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Slbbotsfori) (BiMtioii 
 
 THE 
 
 WAYERLEY NOYELS, 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 COMPLETE 
 
 IN TWELVE VOLUMES. 
 
 PRINTED 
 
 ^rnm tliE lottat fuglisli dBMttnnH, 
 
 EMBRACING 
 
 THE AUTHOR’S LAST CORRECTIONS, PREFACES, AND NOTES. 
 
 VOL. XII. 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS—CASTLE DANGEROUS— 
 MY AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR, &c. &c. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 LIPPINCOTT, GRAM BO & CO. 
 
 1853. 
 
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COUNT KOBEKT OF PAKIS. 
 
 Tlie European with the Asian shore — 
 
 Sophia’s cupola with golden gleam 
 The cypress groves —Olympus high and hoar — 
 
 The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream, 
 Far less describe, present the very view 
 That charm’d the charming Mary Montagu. 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. —(1833.) 
 
 Sir Walter Scott transmitted from Naples, in February, 1832, an Intro¬ 
 duction for Castle Dangerous ; but if he ever wrote one for a second 
 Edition of Robert of Paris, it has not been discovered among his papers. 
 
 Some notes, chiefly extracts from the books which he had been observed 
 to consult while dictating this novel, are now appended to its pages ; and in 
 addition to what the author had given in the shape of historical information 
 respecting the principal real persons introduced, the reader is here presented 
 with what may probably amuse him, the passage of the Alexiad, in which 
 Anna Comnena describes the incident which originally, no doubt, determined 
 Sir Walter’s choice of a hero. 
 
 May, A. D. 1007.—“As for the multitude of those who advanced towards 
 the great city, let it be enough to say that they w’ere as the stars in the 
 heaven, or as the sand upon the sea-shore. They were, in the words of 
 Homer, as many as the leaves and Jloivers of spring. But for the names of 
 the leaders, though they are present in my memory, I will not relate them. 
 The numbers of these would alone deter me, even if my language furnished 
 the means of expressing their barbarous sounds; and for what purpose 
 should I afflict my readers with a long enumeration of the names of those, 
 whose visible presence gave so much horror to all that beheld them ? 
 
 “ As soon, therefore, as they approached the Great City,, they occupied 
 the station appointed for them by the Emperor, near to the monastery of 
 Cosmidius. But this multitude were not, like the Hellenic one of old, to be 
 restrained and governed by the loud voices of nine heralds; they required 
 the constant superintendence of chosen and valiant soldiers, to keep them 
 from violating the commands of the Emperor. 
 
 “ He, meantime, laboured to obtain from the other leaders that acknow¬ 
 ledgment of his supreme authority, which had already been drawn from 
 Godfrey [Pot^ro^pf] himself. But, notwithstanding the willingness of some 
 to accede to this proposal, and their assistance in working on the minds of 
 their associates, the Emperor’s endeavours had little success, as the majority 
 were looking for the arrival of Bohemund in whom they placed 
 
 their chief confidence, and resorted to every art with the view of gaining 
 time. The Emperor, whom it w’as not easy to deceive, penetrated their 
 motives ; and by granting to one powerful person demands which had been 
 supposed out of all bounds of expectation, and by resorting to a variety of 
 
 A 2 (5) 
 
6 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 other devices, he at lonj^th prevailed, and won general assent to the follow¬ 
 ing of the example of Godfrey, who also was sent for in person to assist in 
 this business. 
 
 “ All, therefore, being assembled, and Godfrey among them, the oath was 
 taken ; but when all was finished, a certain Noble among these Counts had 
 the audacity to seat himself on the throne of the Emperor. [To'kfxrinai tii 
 ario Tiaviutv tccv xoixrjttov tov axiixrtoSa tov ixaScafv.^ The 
 
 Emperor restrained himself and said nothing, for he was well acquainted 
 of old with the nature of the Latins. 
 
 “ But the Count Baldwin [Ba>.6outrof] stepping forth, and seizing him by 
 the hand, dragged him thence, and with many reproaches said, ‘ It becomes 
 thee not to do such things here, especially after having taken the oath of 
 fealty. It is not the custom of the Homan Emperors 
 
 to permit any of their inferiors to sit beside them, not even of such as are 
 born subjects of their empire; and it is necessary to respect the customs 
 of the country.’ But he, answering nothing to Baldwin, stared yet more 
 fixedly upon the Emperor, and muttered to himself something in his own 
 dialect, which, being interpreted, was to this effect — ‘Behold, w'hat rustic 
 fellow is this, to be seated alone while such leaders stand around 
 
 him!’ The movement of his lips did not escape the Emperor, who called 
 to him one that understood the Latin dialect, and enquired what words the 
 man had spoken. When he heard them, the Emperor said nothing to the 
 other Latins, but kept the thing to himself. When, however, the’business 
 was all over, he called near to him by himself that swelling and shameless 
 Latin (xslpov xat and asked of him, who he was, of what 
 
 lineage, and from what region he had come. ‘ I am a Frank,’ said he, ‘ of 
 pure blood, of the Nobles. One thing I know, that where three roads meet 
 in the place from which I came, there is an ancient church, in which who¬ 
 soever has the desire to measure himself against another in single combat, 
 prays God to help him therein, and afterwards abides the coming of one 
 willing to encounter him. At that spot long time did I remain, but the 
 man bold enough to stand against me I found not.’ Hearing these words 
 the Emperor said, ‘ If hitherto thou hast sought battles in vain, the time is 
 at hand which will furnish thee with abundance of them. And I advise 
 thee to place thyself neither before the phalanx, nor in its rear, but to 
 stand fast in the midst of thy fellow-soldiers; for of old time I am well 
 acquainted with the warfare of the Turks.’ With such advice he dismissed 
 not only this man, but the rest of those who were about to depart on that 
 expedition.”— Alexiad, Book x. pp. 237, 238. 
 
 Ducange, as is mentioned in the novel, identifies the church, thus de¬ 
 scribed by the crusader, with that of Our Lady of Soissons, of which a 
 French poet of the days of Louis VII. says— 
 
 VeiOer y vont encore li Pelerin 
 
 Cil qui bataille veulent fere et fournir. 
 
 Ducange in Alexiad, p. 86. 
 
 The Princess Anna Comnena, it may be proper to observe, was born on 
 the first of December, a.d. 1083, and was consequently in her fifteenth year 
 when the chiefs of the first crusade made their appearance in her father’s 
 court. Even then, however, it is not improbable that she might have been 
 the wife of Nicephorus Bryennius, whom, many years after his death, she 
 speaks of in her history as tov e/xov Kataapa, and in other terms equally 
 afifectionate. The bitterness with which she uniformly mentions Bohe- 
 raund. Count of Tarentum, afterwards Prince of Antioch, has, however, 
 been ascribed to a disappointment in love ; and on one remarkable occasion, 
 the Princess certainly expressed great contempt of her husband. I am 
 aware of no other authorities for the liberties taken with this lady’s con¬ 
 jugal character in the novel. 
 
 Her husband, Nicephorus Bryennius, was the grandson of the person of 
 
ADVERTISEMENT TO COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 7 
 
 that name, who figures in history as the rival, in a contest for the imperial 
 throne, of Nicephorus Botoniates. He was, on his marriage with Anmi 
 Comnena, invested with the rank of Panhypersehastos, or Omnium Aiigus'~ 
 tissinuis ; but Alexius deeply olfended him, by afterwards recognising the 
 superior and simpler dignity of a Sehastos. liis eminent qualities, both in 
 peace and war, are acknowledged by Gibbon : and he has left us four 
 books of Memoirs, detailing the early part of his father-in-law’s history, 
 and valuable as being the work of an eye-wdtness of the most important 
 events which he describes. Anna Comnena appears to have considered it 
 her duty to take up the task which her husband had not lived to complete; 
 and hence the Alexiad — certainly, wdth all its defects, the first historical 
 work that has as yet proceeded from a female pen. 
 
 “ The life of the Emperor Alexius,” (says Gibbon,) “has been delineated 
 by the pen of a favourite daughter, w’ho was inspired by tender regard for 
 his person, and a laudable zeal to perpetuate his virtues. Conscious of the 
 just suspicion of her readers, the Princess repeatedly protests, that, besides 
 her personal knowledge, she had searched the discourses and writings of the 
 most respectable veterans; and that after an interval of thirty years, for¬ 
 gotten by, and forgetful of tiie world, her mournful solitude was inaccessible 
 to hope and fear: that truth, the naked perfect truth, was more dear than 
 the memory of her parent. Yet instead of the simplicity of stylo and nar¬ 
 rative which wins our belief, an elaborate affectation of rhetoric and science 
 betrays in every page the vanity of a female author. The genuine character 
 of Alexius is lost in a vague constellation of virtues; and the perpetual strain 
 of panegyric and apology awakens our jealousy, to question the veracity of 
 the historian, and the merit of her hero. We cannot, however, refuse her 
 judicious and important remark, that the disorders of the times w'cre the 
 misfortune and the glory of Alexius; and that every calamity which can 
 afflict a declining empire was accumulated on his reign by the justice of 
 Heaven and the vices of his predecessors. In the east, the victorious Turks 
 had spread, from Persia to the Hellespont, the reign of the Koran and the 
 Crescent; the west was invaded by the adventurous valour of the Normans; 
 and, in the moments of peace, the Danube poured forth new swarms, who 
 had gained in the science of war what they had lost in the ferociousness of 
 their manners. The sea was not less hostile than the land; and, ’while the 
 frontiers were assaulted by an open enemy, the palace was distracted with 
 secret conspiracy and treason. 
 
