hour-glass in his lap, and a joyful grin on his face. On the reverse is the following:—
BelowDoeth lyeIf ye wold tryeCome read uponThis brodThe Corps of on RobertNicholsone whos souls aboveWith God.He being 70 years of age endedThis mortal life and 50 of that heWas married to Jeane DavidsonHis wife. Betwixt them 212 children had, whereof5 left behind theother 7 with him 'sIn Heaven, who'sJoy's shallneverend
In the south aisle are some curious tombstones, most of them having carved representations of the skull and crossbones. The death's heads are all much enlarged on the left side, the Orcadian idea being that the soul escapes at death through the left ear.
The pirate, Cleveland, it will be remembered, was kept a prisoner in these aisles, and was walking about disconsolately when Minna Troil entered. Concealed from the guards at the door by the huge pillars, they planned an escape. Suddenly Norna of the Fitful Head mysteriously appeared, and warning Minna that her plan would lead to certain discovery, sent the young woman away. Norna then led Cleveland through a secret passage out of the church to a place of safety. In the south aisle there is a low arch which formerly led, so it is said, through a secret underground passage to the Bishop's Palace across the street. This fact doubtless suggested to the novelist the means by which Norna might spirit away the captive pirate.
Across the street which runs by the south side of the cathedral are the ruins of two large mansions. The Bishop's Palace, which is not mentioned in 'The Pirate,' is chiefly interesting from the fact that Hakon Hakonson, the last of the great sea-kings of Norway, after his splendid fleet had been driven on the rocks by the fury of a great storm and there almost annihilated by the fierce onset of the Scottish warriors, sought refuge within its walls, only to die a few days later. This was in 1263. How much older the palace is, nobody knows.
The Earl's Palace, with its grounds, occupies the opposite corner, a narrow street intervening between the two ruins. The enclosure is filled with sycamores and other trees, thus refuting the slander of the envious Shetlanders. In fact, when we came to look for them, we found more than one enclosure in Kirkwall which could boast of fairly good-sized trees. The castle is, or was, a very substantial building, with fine broadstairways and many turrets. Seen from the south, across the bowling-green, it might be taken for the ruin of some large church. It was built by the notorious Patrick Stewart, the same earl who abandoned Jarlshof, and compelled the people to build him a larger castle at Scalloway. By the same methods, he constructed the palace at Kirkwall, forcing the people to quarry the stone and do all his work without pay. An example of his tyranny was related to me by a resident of Kirkwall. According to this tale, the Earl coveted a piece of land adjoining the palace, with which the owner refused to part. Patrick, not accustomed to be thwarted in his plans, was quick to apply the remedy. He secretly caused some casks of brandy to be buried in the desired tract. In due time he began to complain that somebody was stealing his liquor and finally charged his neighbour with the offence. The casks were then triumphantly 'discovered' as proof positive. Inasmuch as the Earl was his own judge, jury, and court of appeals, the poor innocent landowner was quickly condemned, hanged, and his property confiscated. Many a man made over a part of his land to the Earl on demand, having no alternative.
We noticed many portholes under the windows, showing that the castle was intended to serve as a fortress as well as a mansion. This was the secret of the Earl's final downfall. The authorities of Edinburgh could go to sleep when the Earl of the far-distant islands merely oppressed his own people, but to fortify a castle against the King was an act of treason. When Patrick Stewart and his son Robert prepared to maintain their independence by fortifying not only the castle but the cathedral, Scotland woke up. The Earl of Caithnesswas sent against the rebels. Robert, who was in command, withstood the siege for one month, when he was overcome, carried to Edinburgh, and hanged. Patrick took refuge in the Castle of Scalloway and for a time baffled his pursuers by hiding in a secret chamber. He could not resist the consolation of tobacco and took a few surreptitious pulls at his pipe, while the searchers were in the house. The smoke, or the smell, betrayed him. He was speedily taken to Edinburgh, where he paid the penalty on the gallows of a long career of tyranny, cruelty, extortion, confiscation, robbery, and murder.
The most interesting room in the Earl's castle is the banqueting-hall, which had a high roof or ceiling and was lighted on the south by three tall but narrow arched windows. On one side is a huge fireplace with two arches, the lower one flat. Supporting this curious combination are two pillars, on which are carved the initials P.E.O., meaning Patrick, Earl of Orkney, the letters being still legible. In this room Cleveland is supposed to have met Jack Bunce upon his return to Kirkwall.
The two pirates, after leaving the castle, walked to Wideford Hill, two miles from the town, where the Fair of St. Olla was being held. The annual Lammas Market or Fair at this place is still one of the institutions of Kirkwall, although no longer so important as in the time of 'The Pirate.'
If Scott took liberties with the geography of Shetland, he was scrupulously exact in his treatment of the Orkneys. Every movement of the brig of Magnus Troil, as well as those of the pirate ship, can be traced on the map. The latter, it will be recalled, sailed around toStromness, where she dropped anchor. Two inland lakes, known as the Loch of Stennis and the Loch of Harray, now favourite resorts for anglers, lie northeast of the town. They are separated by a narrow causeway called the Bridge of Brogar. This is the place where the pirates landed their boat on the night of the final tragedy of the story. We found the locality one of the most interesting in the islands.
At the entrance of the bridge stands a huge, rough-hewn stone, eighteen feet high, known as the 'watch-stone' or 'sentinel.' This is the largest of the 'stones of Stennis,' a collection of ancient monoliths comparable in Great Britain only to those of Stonehenge. At the farther end of the bridge is the so-called 'Circle of the Sun,' a ring about one hundred and twenty yards in diameter, surrounded by a trench about six feet deep. The stones composing this circle are from eight to sixteen feet high and of irregular shape. One of them is at least five or six feet wide. There were about forty stones originally, but now only fifteen remain standing. A smaller group, known as the 'Circle of the Moon,' but composed of larger stones, stands in a field near the eastern end of the bridge. A horizontal stone, laid on top of these vertical ones, makes a rude table or altar. This may have been a place of druidical sacrifices, if the most prevalent belief is to be accepted, or possibly the work of Scandinavian hands. It was by this table of stone that Minna stood, to meet and bid farewell to her lover, looking like a druidical priestess, or, if the Scandinavian theory be accepted, 'she might have seemed a descended vision of Freya, the spouse of the Thundering Deity, before whom some bold sea-king or champion bent with an awewhich no mere mortal terror could have inflicted upon him.'
THE STANDING STONES OF STENNISTHE STANDING STONES OF STENNIS
The Stone of Odin formerly stood on the east side of this circle. Minna had offered to pledge her faith to Cleveland by the 'promise of Odin' and Norna of the Fitful Head had married her lover by the same rite. This stone differed from the others only in the fact that it had a round hole near the base. Lovers who found it inconvenient to be married by a priest, or who wished to plight their troth by some unusually solemn vow, resorted to this stone, and a promise here given was regarded as sacred and never to be broken. The marriage ceremony was peculiar. The couple first visited the Circle of the Moon, where the woman, in the presence of the man, knelt and prayed to the god Woden, or Odin, that he would enable her to perform all her obligations and promises. They next went to the Circle of the Sun, where the man in like manner made his prayers. Then they returned to the Stone of Odin, where, the man standing on one side and the woman on the other, they joined hands through the hole and took upon themselves the solemn vows of matrimony. Such a marriage could never be broken.
Scott visited the Stones of Stennis in 1814. Had he arrived a year later he would not have seen the Stone of Odin, for some irreverent Orcadian broke it up, probably to help build the foundation of his cottage.