 “On a sudden, the banner of the Cross was displayed by the Latins; 
 Europe 'was precipitated on Asia; and Constantinople had almost been 
 swept away by this impetuous deluge. In the tempest Alexius steered the 
 Imperial vessel with dexterity and courage. At the head of his armies, he 
 was bold in action, skilful in stratagem, patient of fatigue, ready to improve 
 his advantages, and rising from his defeats with inexhaustible vigour. The 
 discipline of the camp was reversed, and a new generation of men and 
 soldiers was created by the precepts and example of their leader. In his 
 intercourse with the Latins, Alexius was patient and artful; his discerning 
 eye pervaded the new system of an unknown world. 
 
 “ The increase of the male and female branches of his family adorned tho 
 throne, and secured the succession ; but their princely luxury and pride 
 oJfendeil the patricians, exhausted the revenue, and insulted the misery of 
 the pet)ple. Anna is a faithful witness that his happiness was destroyed 
 and his health broken by the cares of a public life; the patience of Constan¬ 
 tinople was fixtigued by the length and severity of his reign ; and befero 
 Alexius expired, he had lost the love and reverence of his subjects. Tho 
 clergy could not forgive his application of the sacred riches to the defenco 
 of the state ; but they applauded his theological learning, and ardent zeal 
 for the orthodox faith, xvhich he defended with his tongue, his pen, and his 
 sword. Even the sincerity of his moral and religious virtues was suspected 
 
8 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 b}' the persons who had passed their lives in his confidence. In his last 
 hours, when he Avas pressed by his wife Irene to alter the succession, he 
 raised his head, and breathed a pious ejaculation on the vanity of the world. 
 The indignant reply of the Empress may be inscribed as an epitaph on his 
 tomb,—‘ You die, as you have lived—a hypocrite.’ 
 
 “ It was the wish of Irene to supplant the eldest of her sons in favour of 
 her daughter, the Princess Anna, whose philosophy would not have refused 
 the weight of a diadem. But the order of male succession was asserted by 
 the friends of their country; the lawful heir drew the royal signet from tho 
 finger of his insensible or conscious father, and the empire obeyed the master 
 of the palace. Anna Comnena was stimulated by ambition and revenge to 
 conspire against the life of her brother; and when the design was prevented 
 by the fears or scruples of her husband, she passionately exclaimed that 
 nature had mistaken the two sexes, and had endowed Bryennius with the 
 soul of a woman. After the discovery of her treason, the life and fortune 
 of Anna were justly forfeited to the laws. Her life was spared by the 
 clemency of the Emperor, but he visited the pomp and treasures of her 
 palace, and bestowed the rich confiscation on the most deserving of his 
 friends.” — History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, chap, 
 xlviii. 
 
 The year of Anna’s death is nowhere recorded. She appears to have 
 written the Alexiad in a convent; and to have spent nearly thirty years in 
 this retirement, before her book was published. 
 
 For accurate particulars of the public events touched on in Robert of 
 Paris, the reader is referred to the above quoted author, chapters xlviii. 
 xlix. and 1.; and to the first volume of Mills’ History of the Crusades. 
 
 J. G. L. 
 
 London, let March, 1833. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, A.M. 
 
 TO THE LOVING READER WISHETH HEALTH AND PROSPERITY. 
 
 It would ill become me, whose name has been spread abroad by those 
 former collections bearing this title of “Tales of my Landlord,” and who 
 have, by the candid voice of a numerous crowd of readers, been taught to 
 think that I merit not the empty fame alone, but also the more substantial 
 rewards, of successful pencraft—it would, I say, ill become me to suffer this „ 
 my youngest literary babe, and, probably at the same time, the last child 
 of mine old age, to pass into the world without some such modest apology 
 for its defects, as it has been'my custom to put forth on preceding occasions 
 of the like nature. The world has been sufficiently instructed, of a truth, 
 that I am not individually the person to whom is to be ascribed the actual 
 inventing or designing of the scheme upon which these Tales, which men 
 have found so pleasing, were originally constructed, as also that neither am 
 I the actual workman, who, furnished by a skilful architect with an accu¬ 
 rate plan, including elevations and directions both general and particular, 
 has from thence toiled to bring forth and complete the intended shape and 
 proportion of each division of the edifice. Nevertheless, I have been indis¬ 
 putably the man, who, in placing my name at the head of the undertaking, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 0 
 
 have rendered myself mainly and principally responsible for its general 
 success. When a ship of Avar goeth forth to battle Avith her creAV, consist- 
 ing_of sundry foremast-men and various officers, such subordinate persons 
 are not said to gain or lose the vessel Avhich they haA^e manned or attacked, 
 (although each Avas natheless sufficiently active in his OAvn department;) 
 but it is fortliAvith bruited and noised abroad, Avithout further phrase, that 
 Captain Jedediah Cleishbotham hath lost such a seventy-four, or Avon that 
 Avhich, by the united exertions of all thereto perbiining, is taken from the 
 enemy. In the same manner, shame and sorroAV it Avere, if I, the voluntary 
 Captain and founder of these adventures, after having upon three divers 
 occasions assumed to myself the emolument and reputation thereof, should 
 noAV Avithdraw myself from tfTe risks of failure proper to this fourth and 
 last out-going. No! I Avill rather address my associates in this bottom Avith 
 the constant spirit of MatthcAV Prior’s heroine: 
 
 “ Did I but purpose to embark with thee 
 On the smooth surface of some summer sea. 
 
 But would forsake the waves, and make the shore, 
 
 When the winds whistle, and the billows roar 1” 
 
 As little, nevertheless, Avould it become my years and station not to admit 
 Avithout cavil certain errors which may justly be pointed out in these con¬ 
 cluding “ Tales of my Landlord,”—the last, and, it is manife8{, never care¬ 
 fully revised or corrected handiwork, of Mr. Peter Pattison, noAV no more; 
 the same Avorthy young man so repeatedly mentioned in these Introductory 
 Essays, and never without that tribute to his good sense and talents, nay, 
 even genius, Avhich his contributions to this my undertaking fairly entitled 
 him to claim at the hands of his surviving friend and patron. Those pages, 
 I have said, Avere the \dtimus labor of mine ingenious assistant; but I say 
 not, as the great Dr. Pitcairn of his hero — ultimus alque opiinms. Alas! 
 even the giddiness attendant on a journey on this Manchester rail-road is 
 not so perilous to the nerves, as that too frequent exercise in the merry-go- 
 round of the ideal world, Avhereof the tendency to render the fancy confused, 
 and the judgment inert, hath in all ages been noted, not only by the erudite 
 of the earth, but even by many of the thick-witted Ofelli themseh'es; 
 whether the rapid pace at Avhich the fancy nioveth in such exercitations, 
 where the Avish of the penman is to him like Prince Iloussain’s tapestry, in 
 the Eastern fable, be the chief source of peril — or Avhether, Avithout refe¬ 
 rence to this Avearing speed of movement, and dAvelling habitually in those 
 realms of imagination, be as little suited for a man’s intellect, as to breathe 
 for any considerable space “the difficult air of the mountain top” is to the 
 physical structure of his outward frame—this question belongeth not to me; 
 but certain it is, that we often discover in the works of the foremost of this 
 order of men, marks of bewilderment and confusion, such as do not so fre¬ 
 quently occur in those of persons to whom nature hath conceded fancy 
 weaker of wing, or less ambitious in flight. 
 
 It is affecting to see the great Miguel Cervantes himself, CA^en like the sons 
 of meaner men, defending himself against the critics of the day, who assailed 
 him upon such little discrepancies and inaccuracies as are apt to cloud the 
 progress even of a mind like his, when the evening is closing around it. 
 “ It is quite a common thing,” says Don Quixote, “ for men AA'ho have gained 
 a very great reputation by their Avritings before they were printed, quite to 
 lose it afterwards, or, at least, the greater part.” — “The reason is plain,” 
 answers the Bachelor Carrasco; “ their faults are more easily discovered 
 after the books are printed, as being then more read, and more narrowly 
 examined, especially if the author has been much cried up before, for then 
 the severity of the scrutiny is sure to be the greater. Those who have 
 raised themseh^es a name by their OAvn ingenuity, great poets and celebrated 
 historians, are commonly, if not ahvays, envied by a set of men Avho delight 
 in censuring the Avritings of others, though they could never produce any 
 of their OAvn.”—“ That is no Avonder,” quoth Don Quixote ; “ there are many 
 
10 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 divines that would make but very dull preachers, and yet are quick enough 
 "at finding faults and superfluities in other men’s sermons.”—“ All this is 
 true,” says Carrasco, “ an(^therefore I could wish such censurers would be 
 more merciful and less scrupulous, and not dwell ungenerously upon small 
 spots that are in a manner but so many atoms on the face of the clear sun 
 they murmur at. If aliquando dormitat Homerus, let them consider how 
 many nights he kept himself awake to bring his noble works to light as 
 little darkened with defects as might be. But, indeed, it may many times 
 happen, that what is censured for a fault, is rather an ornament, as moles 
 often add to the beauty of a face. When all is said, he that publishes a 
 book, runs a great risk, since nothing can be so unlikely as that he should 
 have composed one capable of securing the^approbation of every reader.” 
 — “ Sure,” says Don Quixote, “ that which treats of me can have pleased 
 but few?” — “Quite the contrary,” says Carrasco; “for as infinitus est 
 numerus siultorum, so an infinite number have admired your history. Only 
 some there are who have taxed the author with want of memory or sincerity, 
 because he forgot to give an account who it was that stole Sancho’s Dapple, 
 for that particular is not mentioned there, only we find, by .the story, that 
 it was stolen; and yet, by and by, we find him riding the same ass again, 
 without any previous light given us into the matter. Then they say that 
 the author forgot to tell the reader what Sancho did with the hundred pieces 
 of gold he found in the portmanteau in the Sierra Morena, for there is not 
 a word said of them more; and many people have a great mind to know 
 what he did with them, and how he spent them ; which is one of the most 
 material points in which the work is defective.” 
 