Leaving, with some reluctance, these relics of a civilization more than a thousand years old, we resumed our journey toward Stromness. The town lies on the slope of a hill, resembling Lerwick in this respect and in the closeness of the houses to the sea. Some of the buildingsstand so near the water that parts of the bay look like a miniature Venice. Our motor-car frequently occupied the entire width of the street, sidewalks and all, as we twisted our tortuous course for a mile along the main thoroughfare. From the high ground behind the town, we had a fine view of the sea, and across the sound, the great towering island of Hoy, the highest and most impressive of all the Orkney group. On the western side a long line of precipitous cliffs, rising a thousand feet above the sea, opposes an unbroken front to the full force of the Atlantic. At the western end as we saw it from above Stromness, the rocks form the profile of a man's face, not so stern as that in the Franconia Notch of the White Mountains, but having rather a more genial look. It is said to resemble Sir Walter Scott, a likeness which, I confess, I could see only when I shut my eyes and thought of Chantrey's bust.
The island of Hoy plays an important part in 'The Pirate.' It was the original home of Norna when the old witch was a handsome young girl. The Dwarfie Stone, where she met the demon Trolld, and bartered her life's happiness for the power to control the tempests and the waves of the sea, is on the southwest slope of Ward Hill, the highest peak of which rises to a height of over fifteen hundred feet. It is in a desolate peat-bog, two miles from the nearest human habitation. The stone is about thirty feet long and half as wide. Hollowed out of the interior is a chamber, with two beds, one of them a little over five feet long. It is difficult to conceive why any human being should have taken the trouble to cut out the rock for a hermitage or place of refuge, or why any one should seek so desolate an abode.Tradition therefore affirmed that the rock was fashioned by spirit hands and was the dwelling of the elfin dwarf, Trolld. It was to this island that Norna conducted Mordaunt after he had received a wound at the hands of Cleveland.
It was at Stromness that Scott, in 1814, made the acquaintance of Bessie Millie, an aged dame who made her living by selling favourable winds to mariners at the reasonable price of sixpence each. The touch of insanity, and the strong influence she possessed over the natives of the island, who feared her power, were strongly suggestive of Norna. This old sibyl related to Scott the story of John Gow, whose boyhood was spent in Stromness. This daring individual had gone to sea at an early age and returned to the home of his youth, a pirate, commanding a former English galley of two hundred tons which he had captured and renamed the 'Revenge.' He boldly came ashore and mingled with the people, giving dancing-parties in the village of Stromness. Before his real character was known he became engaged to a young woman, and the two plighted their troth at the Stone of Odin. The houses of his former neighbours were plundered and many acts of insolence and violence committed. At length, through the exertions of a former schoolmate, Gow was captured with his entire crew and speedily executed at London. The young woman journeyed to London, too, for the purpose of touching her former lover's dead body. In that way only, according to the superstition of her country, could she obtain a release from her vow and avoid a visit from the pirate's ghost, in case she should ever marry. Gow's brief career furnished an excellent model for Cleveland,though the author endowed his 'pirate' with some very commendable qualities which the prototype probably did not possess.
Bessie Millie, the old hag of Stromness, needed, in addition to her own eccentricities, only a few touches of the gipsy nature, to make her a good 'original' for Norna. A local preacher in the parish of Tingwall, whom Scott met on his visit to Shetland, is said to have suggested Triptolemus Yellowley. Three or four families, in whose homes the novelist was a welcome visitor, have laid claim to the honour of supplying the 'originals' of Minna and Brenda Troil. These two delightful characters, however, were no doubt intended merely to embody the ideal of perfect sisterly affection, and external resemblances to real people, though such might easily be fancied, were probably far from the author's purpose.
STROMNESS, ORKNEYSTROMNESS, ORKNEY
For the rest, the great charm of 'The Pirate' lies in the expression of the novelist's enthusiasm for the fresh and fascinating scenery of a wild country, where strange weird tales are wafted on every breeze, where the quaint customs of past ages are still retained, where Nature reveals herself in a constant succession of new and ever captivating forms, where the rush of the wind and the roar of the sea impart fresh joys to the senses and fill one's soul with renewed veneration for the Power that rules the elements.
As we sailed away for Aberdeen, it was with very much the same feeling which Scott expressed at the close of his diary of the vacation of 1814.[2] He said he had takenas much pleasure in the excursion as in any six weeks of his life. 'The Pirate' was not written until seven years later, but it carries as much freshness and enthusiasm as though it had been composed on the return voyage.
[1] CROSS-SECTION OF THE BROCH OF MOUSA.a, a.Rooms in Circular Wall, connected by a rude spiral stair.b, b.Windows opening into inner court.
[2] The diary, containing a full account of the visit of 1814, in a lighthouse yacht, to the Shetland and Orkney Islands, the Hebrides, and the northern coasts of Scotland and Ireland, is printed in full in Lockhart'sLife of Scott.
Hitherto our exploration of the Scott country had revealed a never-ending succession of ruined castles, palaces, and abbeys; of picturesque rivers, lakes, cataracts, and quiet pools; of seashores where thunderous waves dashed against precipitous cliffs; of quaint villages and queer-looking dwelling-houses; of weird caverns and strange monuments suggesting the superstitions and fantasies of bygone ages; of pleasant meadows, wild moors, rounded hilltops, and rugged mountains; of a thousand tangible objects of interest which had in some way suggested to Sir Walter the theme for a poem or story. But when we reached Scott's London, the camera, which had faithfully recorded all the other scenes, refused to perform its function. The tangibleness of the subjects had ceased. My lenses have excellent physical eyes but no historical insight. They insist upon seeing things as they are and will not record them as they once existed. The London of Nigel Olifaunt has completely disappeared and in its place a new London has arisen. To photograph the city of to-day as the scenes of Nigel's adventures, would be like painting the 'Purchase of Manhattan Island from the Indians' with a background of fifty-story 'sky-scrapers.' From such a task my faithful camera shrank, and I was obliged to lay it aside, to turn over, for several days, the pages ofsome huge piles of books on Old London in the British Museum.
Lockhart, who places 'The Fortunes of Nigel' in the first class of Scott's romances, says that his historical portrait of King James I 'stands forth preëminent and almost alone.' This, indeed, is the whole object of the book,—to picture the London of King James and the personal peculiarities of that monarch. Scott was thoroughly saturated—so to speak—with the history and literature of that period, and especially with the dramas of Ben Jonson and his contemporaries; and this enabled him to picture the manners of the time almost as if they were within his personal recollection.
It is an amusing portrait of a pompous, strutting, and absurd monarch who yet possessed enough learning, as well as ready wit, to gain the title of 'the wisest fool in Christendom.' Through his famous tutor at Stirling Castle, George Buchanan, who freely boxed the royal ears and administered spankings the same as to other boys, the King had early acquired a certain taste for learning. He evinced a fondness for the classics and yearned to become a poet. He wrote in verse a paraphrase of the Revelation of St. John and a version of the Psalms, besides prose disquisitions on every conceivable subject. His conversation, as described by Scott, was a curious compound of Latin, Greek, English, and the broad Scotch dialect. His tastes, as well as character, were suggested by the appearance of a table in the palace, which, says the novelist, 'was loaded with huge folios, amongst which lay light books of jest and ribaldry; and, amongst notes of unmercifully long orations, and essays on kingcraft, were mingled miserable roundelsand ballads by the Royal 'Prentice, as he styled himself, in the art of poetry, and schemes for the general pacification of Europe, with a list of the names of the King's hounds, and remedies against canine madness.'
A man of medium height and somewhat corpulent, James managed to make his figure seem absurdly fat and clumsy, by having his green velvet dress quilted, so as to be dagger-proof, for he was both timid and cowardly. The ungainly protuberance thus artificially acquired was accentuated by a pair of weak legs, which caused him to roll about rather than walk, and to lean on other men's shoulders when standing. 'He was fond of his dignity while he was perpetually degrading it by undue familiarity; capable of much public labour, yet often neglecting it for the meanest amusement; a wit, though a pedant; and a scholar, though fond of the conversation of the ignorant and uneducated.'