 How amusingly Sancho is made to clear up the obscurities thus alluded 
 to by the Bachelor Carrasco — no reader can have forgotten ; but there re¬ 
 mained enough of similar lacvnce, inadvertencies, and mistakes, to exercise 
 the ingenuity of those Spanish critics, who were too wise in their own con¬ 
 ceit to profit by the good-natured and modest apology of this immortal 
 author. 
 
 There can be no doubt, that if Cervantes had deigned to use it, he might 
 have pleaded also the apology of indifferent health, under which he certainly 
 laboured while finishing the second part of “ Don Quixote.” It must be too 
 obvious that the intervals of such a malady as then affected Cervantes, could 
 not be the most favourable in the world for revising lighter compositions, 
 and correcting, at least, those grosser errors and imperfections which each 
 author should, if it were but for shame’s sake, remove from his work, before 
 bri nging it forth into the broad light of day, where they will never fail to 
 be distinctly seen, nor lack ingenious persons, who will be too happy in dis¬ 
 charging the office of pointing them out. 
 
 It is more than time to explain with what purpose we have called thus 
 fully to memory the many venial errors of the inimitable Cervantes, and 
 those passages in which he has rather defied his adversaries than pleaded 
 his own justification; for I suppose it will be readily granted, that the diffe¬ 
 rence is too wide betwixt that great wit of Spain and ourselves, to permit 
 us to use a buckler which was rendered sufficiently formidable only by the 
 strenuous hand in which it was placed. 
 
 The history of my first publications is sufficiently well known. Nor did 
 I relinquish the purpose of concluding these “ Tales of my Landlord,’^ 
 which had been so remarkably fortunate; but Death, which steals upon us 
 all with an inaudible foot, cut short the ingenious young man to whose 
 memory I composed that inscription, and erected, at my own charge, that 
 monument which protects his remains, by the side of the river Gander, 
 which he has contributed so much to render immortal, and in a place of his 
 own selection, not very distant from the school under my care.* In a word, 
 the ingenious Mr. Pattison was removed from his place. 
 
 • See Vol. II. of the present Edition, for some circumstances attending this erection. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 11 
 
 Nor (lid I confine my care to his posthumous fame alone, hut carefully 
 inventoried and preserved the etfects which he left behind him, namely, the 
 contents of his small wardrobe, and a number of printed books of somewhat 
 more conserpienco, together with certain wofully blurred manuscripts, dis¬ 
 covered in his repository. On looking these over, I found them to contain 
 two Tales called “ Count Robert of Paris,” and “ Castle Dangerousbut 
 was seriously disappointed to perceive that they were by no means in that 
 state of correctness, which would induce an experienced person to pronounce 
 any writing, in the technical language of bookcraft, “ prepared for press.” 
 There were not only hiatus valde dejlendi, but even grievous inconsistencies, 
 and other mistakes, which the penman's leisurely revision, had he been 
 spared to bestow it, would doubtless have cleared away. After a considerate 
 perusal, I no question flattered myself that these manuscripts, with all their 
 faults, contained here and there passages, which seemed plainly to intimate 
 that severe indisposition had been unable to extinguish altogether the bril¬ 
 liancy of that fancy which the world had been pleased to acknowledge'in 
 the creations of Old Mortality, the Bride of Lammermoor, and others of 
 these narratives. But I, nevertheless, threw the manuscripts into my 
 drawer, resolving not to think of committing them to the Ballantynian 
 ordeal, until I could either obtain the assistance of some capable person to 
 supply deficiencies, and correct errors, so as they might face the public 
 with credit, or perhaps numerous and more serious avocations might permit 
 me to dedicate my own time and labour to that task. 
 
 While I was in this uncertainty, I had a visit from a stranger, who was 
 announced as a young gentleman desirous of speaking with me on particular 
 business. I immediately augured the accession of a new boarder, but was 
 at once checked by observing that the outward man of the stranger was, in 
 a most remarkable degree, what mine host of the Sir William Wallace, in 
 his phraseology, calls seedy. Ilis black cloak had seen service ; the waist¬ 
 coat of grey plaid bore yet stronger marks of having encountered more than 
 one campaign ; his third piece of dress was an absolute veteran compared 
 to the others; his shoes were so loaded with mud as showed his journey 
 must have been pedestrian ; and a grey maud, which fluttered around his 
 wasted limbs, completed suclt, an equipment as, since Juvenal’s days, has 
 been the livery of the poor scholar. 1 therefore concluded that I beheld a 
 candidate for the vacant office of usher, and prepared to listen to his pro¬ 
 posals with the dignity becoming my station; but what was my surprise 
 when 1 found 1 had before me, in this rusty student, no less a man than 
 Paul, the brother of Peter Pattison, come to gather in his brother’s succes¬ 
 sion, and possessed, it seemed, with no small idea of the value of that part 
 of it which consisted in the productions of his pen ! 
 
 By the rapid study I made of him, this Paul was a sharp lad, imbued 
 with some tincture of letters, like his regretted brother, but totally destitute 
 of those amiable qualities which had often induced me to say within myself, 
 that Peter was, like the famous John Gay,— 
 
 “ In wit a man, simplicity a child." 
 
 lie set little by the legacy of my deceased assistant’s wardrobe, nor did 
 the books hold much greater value in his eyes: but he peremptorily de¬ 
 manded to be put in possession of the manuscripts, alleging, with obstinacy, 
 that no definite bargain had been completed between his late brother and 
 me, and at length produced the opinion to that effect of a writer, or man of 
 business, — a class of persons with whom I have always chosen to have as 
 little concern as possible. 
 
 But I had one defence left, which came to my aid, tanquam deus ex 
 machind. This rapacious Paul Pattison could not pretend to wrest the dis¬ 
 puted manuscripts out of my possession, unless upon repayment of a con¬ 
 siderable sum of money, which I had advanced from time to time to the 
 
12 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 deceased Peter, and particularly to purchase a small annuity for his aged 
 mother. These advances, with the charges of the funeral and other ex¬ 
 penses, amounted to a considerable sum, which the poverty-struck student 
 and his acute legal adviser equally foresaw great difficulty in liquidating. 
 The said Mr. Paul Pattison, therefore, listened to a suggestion, which I 
 dropped as if by accident, that if he thought himself capable of tilling his 
 brother’s place of carrying the work through the press, 1 would make him 
 welcome to bed and board within my mansion while he was thus engaged, 
 only requiring his occasional assistance at hearing the more advanced 
 scholars. This seemed to promise a close of our dispute, alike satistiictory 
 to all parties, and the tirst act of Paul was to draw on me for a round sum, 
 under pretence that his wardrobe must be wholly retitted. To this I made 
 no objection, though it certainly showed like vanity to purchase garments 
 in the extremity of the mode, when not only great part of the defunct’s 
 habiliments were very tit for a twelvemonth’s use, but as I myself had been, 
 but yesterday as it were, equipped in a becoming new stand of black clothes, 
 Mr. Pattison would have been welcome to the use of such of my quondam 
 raiment as he thought suitable, as indeed had always been the case with his 
 deceased brother. 
 
 The school, I must needs say, came tolerably on. My youngster was very 
 smart, and seemed to be so active in his duty of usher, if I may so speak, 
 that he even overdid his part therein, and I began to feel myself a cipher in 
 my own school. 
 
 I comforted myself with the belief that the publication was advancing as 
 fast as I could desire. On this subject, Paul Pattison, like ancient Pistol, 
 “ talked bold words at the bridge,” and that not only at our house, but in 
 the society of our neighbours, amongst whom, instead of imitating the 
 retired and monastic manner of his brother deceased, he became a gay 
 visitor, and such a reveller, that in process of time he was observed to vili¬ 
 pend the modest fare which had at tirst been esteemed a banquet by his 
 hungry appetite, and thereby highly displeased my wife, who, with justice, 
 applauds herself for the plentiful, cleanly, and healthy victuals, wherewith 
 she maintains her ushers and boarders. 
 
 Upon the whole, I rather hoped than entertained a sincere contidence that 
 all was going on well, and was in that unpleasant state of mind which 
 precedes the open breach between two associates who have been long jealous 
 of each other, but are as yet deterred by a sense of mutual interest from 
 coming to an open rupture. 
 
 The tirst thing which alarmed me was a rumour in the village, that Paul 
 Pattison intended, in some little space, to undertake a voyage to the Conti¬ 
 nent— on account of his health, as was pretended, but, as the same report 
 averred, much more with the view of gratifying the curiosity which his 
 perusal of the classics had impressed upon him, than for any other purpose. 
 1 was, I say, rather alarmed at this susurrus, and began to reflect that the 
 retirement of Mr. Pattison, unless his loss could be supplied in good time, 
 was like to be a blow to the establishment; for, in truth, this Paul had a 
 winning way with the boys, especially those who were gentle-tempered; so 
 that I must confess my doubts whether, in certain respects, I myself could 
 have fully supplied his place in the school, with all my authority and expe¬ 
 rience. My wife, jealous as became her station, of Mr. Pattison’s inten¬ 
 tions, advised me to take the matter up immediately, and go to the bottom 
 at once; and, indeed, I had always found that way answered best with my 
 boys. 
 