Sketch Map of LondonSketch Map of London
Contrasting strongly with this weak and ludicrous character, Scott introduced the sterling qualities of a noble Scotchman, George Heriot, to whom Edinburgh is indebted for one of her most splendid benevolent institutions, Heriot's Hospital, where for nearly three centuries the poor fatherless boys of the city have been transformed into eminent and useful citizens, honoured and respected in many parts of the world. George Heriot, nicknamed by the King 'Jingling Geordie,' was the son of an Edinburgh goldsmith, to whose business he succeeded. At thirty-six years of age he had the good fortune to be appointed goldsmith to Queen Anne, and shortly after, goldsmith and jeweller to her husband, then James VI of Scotland. On his accession to the English throne as James I, in 1603, Heriot followed the Kingto London. In those times, and until the eighteenth century, goldsmiths commonly acted as bankers. Heriot made full use of his unusual opportunity and laid the foundation of a large fortune. Disheartened by the loss of his young and beautiful wife, who died at the age of twenty-one, Heriot made a will leaving his entire property, amounting to £23,625, for the establishment of the hospital. His picture is thus described in a quotation copied by Scott in one of his notes: 'His fair hair, which overshades the thoughtful brow and calm, calculating eye, with the cast of humour on the lower part of the countenance, are all indicative of the genuine Scottish character, and well distinguish a person fitted to move steadily and wisely through the world, with a strength of resolution to ensure success and a disposition to enjoy it.'
The weakness of James is still further accentuated in the novel by the introduction of his imperious favourite, George Villiers, the first Duke of Buckingham, whom the King called 'Steenie,' from his fancied resemblance to the portrait of the martyr, Stephen, as painted by the Italian artists. 'James endured his domination rather from habit, timidity, and a dread of encountering his stormy passions, than from any heartfelt continuation of regard towards him.' The King's favour, nevertheless, made Buckingham the richest nobleman in England (with possibly a single exception) and the virtual ruler of the kingdom. The constant companion of the Duke was Baby Charles, as James insisted upon calling his son, afterward King Charles I, for whose ruin and death on the scaffold James was himself, all unconsciously, rapidly paving the way. David Ramsay, the whimsicaland absent-minded watchmaker, who kept shop in Fleet Street, near Temple Bar, was a real character, who held the post of 'watchmaker and horologer' to James I. His most famous performance was a search for hidden treasure in the cloister of Westminster Abbey, by the use of Mosaic rods, or divining rods, which, according to the current account, failed solely because of the presence of too many people. The irreverent laughter of these persons caused a fierce wind to spring up so suddenly that 'the demons had to be dismissed' for fear the church would fall in on them.
These are the real characters of the story. To identify the scenes a good map of Old London, will accomplish more than a personal visit. Such a map need only follow the windings of the Thames, which for centuries was the great silent highway of London,—a distinction which it did not lose until the beginning of the nineteenth century. Over the highway passed the royal barge of Elizabeth, as described in 'Kenilworth,' and it was by this same method of travelling that George Heriot conducted his young friend, Nigel, to the presence of the King at Whitehall. For the streets of the city were narrow and crowded, and rioting, as the result of debauchery and licentiousness, was not infrequent, so that few cared to ride on horseback, and carriages, except for the high nobility, were entirely unknown. So the Thames was the one great artery through which flowed both the business and social life of the city.
When King George and Queen Mary, at the recent coronation, passing through the Admiralty Arch in Trafalgar Square, turned into Whitehall on their way to Westminster Abbey, their route lay between greatrows of government buildings, lined with thousands of cheering subjects. Had conditions remained as they were in King James's time, this part of the triumphal procession would have been entirely within the limits of their own royal palace.