 Mrs. Cleishbotham was not long before renewing the subject; for, like 
 most of the race of Xantippe, (though my help-mate is a well-spoken 
 woman,) she loves to thrust in her oar where she is not able to pull it to 
 purpose, You are a sharp-witted man, Mr. Cleishbotham,” would she 
 observe, “and a learned man, Mr. Cleishbotham — and the schoolmaster of 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 13 
 
 (Jandercleuch, Mr. Cleishbotliani, which is saying all in one word; but 
 many a man almost as great as j'ourself has lost tlie saddle by suffering an 
 inferior to get up behind him ; and though, with the world, Mr. Cleish- 
 botham, you have the name of doing every thing, both in directing the 
 school and in this new profitable book line which you have taken up, yet it 
 begins to be the common talk of Gandercleuch, both up the water and down 
 the water, that the usher both writes the dominie’s books, and teaches the 
 dominie’s school. Ay, ay, ask maid, wife, or widow, and she’ll tell ye, the 
 least gaitling among them all comes to Paul Pattison with his lesson as natu¬ 
 rally as they come to me for their four-hours, puir things; and never ane 
 thinks of applying to you aboot a kittle turn, or a crabbed word, or about 
 ony thing else, unless it were for licet exire, or the mending of an auld pen.’^ 
 
 Now, this address assailed mo on a summer evening, when I was whiling 
 away my leisure hours with the end of a cutty pipe, and indulging in such 
 bland imaginations as the Nicotian weed is wont to produce, more especially 
 in the case of studious persons, devoted musis sevenoribus. I was naturally 
 loth to leave my misty sanctuary; and endeavoured to silence the clamour 
 of Mrs. Cleishbotham’s tongue, which has something in it peculiarly shrill 
 and penetrating. “ Woman,” said I with a tone of domestic authority be¬ 
 fitting the occasion, “rc.9 iuas agas ;—mind your washings and your wring¬ 
 ings, your stuffings and your physicking, or whatever concerns the outward 
 persons of the pupils, and leave the progress of their education to my usher, 
 Paul Pattison, and myself.” 
 
 “I am glad to see,” added the accursed woman, (that I should say so!) 
 “ that ye have the grace to name him foremost, for there is little doubt, that 
 he ranks first of the troop, if ye wad but hear what the neighbours speak— 
 or whisper.” 
 
 “What do they whisper, thou sworn sister of the Eumenides?” cried I, 
 —the irritating cestrum of the woman’s objurgation totally counterbalancing 
 the sedative effects both of pipe and pot. 
 
 “Whisper?” resumed she in her shrillest note—“why, they whisper loud 
 enough for me at least to hear them, that the schoolmaster of Gandercleuch 
 is turned a doited auld woman, and spends all his time in tippling strong 
 drink with the keeper of the public-house, and leaves school and book¬ 
 making, and a’ the rest o’t, to the care of his usher; and, also, the wives in 
 Gandercleuch say, that you have engaged Paul Pattison to write a new book, 
 which is to beat a’ the lave that gaed afore it; and to show what a sair lift 
 you have o’ the job, you didna sae muckle as ken the name o’t — no, nor 
 whether it was to be about some Heathen Greek, or the Black Douglas.” 
 
 This was said with such bitterness that it penetrated to the very quick, 
 and I hurled the poor old pipe, like one of Homer’s spears, not in the face 
 of my provoking helpmate, though the temptation was strong, but into the 
 river Gander, which, as is now well known to tourists from the uttermost 
 parts of the earth, pursues its quiet meanders beneath the bank on which 
 the school-house is pleasantly situated; and, starting np, fixed on my head 
 the cocked hat, (the pride of Messrs. Grieve and Scott’s repository,) and 
 plunging into the valley of the brook, pursued my way upwards, the voice 
 of Mrs. Cleishbotham accompanying me in my retreat with something like 
 the angry scream of triumph with which the brood-goose pursues the flight 
 of some unmannerly cur or idle boy who has intruded upon her premises, 
 and fled before her. Indeed, so great was the influence of this clamour of 
 scorn and wrath which hung upon my rear, that while it rung in my ears, 
 I was so moved that I instinctively tucked the skirts of my black coat under 
 my arm, as if I had been in actual danger of being seized on by the grasp 
 of the pursuing enemy. Nor was it till I had almost reached the well-knowi\ 
 burial-place, in which it was Peter Pattison’s hap to meet the far-famed 
 personage called Old Mortality, that I made a belt for the purpose of comr 
 posing my perturbed spirits, and considering what was to be done; fur as 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS^ 
 
 yet my mind was agitated by a chaos of passions, of which anger was pre¬ 
 dominant; and for what reason, or against whom, I entertained such tumul¬ 
 tuous displeasure, it was not easy for me to determine. 
 
 Nevertheless, having settled my cocked hat with becoming accuracy on 
 my well-powdered wig, and suffered it to remain uplifted for a moment to 
 cool my flushed brow — having, moreover, re-adjusted and shaken to rights 
 the skirts of my black coat, I came into case to answer to my own ques¬ 
 tions, which, till these manoeuvres had been sedately accomplished, I might 
 have asked myself in vain. 
 
 In the first place, therefore, to use the phrase of Mr. Docket, the writer 
 (that is, the attorney) of our village of Gandercleuch, I became satisfied 
 that my anger was directed against all and sundry, or, in law Latin, contre 
 omnes mortales, and more particularly against the neighbourhood of Gan¬ 
 dercleuch, for circulating reports to the prejudice of my literary talents, as 
 well as my accomplishments as a pedagogue, and transferring the fame 
 thereof to mine own usher. Secondly, against my spouse, Dorothea Cleish- 
 botliam, for transferring the sad calumnious reports to my ears in a prerupt 
 and unseemly manner, and without due respect either to the language which 
 she made use of, or the person to whom she spoke,—treating affairs in which 
 I was so intimately concerned as if they were proper subjects for jest among 
 gossips at a christening, where the womankind claim the privilege of wor¬ 
 shipping the Bona Dea according to their secret female rites. 
 
 Thirdly, I became clear that I was entitled to respond to any whom it 
 concerned to enquire, that my wrath was kindled against Paul Pattison, my 
 usher, for giving occasion both for the neighbours of Gandercleuch enter¬ 
 taining such opinions, and for Mrs. Cleishbotham disrespectfully urging 
 them to my face, since neither circumstance could have existed, without he 
 had put forth sinful misrepresentations of transactions, private and confi¬ 
 dential, and of which I had myself entirely refrained from dropping any 
 the least hint to any third person. 
 
 This arrangement of my ideas having contributed to soothe the stormy 
 atmosphere of which they had been the offspring, gave reason a time to 
 predominate, and to ask me, with her calm but clear voice, whether, under 
 all the circumstances, I did well to nourish so indiscriminate an indigna¬ 
 tion ? In fine, on closer examination, the various splenetic thoughts I had 
 been indulging against other parties, began to be merged in that resentment 
 against my perfidious usher, which, like the serpent of Moses, swallowed 
 up all subordinate objects of displeasure. To put myself at open feud with 
 the whole of my neighbours, unless I had been certain of some efiectual 
 mode of avenging myself upon them, would have been an undertaking too 
 weighty for my means, and not unlikely, if rashly grappled withal, to end 
 in my ruin. To make a public quarrel with my wife, on such an account 
 as her opinion of my literary accomplishments, would sound ridiculous; 
 and, besides, Mrs. C. was sure to have all the women on her side, who would 
 represent her as a wife persecuted by her husband for cfiering him good 
 advice, and urging it upon him with only too enthusiastic sincerity. 
 
 There remained Paul Pattison, undoubtedly, the most natural and proper 
 object of my indignation, since I might be said to have him in my own 
 power, and might punish him by dismissal, at my pleasure. Yet even vin¬ 
 dictive proceedings against the said Paul, however easy to be enforced, 
 might be productive of serious consequences to my own purse; and I began 
 to reflect, with anxiety, that in this world it is not often that the gratifica¬ 
 tion of our angry passions lies in the same road with the advancement of 
 our interest, and that the wise man, the vere sa])iens, seldom hesitates which 
 of these two he ought to prefer. 
 
 I recollected also that I was quite uncertain how far the present usher 
 had really been guilty of the foul acts of assumption charged against him. 
 
 In a word, I began to perceive that it would be no light matter, at once, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 15 
 
 and without raaturer perpending of sundry collateral punciiuncula, to break 
 up a joint-stock adventure, or society, as civilians term it, which, if pro¬ 
 fitable to him, had at least promised to be no less so to me, established in 
 years and learning and reputation so much his superior. Moved by which, 
 and other the like considerations, I resolved to proceed with becoming cau¬ 
 tion on the occasion, and not, by stating my causes of complaint too hastily 
 in the outset, exasperate into a positive breach what might only prove some 
 small misunderstanding, easily explained or apologized for, and which, like 
 a leak in a new vessel, being once discovered and carefully stopped, renders 
 the vessel but more sea-worthy than it was before. 
 
 About the time that I had adopted this healing resolution, I reached the 
 spot where the almost perpendicular face of a steep hill seems to terminate 
 the valley, or at least divides it into two dells, each serving as a cradle to 
 its own mountain-stream, the Gruff-quack, namely, and the shallower, but 
 more noisy, Gusedub, on the left hand, which, at their union, form the 
 Gander, properly so called. Each of these little valleys has a walk winding 
 up to its recesses, rendered more easy by the labours of the poor during the 
 late hard season, and one of which bears the name of Pattison's path, while 
 the other had been kindly consecrated to my own memory, by the title of 
 the Dominie’s Daidling-bit. Here I made certain to meet my associate, 
 Paul Pattison, for by one or other of these roads he was wont to return to 
 my house of an evening, after his lengthened rambles. 
 
 Nor was it long before I espied him descending the Gusedub by that tor¬ 
 tuous path, marking so strongly the character of a Scottish glen. lie was 
 easily distinguished, indeed, at some distance, by his jaunty swagger, in 
 which he presented to you the flat of his leg, like the manly knave of clubs, 
 apparently with the most perfect contentment, not only with his leg and 
 boot, but with every part of his outward man, and the whole fashion of his 
 garments, and, one would almost have thought, the contents of his pockets. 
 
 In this, his wonted guise, he approached me, where I was seated near the 
 meeting of the waters, and I could not but discern, that his first impulse 
 was to pass me without any prolonged or formal greeting. But as that 
 would not have been decent, considering the terms on which we stood, he 
 seemed to adopt, on reflection, a course directly opposite; bustled up to me 
 with an air of alacrity, and, I may^ add, impudence; and hastened at once 
 into the middle of the important affairs which it had been my purpose to 
 bring under discussion in a manner more becoming their gravity. “ I am 
 glad to see you, Mr. Cleishbotham,’' said he, with an inimitable mixture of 
 confusion and effrontery; “ the most wonderful news which has been heard 
 in the literary world in my time — all Gandercleuch rings with if—they 
 positively speak of nothing else, from Miss Buskbody’s youngest apprentice 
 to the minister himself, and ask each other in amazement, whether the 
 tidings are true or false — to be sure they are of an astounding complexion, 
 especially to you and me.’^ 
 
 “ Mr. Pattison,’’ said I, “ 1 am quite at a loss to guess at jmur meaning. 
 Davus sum, non Oedipus — I am Jedediah Cleishbotham, Schoolmaster of 
 the parish of Gandercleuch ; no conjuror, and neither reader of riddles, nor 
 expounder of enigmata.” 
 
 “Well,” replied Paul Pattison, “Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, School¬ 
 master of the parish of Gandercleuch, and so forth, all I have to inform 
 you is, that our hopeful scheme is entirely blown up. The tales, on 
 publishing which we reckoned with so much confidence, have already been 
 printed; they are abroad, over all America, and the British papers are 
 clamorous.” 
 
 I received this news with the same equanimity with which I should have 
 accepted a blow addressed to my stomach by a modern gladiator, with the 
 full energy of his fist. “ If this be correct information, Mr. Pattison,” said 
 1, “ I must of necessity suspect you to be the person who have supplied the 
 fin-eign press with the copy which the printers have thus made an unscru- 
 
16 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 pulous iiSG of, without respect to the rights of the undeniahle proprietors 
 of the manuscripts; and I request to know whether this American produc¬ 
 tion embraces the alterations which you as well as I judged necessary, be¬ 
 fore the work could be fitted to meet the public eye ?'' To this my gentle¬ 
 man saw it necessary to make a direct answer, for my manner was 
 impressive, and my tone decisive. His native audacity enabled him, how¬ 
 ever, to keep his ground, and he answered with firmness — 
 
 “ Mr. Cleishbotham, in the first place, these manuscripts, over which you 
 claim a very doubtful right, were never given to any one by me, and must 
 have been sent to America either by yourself, or by some one of the various 
 gentlemen to whom, I am well aware, you have afforded opportunities of 
 perusing my brother’s MS. remains.” 
 
 “ Mr. Pattison,” I replied, “ I beg to remind you that it never could bo 
 my intention, either by my own hands, or through those of another, to remit 
 these manuscripts to the press, until, by the alterations which I meditated, 
 and which you yourself engaged to make, they were rendered fit for public 
 perusal.” 
 
 Mr. Pattison answered me with much heat: — ” Sir, I would have you to 
 know, that if I accepted your paltry offer, it was with less regard to its 
 amount, than to the honour and literary fame of my late brother. I fore¬ 
 saw that if I declined it, you would not hesitate to throw the task into inca¬ 
 pable hands, or, perhaps, have taken it upon yourself, the most unfit of all 
 men to tamper with the works of departed genius, and that, God willing, I 
 was determined to prevent—but the justice of Heaven has taken the matter 
 into its own hands. Peter Pattison’s last labours shall now go down to pos¬ 
 terity unscathed by the scalping-knife of alteration, in the hands of a false 
 friend — shame on the thought that the unnatural weapon could ever be 
 wielded by the hand of a brother!” 
 
 I heard this speech not without a species of vertigo or dizziness in my 
 head, which would probably have struck me lifeless at his feet, had not a 
 thought like that of the old ballad — 
 
 “Earl Percy sees my fall,” 
 
 called to my recollection, that I should only afford an additional triumph 
 by giving way to my feelings in the presence of Mr. Paul Pattison, who, I 
 could not doubt, must be more or less directly at the bottom of the Trans¬ 
 atlantic publication, and had in one way or another found his own interest 
 in that nefarious transaction. 
 
 To get quit of his odious presence I bid him an unceremonious good-night, 
 and marched down the glen with the air not of one who has parted with a 
 friend,'but who rather has shaken off an intrusive companion. On the road 
 I pondered the whole matter over with an anxiety which did not in the 
 smallest degree tend to relieve me. Had I felt adequate to the exertion, I 
 might, of course, have supplanted this spurious edition (of which the lite¬ 
 rary gazettes are already doling out copious specimens) by introducing into 
 a copy, to be instantly published at Edinburgh, adequate correction of the 
 various inconsistencies and imperfections which have already been alluded 
 to. I remember the easy victory of the real second part of these “ Tales of 
 my Landlord” over the performance sent forth by an interloper under the 
 same title ; and why should not the same triumph be repeated now? There 
 would, in short, have been a pride of talent in this manner of avenging 
 myself, which would have been justifiable in the case of an injured man; 
 but the state of my health has for some time been such as to render any 
 attempt of this nature in every way imprudent. 
 
 Under such circumstances, the last “Remains” of Peter Pattison must 
 even be accepted, as they were left in his desk; and I humbly retire in the 
 hope that, such as they are, they may receive the indulgence of those who 
 have ever been but too merciful to the productions of his pen, and in all 
 respects to the courteous reader’s obliged servant, J. C. 
 
 Gaxdercleuch, 15^^ Oct, 1831. 
 
COUNT. EOBEET OF PAEIS. 
 
 (Clin|ittr t|iB /irst. 
 
 Leontius. -That power that kindly spreads 
 
 The clouds, a signal of impending showers, 
 
 To warn the wandering linnet to the shade, 
 
 Beheld without concern expiring Greece, 
 
 And not one prodigy foretold our fate. 
 
 Demetrius. A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it: 
 
 A feeble government, eluded laws, 
 
 A factious populace, luxurious nobles. 
 
 And all the maladies of sinking states. 
 
 When public villany, too strong for justice. 
 
 Shows his bold front, the harbinger of ruin, 
 
 Can brave Leontius call for airy wonders, 
 
 Which cheats interpret, and which fools regard T 
 
 Irene, Act I. 
 
 The close observers of vegetable nature have remarked, that vrhen a new 
 graft is taken from an aged tree, it possesses indeed in exterior form the 
 appearance of-a youthful shoot, but has in fact attained to the same state 
 of maturity, or even decay, which has been reached by the parent stem. 
 Hence, it is said, arises the general decline and death that about the same 
 season is often observed to spread itself through individual trees of some 
 particular species, all of which, deriving their vital powers from the parent 
 stock, are therefore incapable of protracting their existence longer than it 
 does. 
 
 In the same manner, efforts have been made by the mighty of the earth 
 to transplant large cities, states, and communities, by one great and sudden 
 exertion, expecting to secure to the new capital the wealth, the dignity, the 
 magnificent decorations and unlimited extent of the ancient city, which they 
 desire to renovate ; while, at the same time, they hope to begin a new suc¬ 
 cession of ages from the date of the new structure, to last, they imagine, as 
 long, and with as much fame, as its predecessor, which the founder hopes 
 his new metropolis may replace in all its youthful glories. But nature has 
 her laws, which seem to apply to the social, as welhas the vegetable system. 
 It appears to be a general rule, that what is to last long should be slowly 
 matured and gradually improved, while every sudden effort, however 
 gigantic, to bring about the speedy execution of a plan calculated to endure 
 for ages, is doomed to exhibit symptoms of premature decay from its very 
 commencement. -Thus, in a beautiful Oriental tale, a dervise explains to 
 the sultan how he had reared the magnificent trees among which^ they 
 walked, by nursing their shoots from the seed ; and the prince’s pride is 
 damped when he reflects, that those plantations, so simply raised, were 
 gathering new vigour from each returning sun, while his own exhausted 
 VoL. XII. — 2^ b2 (17) 
 
18 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 cedars, ■which had been transplanted by one violent effort, were drooping 
 their majestic heads in the Valley of Orez.'^ 
 
 It has been allowed, I believe, by all men of taste, many of whom have 
 been late visitants of Constantinople, that if it were possible to survey the 
 whole globe with a view to fixing a seat of universal empire, all who are 
 capable of making such a choice, would give their preference to the city of 
 Constantine, as including the great recommendations of beauty, wealth, 
 security, and eminence. Yet with all these advantages of situation and 
 climate, and with all the architectural splendour of its churches and halls, 
 its quarries of marble, and its treasure-houses of gold, the imperial founder 
 must himself have learned, that although he could employ all these rich 
 materials in obedience to his own wish, it was the mind of man itself, those 
 intellectual faculties refined by the ancients to the highest degree, which 
 had produced the specimens of talent at which men paused and wondered, 
 whether as subjects of art or of moral labour. The power of the Emperor 
 might indeed strip other cities of their statues and their shrines, in order to 
 decorate that which he had fixed upon as his new capital; but the men who 
 had performed great actions, and those, almost equally esteemed, by whom 
 such deeds were celebrated, in poetry, in painting, and in music, had ceased 
 to exist. The nation, though still the most civilised in the world, had passed 
 beyond that period of society, when the desire of fair fame is of itself tho 
 sole or chief motive for the labour of the historian or the poet, the painter 
 or the statuary. The slavish and despotic constitution introduced into the 
 empire, had long since entirely destroyed that public spirit wdiich animated 
 the free history of Rome, leaving nothing but feeble recollections, which 
 produced no emulation. 
 