Whitehall Palace, originally built in 1240, was for three centuries called York House, or York Place, taking its name from the fact that it was the London residence of the Archbishop of York. Under Cardinal Wolsey it was rebuilt and refurnished in a style of magnificence excelling anything ever before known in England and equal in splendour to the best in the palaces of the kings. With the fall of Wolsey in 1529 the mansion became the property of King Henry VIII, who changed the name to Whitehall, and proceeded to enlarge and improve both the palace and the grounds. A plan published in 1680 shows that the buildings, with their courtyards and areas, then covered twenty-three acres. It included a cock-pit and a tennis-court, on the site of the present Treasury buildings, and the Horse-Guards Parade was then a tilt-yard. These arrangements sufficiently suggest some of the favourite amusements of royalty. Henry VIII took great delight in cock-fighting and James I amused himself with it regularly twice a week. Queen Elizabeth found pleasure in tournaments and pageants, and it is recorded that in the sixty-seventh year of her age she 'commanded the bear, the bull, and the ape to be bayted in the Tilt-yard.'[1]
King James I found the palace in bad repair and determined to rebuild it on a vast and magnificent scale.Inigo Jones, one of the most famous architects of his time, was employed and made plans for a building, which, if completed, would have covered an area of twenty-four acres. Judging from drawings now in the British Museum, it seems a pity that this admirable project was never fully executed. Only the banqueting-hall was finished, and this still remains as the sole survivor of the Palace of Whitehall. Its chief historical interest lies in the fact that, from one of its windows, Charles I stepped out upon the scaffold where he was beheaded.
If we were to follow ancient custom and use the Thames for our highway, as did two hundred peers and peeresses at the late coronation, we should now row down the river and land at Charing Cross Pier, where we should find the remnant of the sumptuous palace built by 'Steenie,' the Duke of Buckingham. This is the York Water Gate, formerly the entrance to the Duke's mansion from the Thames, but now high above the water, overlooking the garden of the Victoria Embankment.
Continuing down the river, we should stop at Temple Pier, and visit the Temple Gardens, where Nigel walked in despair, after his encounter with Lord Dalgarno in St. James's Park, and where, it will be remembered, he fell in with the friendly Templar, Reginald Lowestoffe. The Temple property was granted in 1609 by James I to the benchers of the Inner and Middle Temple for the education of students and professors of the law. Oliver Goldsmith lived in Middle Temple Lane, and in the same house, Sir William Blackstone, the great English jurist, and William Makepeace Thackeray, also had chambers.Dr. Johnson lived in Inner Temple Lane, as did Charles Lamb, who was born within the Temple.
Coming out into Fleet Street, we should stand before the figure of a griffin on a high pedestal, which marks the site of Temple Bar. In Scott's time it was an arch crossing the street, and in the time of King James, merely a barricade of posts and chains. When the coronation procession passed this point, King George V, according to ancient custom, paused to receive permission from the Lord Mayor to enter the City of London. The civic sword was presented to the King and immediately returned to the Lord Mayor, after which the procession resumed its march.
Within Temple Bar and on the north side of Fleet Street, between Fetter Lane and Chancery Lane, is St. Dunstan's Church, built in 1832 on the site of an older church building. A few yards to the eastward, according to Scott, was the shop of David Ramsay, the watch-maker, before which the two 'stout-bodied and strong-voiced' apprentices kept up the shouts of 'What d'ye lack? what d' ye lack?'—very much after the fashion of a modern 'barker.' This was the opening scene of the novel, though not suggested in the slightest by the Fleet Street of to-day.
On the opposite side a narrow lane, called Bouverie Street, leads down toward the river along the eastern boundary of The Temple, into 'Whitefriars,' or Alsatia, where Nigel was compelled to take refuge for a time in the house of the old miser, Trapbois. The 'Friars of the Blessed Virgin of Mount Carmel,' otherwise known as the 'White Friars,' established their London house in 1241, between Fleet Street and the Thames, on landgranted by Edward I. This carried with it the privileges of sanctuary or immunity from arrest, which were allowed to the inhabitants long after the dissolution of the religious houses. Indeed, before the suppression of the monastery, the persons of bad repute, who had flocked to the district in great numbers, were wont to make so much disturbance with their continual clamours and outcries, that the friars complained that they could not conduct divine service. The privilege was confirmed by James I, and in his time, as a consequence, 'Alsatia,' as the district came to be called, was one of the worst quarters in London. It was the common habitation of thieves, gamblers, swindlers, murderers, bullies, and drunken, dissipated reprobates of both sexes. Its atmosphere, thick with the fogs of the river, fairly reeked with the smell of alehouses of the lowest order, which outnumbered all the other houses. The shouts of rioters, the profane songs and boisterous laughter of the revellers, mingled with the wailing of children and the screaming of women. The men were 'shaggy, uncombed ruffians whose enormous mustaches were turned back over their ears,' and they swaggered through the dirty streets, quarrelling, brawling, fighting, swearing, and 'smoking like moving volcanoes.' They waged a ceaseless warfare against their proud and noisy, but not so disreputable, neighbours of The Temple.