 To speak as of an animated substance, if Constantine could have regene¬ 
 rated his new metropolis, by transfusing into it the vital and vivifying prin¬ 
 ciples of old Rome,—that brilliant spark no longer remained for Constanti¬ 
 nople to borrow, or for Rome to lend. 
 
 In one most important circumstance, the state of the capital of Constantine 
 had been totally changed, and unspeakably to its advantage. The world 
 was now^ Christian, and, with the Pagan code, had got rid of its load of dis¬ 
 graceful superstition. Nor is there the least doubt, that the better faith 
 produced its natural and desirable fruits in society, in gradually ameliorating 
 the hearts, and taming the passions, of the people. But while many of the 
 converts were turning meekly towards their new creed, some, in the arrogance 
 of their understanding, were limiting the Scriptures by their own devices, 
 and others failed not to make religious character or spiritual rank the means 
 of rising to temporal power. Thus it happened at this critical period, that 
 the effects of this great change in the religion of the country, although pro¬ 
 ducing an immediate harvest, as well as sowing much good seed which w^as 
 to grow hereafter, did not, in the fourth century, flourish so as to shed at 
 once that predominating influence which its principles might have taught 
 men to expect. 
 
 Even the borrowed splendour, in which Constantine decked his city, bore 
 in it something which seemed to mark premature decay. The imperial 
 founder, in seizing upon the ancient statues, pictures, obelisks, and works 
 of art, acknowledged his own incapacity to supply their place with the pro¬ 
 ductions of later genius ; and when the world, and particularly Rome, was 
 plundered to adorn Constantinople, the Emperor, under whom the work was 
 carried on, might be compared to a prodigal youth, w'ho strips an aged parent 
 of her youthful ornaments, in order to decorate a flaunting paramour, on 
 whose brow all must consider them as misplaced. 
 
 Constantinople, therefore, when in 324 it first arose in imperial majesty 
 out of the humble Byzantium, showed, even in its birth, and amid its adven¬ 
 titious splendour, as we have already said, some intimations of that speedy 
 
 • Tale of Mirglip the^ersian, in the Tales of the Genii. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 19 
 
 decay to which the whole civilised world, then limited within the Roman 
 empire, was internally and imperceptibly tending. Nor was it many ages 
 ere these prognostications of declension were fully verified. 
 
 In the year 1080, Alexius Comnenus* ascended the throne of the Empire; 
 that is, he was declared sovereign of Constantinople, its precincts and de¬ 
 pendencies ; nor, if he was disposed to lead a life of relaxation, would the 
 savage incursions of the Scythians or the Hungarians frequently disturb the 
 imperial slumbers, if limited to his own capital. It may be supposed that 
 this safety did not extend much farther; for it is said that the Empress 
 Pulcheria had built a church to the Virgin Mary, as remote as possible from 
 the gate of the city, to save her devotions from the risk of being interrupted 
 by the hostile yell of the barbarians, and the reigning Emperor had con¬ 
 structed a palace near the same spot, and for the same reason. 
 
 Alexius Comnenus was in the condition of a monarch who rather derives 
 consequence from the wealth and importance of his predecessors, and the 
 great extent of their original dominions, than from what remnants of fortune 
 had descended to the present generation. This Emperor, except nominally, 
 no more ruled over his dismembered provinces, than a half-dead horse can 
 exercise power over those limbs, on which the hooded crow and the vulture 
 have already begun to settle and select their prey. 
 
 In different parts of his territory, different enemies arose, who waged 
 successful or dubious war against the Emperor; and, of the numerous 
 nations with whom he was engaged in hostilities, whether the Franks from 
 the west, the Turks advancing from the east, the Cumans and Scythians 
 pouring their barbarous numbers and unceasing storm of arrows from the 
 north, and the Saracens, or the tribes into which they were divided, press¬ 
 ing from the south, there was not one for whom the Grecian empire did not 
 spread a tempting repast. Each of these various enemies had their own 
 particular habits of war, and a way of manoeuvring in battle peculiar to 
 themselves. But the Roman, as the unfortunate subject of the Greek 
 empire was still called, was by fiir the weakest, the most ignorant, and 
 most timid, who could be dragged into the field; and the Emperor was 
 happy in his own good luck, when he found it possible to conduct a defen¬ 
 sive war on a counterbalancing principle, making use of the Scythian to 
 repel the Turk, or of both these savage people to drive back the fiery-footed 
 Frank, whom Peter the Hermit had, in the time of Alexius, waked to double 
 fury, by the powerful influence of the crusades. 
 
 If, therefore, Alexius Comnenus was, during his anxious seat upon the 
 throne of the East, reduced to use a base and truckling course of policy— 
 if he was sometimes reluctant to fight when he had a conscious doubt of the 
 valour of his troops—if he commonly employed cunning and dissimulation 
 instead of wisdom, and perfidy instead of courage—his expedients were the 
 disgrace of the age, rather than his own. 
 
 Again, the Emperor Alexius may be blamed for affecting a degree of 
 state which was closely allied to imbecility. He was proud of assuming in 
 his own person, and of bestowing upon others, the painted show of various 
 orders of nobility, even now, when the rank within the prince’s gift was 
 become an additional reason for the free barbarian despising the imperial 
 noble. That the Greek court was encumbered with unmeaning ceremonies, 
 in order to make amends for the want of that veneration which ought to 
 have been called forth by real worth, and the presence of actual power, was 
 not the particular fault of that prince, but belonged to the system of the 
 government of Constantinople for ages. Indeed, in its trumpery etiquette, 
 which provided rules for the most trivial points of a man’s behaviour during 
 the day, the Greek empire resembled no existing power in its minute follies, 
 except that of Pekin ; both, doubtless, being influenced by the same vain 
 
 • See Gibbon, Chap, xlviii. for tlie origin and early history of tlie house of the Ckiinueni, 
 
20 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 wish, to add seriousness and an appearance of importance to objects, which, 
 from their trivial nature, could admit no such distinction. 
 
 Yet thus far we must justify Alexius, that humble as were the expedients 
 he had recourse to, they were more useful to his empire than the measures 
 of a more proud and high-spirited prince might have proved in the same 
 circumstances. He was no champion to break a lance against the breast¬ 
 plate of his Frankish rival, the famous Bohemond of Antioch,* but there 
 were many occasions on which he hazarded his life freely; and, so far as 
 we can see, from a minute perusal of his achievements, the Emperor of 
 Greece was never so dangerous “ under shield,^^ as when any foeman 
 desired to stop him while retreating from a conflict in which he had been 
 worsted. 
 
 But, besides that he did not hesitate, according to the custom of the time, 
 at least occasionally, to commit his person to the perils of close combat, 
 Alexius also possessed such knowledge of a generaFs profession, as is 
 required in our modern days. He knew how to occupy military positions 
 to the best advantage, and often covered defeats, or improved dubious con¬ 
 flicts, in a manner highly to the disappointment of those who-deemed that 
 the work of war was done only on the field of battle. 
 
 If Alexius Comnenus thus understood the evolutions of war, he was still 
 better skilled in those of politics, where, soaring far above the express pur¬ 
 pose of his immediate negotiation, the Emperor was sure to gain some im¬ 
 portant and permanent advantage; though very often he was ultimately 
 defeated by the unblushing fickleness, or avowed treachery of the barba¬ 
 rians, as the Greeks generally termed all other nations, and particularly 
 those tribes, (they can hardly be termed states,) by which their own empire 
 was surrounded. 
 
 We may conclude our brief character of Comnenus, by saying, that, had 
 he not been called on to fill the station of a monarch who was under the 
 necessity of making himself dreaded, as one who was exposed to all manner 
 of conspiracies, both in and out of his own family, he might, in all proba¬ 
 bility, have been regarded as an honest and humane prince. Certainly he 
 showed himself a good-natured man, and dealt less in cutting oflf heads and 
 extinguishing eyes, than had been the practice of his predecessors, who 
 generally took this method of shortening the ambitious views of competitors. 
 
 It remains to be mentioned, that Alexius had his full share of the super¬ 
 stition of the age, which he covered with a species of hypocrisy. It is even 
 said, that his wife, Irene, who of course was best acquainted with the real 
 character of the Emperor, taxed her dying husband with practising, in his 
 last moments, the dissimulation which had been his companion during life.f 
 He took also a deep interest in all matters respecting the Church, where 
 heresy, which the Emperor held, or affected to hold, in great horror, ap¬ 
 peared to him to lurk. Nor do we discover in his treatment of the Mani- 
 chaeans, or Paulicians, that pity for their speculative errors, which modern 
 times might think had been well purchased by the extent of the temporal 
 services of these unfortunate sectaries. Alexius knew no indulgence for 
 those who misinterpreted the mysteries of the Church, or of its doctrines; 
 and the duty of defending religion against schismatics was, in his opinion, 
 as peremptorily demanded from him, as that of protecting the empire 
 against the numberless tribes of barbarians who were encroaching on its 
 boundaries on every side. 
 
 Such a mixture of sense and weakness, of meanness and dignity, of pru¬ 
 dent discretion and poverty of spirit, which last, in the European mode of 
 viewing things, approached to cowardice, formed the leading traits of the 
 
 * Bohemond, son of Robert Guiscard, the Norman conqueror of Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily, was, at the 
 time when the first crusade bewail. Count of Tareutum. Though far advanced in life, he eagerly joined the 
 expedition of the Latins, and became Prince of Antioch. For details of his adventures, death, and extraor¬ 
 dinary character, see Gibbon, chap, lix., and Mills’ History of the Crusades, vol. i. 
 
 t See Gibbon, chap. Ivi. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 21 
 
 character of Alexius Comnenus, at a period when the fate of Greece, and 
 all that was left in that country of art and civilization, was trembling in 
 the balance, and likely to be saved or lost, according to the abilities of the 
 Emperor for playing the very difficult game which was put into his hands. 
 