Coming back to our imaginary trip by river (for we really visited these sites either on foot or by taxi-cab), we continue down the river, passing under Blackfriars Bridge, and stop for a moment at Paul's Wharf, near where Nigel found quarters in the house of John Christie, the honest ship-chandler. Journeyingonward, we pass under London Bridge, which in James's time was the only means of crossing the river, other than by boat. It was then overloaded with a great weight of huge buildings, many stories high, under which passed a narrow roadway. At the southern entrance was a gate, the top of which was decorated with the heads of traitors. All the buildings were finally cleared away in 1757 and 1758.
Passing under London Bridge we soon come to the Tower of London, which the unfortunate Nigel entered through the Traitor's Gate. From the time of William the Conqueror, by whom its foundations were begun, until the reign of Charles II, the Tower of London was used as a palace by the kings of England. It has been said that the 'strong monarchs employed the Tower as a prison, the weak ones as a fortress.' It was as a prison that the Tower achieved its unenviable fame in history as
London's lasting shame;With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
In its dark precincts many of the noblest of England's men and women found themselves prisoners, the majority of them perishing upon the block. Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard, wives of Henry VIII; Lady Jane Grey and her husband Guildford Dudley; the father[2] and the grandfather[3] of Dudley; and Sir Walter Raleigh were among the most famous of these victims. Nigel was confined in the Beauchamp Tower, where many distinguished persons were imprisoned. The inscriptions to which Scott refers may still be seen, including thatof Lady Jane Grey, though it is probable that this was written by her husband or by his brother, who is supposed to have carved the device of the bear and ragged staff, 'the emblem of the proud Dudleys,' which is an elaborate piece of sculpture on the right of the fireplace.
To complete our survey of the scenery of 'The Fortunes of Nigel,' we have to continue our journey down the Thames until we land in Greenwich Hospital and the Royal Naval College, which occupy the site of the old royal palace, formerly called Placentia or Pleasaunce. It was a favourite royal palace as early as 1300, though it passed into the hands of the nobility and came back to the Crown in 1433 on the death of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. It was the birthplace of King Henry VIII and of Mary and Elizabeth. The building was enlarged by Henry VIII, James I, and Charles I. Charles II caused it to be pulled down, intending to carry out some ambitious plan, but succeeded in erecting only the building which is now the west wing of the hospital. Back of the palace is an extensive park of one hundred and ninety acres. This is where Nigel unexpectedly encountered the King, at the very climax of a stag-hunt, frightening him nearly to death; and here he was unceremoniously arrested and hurried off to the Tower. The park still has herds of deer, though they are no longer hunted, and a row of fine old chestnuts, originally planted by command of Charles II, who laid out the enclosure. In the centre is a hill, surmounted by the famous Royal Greenwich Observatory, from whose meridian longitude is reckoned and whose clock determines the standard of time for all England.
Just as 'The Heart of Midlothian' had produceda vivid picture of life in Edinburgh during the reign of George II, so 'The Fortunes of Nigel' reproduced the life of London in the time of King James. For this brilliant study, not only of the curious monarch, but of the strange manners and customs as well as the lawlessness of the city, which the King's folly did so much to create, the novel has been generally accorded a very high rank among Scott's productions.