 These few leading circumstances will recall, to any one who is tolerably 
 well read in history, the peculiarities of the period at which we have found 
 a resting-place for the foundation of our story. 
 
 Cjinpin tliB Ittnni. 
 
 Othus. -This superb successor 
 
 Of the earth’s mistress, as thou vainly speakest, 
 
 Stands midst these ages as, on the wide ocean. 
 
 The last spared fragment of a spacious land. 
 
 That in some grand and awful ministration 
 Of mighty nature has engulfed been. 
 
 Doth lift aloft, its dark and rocky cliffs 
 O’er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns 
 In lonely majesty. 
 
 Constantine Paleologus, Scene 1. 
 
 Our scene in the capital of the Eastern Empire opens at what is termed 
 the Golden Gate of Constantinople; and it may be said in passing, that this 
 splendid epithet is not so lightly bestowed as may be expected from the 
 inflated language of the Greeks, which throws such an appearance of exag¬ 
 geration about them, their buildings, and monuments. 
 
 The massive, and seemingly impregnable walls with which Constantine 
 surrounded the city, were greatly improved and added to by Theodosius, 
 called the Great. A triumphal arch, decorated with the architecture of a 
 better, though already a degenerate age, and serving, at the same time, as 
 a useful entrance, introduced the stranger into the city. On the top, a 
 statue of bronze represented Victory, the goddess who had inclined the 
 scales of battle in favour of Theodosius; and, as the artist determined to 
 be wealthy if he could not be tasteful, the gilded ornaments with which the 
 inscriptions were set off, readily led to the popular name of the gate. 
 Figures carved in a distant and happier period of the art, glanced from the 
 walls, without assorting happily with the taste in which these were built. 
 The more modern ornaments of the Golden Gate bore, at the period of our 
 story, an aspect very different from those indicating the “ conquest brought 
 back to the city,'^ and the “eternal peace” which the flattering inscriptions 
 recorded as having been extorted by the sword of Theodosius. Four or 
 five military engines, for throwing darts of the largest size, were placed 
 upon the summit of the arch; and what had been originally designed as a 
 specimen of architectural embellishment, was now applied to the purposes 
 of defence. 
 
 It was the hour of evening, and the cool and refreshing breeze from the 
 sea inclined each passenger, whose business was not of a very urgent 
 description, to loiter on his way, and cast a glance at the romantic gateway, 
 and the various interesting objects of nature and art, which the city of Con¬ 
 stantinople presented, as well to the inhabitants as to strangers.* 
 
 • The impression wliich the imperial city was calculated to make on such visitors as the Crusaders of the 
 West, is given by the ancient French chronicler Villehardouin, who was present at the capture of A. D. 1203. 
 “ When we had come.” he says, “ within three leagues, to a certain Abbey,then we could plainly survey Con¬ 
 stantinople. There the ships and the galleys came to anchor; and much did they who had never been in 
 that quarter before, gaze upon the city. That such a city could be in the world they had never conceived, 
 and they were never weary of staring at the high walls and towers with which it was entirely eiicompas.sed, 
 the rich palaces and lofty churches, of which there were so many that no one could have believed it, if he 
 
00 
 
 WAVER LET NOVELS. 
 
 One individual, however, seemed to indulge more wonder and curiosity 
 than could have been expected from a native of the city, and looked upon 
 the rarities around with a quick and startled eye, that marked an imagina¬ 
 tion awakened by sights that were new and strange. The appearance of 
 this person bespoke a foreigner of military habits, who seemed, from his 
 complexion, to have his birthplace far from the Grecian metropolis, what¬ 
 ever chance had at present brought him to the Golden Gate, or whatever 
 place he filled in the Emperor’s service. 
 
 This young man was about two-and-twenty years old, remarkably finely- 
 formed and athletic—qualities well understood by the citizens of Constanti¬ 
 nople, whose habits of frequenting the public games had taught them at 
 least an acquaintance with the human person, and where, in the select of 
 their own countrymen, they saw the handsomest specimens of the human 
 race. 
 
 These were, however, not generally so tall as the stranger at the Golden 
 Gate, while his piercing blue eyes, and the fair hair which descended from 
 under a light helmet gaily ornamented with silver, bearing on its summit a 
 crest resembling a dragon in the act of expanding his terrible jaws, inti¬ 
 mated a northern descent, to which the extreme purity of his complexion 
 also bore witness. His beauty, however, though he was eminently distin¬ 
 guished both in features and in person, was not liable to the charge of 
 elfeminacy. From this it was rescued, both by his strength, and by the air 
 of confidence and self-possession with which the youth seemed to regard 
 the wonders around him, not indicating the stupid and helpless gaze of a 
 mind equally inexperienced, and incapable of receiving instruction, but 
 expressing the bold intellect which at once understands the greater part of 
 the information which it receives, and commands the spirit to toil in search 
 of the meaning of that which it has not comprehended, or may fear it has 
 misinterpreted. This look of awakened attention and intelligence gave inte¬ 
 rest to the young barbarian ; and while the bystanders were amazed that a 
 savage from some unknown or remote corner of the universe should possess 
 a noble countenance bespeaking a mind so elevated, they respected him for 
 the composure with which he witnessed so many things, the fashion, the 
 splendour, nay, the very use of which, must have been recently new to him. 
 
 The young man’s personal equipments exhibited a singular mixture of 
 splendour and effeminacy, and enabled the experienced spectators to ascer¬ 
 tain his nation, and the capacity in which he served. We have already 
 mentioned the fanciful and crested helmet, which was a distinction of the 
 foreigner, to which the reader must add in his imagination a small cuirass, 
 or breastplate of silver, so sparingly fashioned as obviously to afford little 
 security to the broad chest, on which it rather hung like an ornament than 
 covered as a buckler; nor, if a well-thrown dart, or strongly-shod arrow, 
 should alight full on this rich piece of armour, was there much hope that it 
 could protect the bosom which it partially shielded. 
 
 From betwixt the shoulders hung down over the back what had the ap¬ 
 pearance of a bearskin ; but, when more closely examined, it was only a 
 very skilful imitation of the spoils of the chase, being in reality a surcoat 
 composed of strong shaggy silk, so woven as to exhibit, at a little distance, 
 no inaccurate representation of a bear’s hide. A light crooked sword, or 
 scimitar, sheathed in a scabbard of gold and ivory, hung by the left side of 
 the stranger, the ornamented hilt of which appeared much too small for the 
 large-jointed hand of the young Hercules who was thus gaily attired. A dress, 
 purple in colour, and setting close to the limbs, covered the body of the sol- 
 
 had not seen with his own eyes that city, the Queen of all cities. And know that there was not so bold a 
 heart there, that it did not feel some terror at the strength of Constantinople.” — Chap. 66. 
 
 Again,—" And now many of those of the host went to see Constantinople within, and the rich palaces and 
 stately churches, of whicli it posses.ees so many, and the riches of the place, which are such as no other city 
 ever equalled. I need not speak of the sanctuaries, which are as many as are in all the world beside.” — 
 Chap. 100. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 23 
 
 dier to a little above the knee; from thence the knees and legs were bare to 
 the calf, to which the reticulated strings of the sandals rose from the instep, 
 the ligatures being there fixed by a golden coin of the reigning Emperor, 
 converted into a species of clasp for the purpose. 
 
 But a weapon which seemed more particularly adapted to the young bar¬ 
 barian’s size, and incapable of being used by a man of less formidable 
 limbs and sinews, was a battle-axe, the firm iron-guarded staff of which was 
 formed of tough elm, strongly inlaid and defended with brass, while many 
 a plate and ring were indented in the handle, to hold the wood and the steel 
 parts together. The axe itself was composed of two blades, turning dif¬ 
 ferent ways, with a sharp steel spike projecting from between them. The 
 steel part, both spike and blade, was burnished as bright as a mirror; and 
 though its ponderous size must have been burdensome to one weaker than 
 himself, yet the young soldier carried it as carelessly along, as if it were 
 but a feather’s weight. It was, indeed, a skilfully constructed weapon, so 
 well balanced, that it was much lighter in striking and in recovery, than he 
 v;ho saw it in the hands of another could easily have believed. 
 
 The carrying arms of itself showed that the military man was a stranger. 
 The native Greeks had that mark of a civilized people, that they never bore 
 weapons during the time of peace, unless the wearer chanced to be num¬ 
 bered among those whose military profession and employment required 
 them to be always in arms. Such soldiers by profession were easily distin¬ 
 guished from the peaceful citizens ; and it was with some evident show of 
 fear as well as dislike, that the passengers observed to each other, that the 
 stranger was a Varangian, an expression which intimated a barbarian of 
 the imperial body-guard. 
 
 To supply the deficiency of valour among his own subjects, and to pro¬ 
 cure soldiers who should be personally dependent on the Emperor, the 
 Greek sovereigns had been, for a great many years, in the custom of main¬ 
 taining in their pay, as near their person as they could, the steady services 
 of a select number of mercenaries in the capacity of body-guards, which 
 were numerous enough, when their steady discipline and inflexible loyalty 
 were taken in conjunction with their personal strength and indomitable 
 courage, to defeat, not only any traitorous attempt on the imperial person, 
 but to quell open rebellions, unless such were supported by a great propor¬ 
 tion of the military force. Their pay was therefore liberal; their rank and 
 established character for prowess gave them a degree of consideration among 
 the people, whose reputation for valour had not for some ages stood high ; 
 and if, as foreigners, and the members of a privileged body, the Varangians 
 were sometimes employed in arbitrary and unpopular services, the natives 
 were so apt to fear, while they disliked them, that the hardy strangers dis¬ 
 turbed themselves but little about the light in which they were regarded by 
 the inhabitants of Constantinople. Their dress and accoutrements, while 
 •within the city, partook of the rich, or rather gaudy costume, which we 
 have described, bearing only a sort of affected resemblance to that which 
 the Varangians wore in their native forests. But the individuals of this 
 select corps were, when their services were required beyond the city, fur¬ 
 nished with armour and weapons more resembling those which they were 
 accustomed to wield in their own country, possessing much less of the 
 splendour of war, and a far greater portion of its effective terrors; and thus 
 they were summoned to take the field. 
 