[1] Quoted from Sydney's 'State Papers,' inThe Old Royal Palace of Whitehall, by Edgar Sheppard, D.D.
[2] John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland.
[3] Edmund Dudley, the notorious agent of King Henry VII.
'Old Peveril' was one of the pet nicknames with which Scott was dubbed by some of his young legal friends in Parliament House, and he carried the sobriquet for the remainder of his life, taking great delight in it. He did not, however, take much pleasure from the composition of the novel, finding it a tiresome task from which he could only find relief by planning its successor. It marks the beginning of a malady which ultimately proved fatal. Scott concealed the symptoms from his family, but confided to a friend that he feared Peveril 'will smell of the apoplexy.' It proved a heavy undertaking, covering a period of twenty years of exciting history and three distinct, but widely differing, localities, namely, Derbyshire, the Isle of Man, and London in the time of Charles II.
In the high Peak country of Derbyshire, about fifteen miles west of Sheffield, lies the village of Castleton, nestling snugly at the foot of a somewhat precipitous hill. Away back in the time of William the Conqueror, a son of that monarch received a grant of large estates in Derbyshire, and selected the very summit of this steep and almost inaccessible rock as the site of his castle. His name was William Peveril and the bit of a ruin which still remains, high in the air above the village, is called Peveril Castle. We reached it after a very hard climb, by a steep path running zigzag across the face of a longgrassy slope. It was scarcely worth the effort, for the 'castle' is now only a small square tower, of no interest whatever, except from the fact that it gave the name to one of the Waverley Novels.
The domain of this William Peveril seems to have extended far to the south of Castleton, and included in it was the site of Haddon Hall, a fine mediæval mansion, picturesquely situated on the river Wye, between Bakewell and Rowsley, and still in wonderfully good repair. The Peverils held the property for about a century, when they were deprived of the lands by King Henry II. In 1195, Haddon came into the possession of the Vernon family, who continued to reside there for nearly four centuries. The last of the name was Sir George Vernon, who became celebrated as the 'King of the Peak.' His large possessions passed into the hands of his youngest daughter, Dorothy, whose elopement and marriage with John Manners, youngest son of the Earl of Rutland, threw about the old mansion that atmosphere of poetry and romance which has ever since been associated with it. To me, the most pleasing part of the old hall is the terrace and lawn, back of the house. A flight of broad stairs, with stone balustrades, leads to Dorothy Vernon's Walk, which is shaded by the thick foliage of oaks, limes, sycamores, and other forest trees, for which the park was once famous. Grassy mounds mark the boundaries of the lawn, and the castle walls, with their wide windows and luxurious mantle of deep green ivy, add a delightful charm to the picture. This is further enhanced by the romantic associations of the place. Traditions say that John Manners, who, for some reason, was forbidden the opportunity tovisit the fair Dorothy openly, hovered about these terraces disguised as a forester, seeking brief interviews in secret. On the night of a ball in celebration of her sister's wedding, Dorothy slipped into the garden, and passing through the terrace made her way across the Wye over a quaint little bridge, built just large enough for a single pack-horse, and now known as the 'Pack-Horse Bridge.' On the other side, John waited with horses, and the two rode away to be married. Whatever may have been the objection to the marriage, events soon adjusted the affair and Dorothy Vernon became the sole owner of the mansion. It has remained ever since in the possession of the Manners family, the Earls and Dukes of Rutland.
In his description of Martindale Castle, the seat of Sir Geoffrey Peveril, Scott doubtless had in mind, to some extent at least, this more pretentious mansion on the original property of the Peverils, rather than the uninteresting tower at Castleton. He refers to Haddon Hall in one of his notes as having suggested a certain arrangement of rooms, and in his account of Lady Peveril's dinner to the Cavaliers and Roundheads, in honour of the restoration of King Charles II, he makes use of two large dining-rooms, which Haddon Hall could readily supply, but which might be difficult to find in any ordinary mansion of the period.
THE PACK-HORSE BRIDGE, HADDON HALLTHE PACK-HORSE BRIDGE, HADDON HALL