 This body of Varangians (which term is, according to one interpretation, 
 merely a general expression for barbarians) was, in an early age of the 
 empire, formed of the roving and piratical inhabitants of the north, whom 
 a love of adventure, the greatest perhaps that ever was indulged, and a con-, 
 tempt of danger, which never had a parallel in the history of human nature, 
 drove forth upon the pathless ocean. “Piracy,” says Gibbon, with his 
 usual spirit, “ was the exercise, the trade, the glory, and the virtue of the 
 
24 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 Scandinavian youth. Impatient of a bleak climate and narrow limits, they 
 started from the banquet, grasped their arms, sounded their horn, ascended 
 their ships, and explored every coast that promised either spoil or settle¬ 
 ment.^'* 
 
 The conquests made in France and Britain by these wild sea-kings, as 
 they were called, have obscured the remembrance of other northern cham¬ 
 pions, who, long before the time of Comnenus, made excursions as far as 
 Constantinople, and witnessed with their own eyes the wealth and the weak¬ 
 ness of the Grecian empire itself. Numbers found their way thither through 
 the pathless wastes of Russia; others navigated the Mediterranean in their 
 sea-serpents, as they termed their piratical vessels. The Emperors, terrified 
 at the appearance of these daring inhabitants of the frozen zone, had recourse 
 to the usual policy of a rich and unwarlike people, bought with gold the ser¬ 
 vice of their swords, and thus formed a corps of satellites more distinguished 
 for valour than the famed Praetorian Bands of Rome, and, perhaps because 
 fewer in number, unalterably loyal to their new princes. 
 
 But, at a later period of the empire, it began to be more difficult for the 
 Emperors to obtain recruits for their favourite and selected corps, the 
 northern nations having now in a great measure laid aside the piratical and 
 roving habits, which had driven their ancestors from the straits of Elsinore 
 to those of Sestos and Abydos. The corps of the Varangians must there¬ 
 fore have died out, or have been filled up with less worthy materials, had 
 not the conquests made by the Normans in the far distant west, sent to the 
 aid of Comnenus a large body of the dispossessed inhabitants of the islands 
 of Britain, and particularly of England, who furnished recruits to his chosen 
 body-guard. These were, in fact, Anglo-Saxons ; but, in the confused idea 
 of geography received at the court of Constantinople, they were naturally 
 enough called Anglo-Danes, as their native country was confounded with 
 the Thule of the ancients, by which expression the archipelago of Zetland 
 and Orkney is properly to be understood, though, according to the notions 
 of the Greeks, it comprised either Denmark or Britain. The emigrants, 
 however, spoke a language not very dissimilar to the original Varangians, 
 and adopted the name more readily, that it seemed to remind them of their 
 unhappy fate, the appellation being in one sense capable of being interpreted 
 as exiles. Excepting one or two chief commanders, whom the Emperor 
 judged worthy of such high trust, the Varangians were officered by men of 
 their own nation; and with so many privileges, being joined by many of 
 their countrymen from time to time, as the crusades, pilgrimages, or discon¬ 
 tent at home, drove fresh supplies of the Anglo-Saxons, or Anglo-Danes, to 
 the east, the Varangians subsisted in strength to the last days of the Greek 
 empire, retaining their native language, along with the unblemished loyalty, 
 and unabated martial spirit, which characterised their fathers. 
 
 This account of the Varangian Guard is strictly historical, and might be 
 proved by reference to the Byzantine historians; most of whom, and also 
 Villehardouin's account of the taking of the city of Constantinople by the 
 Franks and Venetians, make repeated mention of this celebrated and sin¬ 
 gular body of Englishmen, forming a mercenary guard attendant on the 
 person of the Greek Emperors.f 
 
 * Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Chap. Iv. vol. x. p. 221, 8vo edili()n. 
 
 t Ducange has poured forth a tide of learning^ on this curious subject, which will lie found in his Notes on 
 Villehardouin’s Constantinople under the French Emperors.—Pans, 1637, folio, p. 196. Gibbon’s History may 
 also be donsulted, vol. x. p. 231. 
 
 Villehardouin, in describing the siege of Constantinople, A. D. 1203, says, “ 'Li murs fu mult garnis d’Anglois 
 et de Danois,’’—hence the dissertation of Ducange liere quoted, and several articles besides in his Glossariurn, 
 as Varangi, Warengangi, <tc. The etymology of the name is left uncertain, though the German fort-ganger, 
 i. e. forlh-goer, wanderer, eatfte, seems the most probable. ^The term occurs in various Italian and Sicilian 
 documents, anterior to the establishment of the Varangian Guards at Constantinople, and collected by Mura- 
 ton ; as, for instance, in an edict of one of the Lombard kings, ‘’Omnes Warengangi, qui de exteris finibus in 
 regni nostri finibus advenerint seque sub scuto potestatis nostne subdiderint, legibus nostris Longobardormn 
 vivere debeant,”—and in another, "De Warengangis, nobilibus, mediocribus, et rusticis hominibus, qui usque 
 nunc in terra vestra fugiti sunt, halieatis eos.”— Muraiori, vol li. p. 261. 
 
 With regard to the origin of the Varangian Guard, the most distinct testimony is that of Ordericus Vittalis, 
 who says, " Wiien therefore the English had lost their liberty, they turned themselves with zeal to discover 
 
 I 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 Having said enough to explain why an individual Varangian should ho 
 strolling about the Golden Gate, we may proceed in the story which Ave have 
 commenced. 
 
 Let it not be thought extraordinary, that this soldier of the life-guard 
 should be looked upon with some degree of curiosity by the passing citizens. 
 It must be supposed, that, from their peculiar duties, they were not encou¬ 
 raged to hold frequent intercourse or communication with the inhabitants ; 
 and, besides that they had duties of police occasionally to exercise amongst 
 them, which made them generally more dreaded than beloved, they were at 
 the same time conscious, that their high pay, splendid appointments, and 
 immediate dependence on the Emperor, Avere subjects of envy to the other 
 forces. They, therefore, kept much in the neighbourhood of their OAvn bar¬ 
 racks, and were seldom seen straggling remote from them, unless they had 
 a commission of government intrusted to their charge. 
 
 This being the case, it Avas natural that a people so curious as the Greeks 
 should busy themselves in eyeing the stranger as he loitered in one spot, or 
 wandered to and fro, like a man who either could not find some place which 
 he was seeking, or had failed to meet some person with whom he had an 
 appointment, for which the ingenuity of the passengers found a thousand 
 different and inconsistent reasons. “A Varangian,’^ said one citizen to 
 another, “and upon duty—ahem ! Then I presume to say in your ear’^- 
 
 “What do you imagine is his object?” enquired the party to whom this 
 information Avas addressed. 
 
 “ Gods and goddesses ! do you think I can tell you ? but suppose that he 
 is lurking here to hear what folk say of the Emperor,” ansAvered the quid¬ 
 nunc of Constantinople. 
 
 “ That is not likely,” said the querist; “ these Varangians do not speak 
 our language, and are not extremely well fitted for spies, since fcAV of them 
 pretend to any intelligible notion of the Grecian tongue. It is not likely, I 
 think, that the Emperor aa^ouM employ as a spy a man who did not under¬ 
 stand the language of the country.” 
 
 “ But if there are, as all men fancy,” answered the politician, “ persons 
 among these barbarian soldiers Avho can speak almost all languages, you 
 will admit that such are excellently qualified for seeing clearly around them, 
 since they possess the talent of beholding and reporting, while no one has 
 the slightest idea of suspecting them. 
 
 “ It may well be,” replied his companion ; “ but since we see so clearly 
 the fox’s foot and paAvs protruding from beneath the seeming sheep’s fleece, 
 or rather, by your leave, the bear’s hide yonder, had Ave not better bo 
 jogging tiomcAvard, ere it be pretended we have insulted a Varangian 
 Guard ?” 
 
 This surmise of danger insinuated by the last speaker, who Avas a much 
 older and more experienced politician than his friend, determined both on 
 a hasty retreat. They adjusted their cloaks, caught hold of each other’s 
 arm, and, speaking fast and thick as they started new subjects of suspicion, 
 they sped, close coupled together, towards their habitations, in a different 
 and distant quarter of the tOAvn. 
 
 In the meantime, the sunset Avas nigh over; and the long shadows of the 
 walls, bulwarks, and arches, were projecting from the westAvard in deeper 
 and blacker shade. The Varangian seemed tired of the short and lingering 
 
 the means of throwing off the nuaccustoined yoke. Some fled to Sueno. Kins of the Panes, to exrife him to 
 the recovery of the inheritance of his grandfather, Canute. Not a few fled into exile in other regions, either 
 from the mere desire of escaping from under the Norman rule, or in the hope of acquiring wealth, and si> 
 being one day in a condition to renew the struggle at home. Some of these, in the bliHim of youtji. penetrated 
 into a far distant land, and offered themselves to the nnlitary service of the Constantmopoiitan Emperor—that 
 wise prince, against whom Robert Guiscard, Duke of Apulia, had then raised all his forces. '1 he English 
 exiles were favourably received, and opposed in battle to the Normans, for whose encounier the Greeks tbem- 
 aelves were too weak. Alexius began to build a town for the English, a little above Constantinople, at a 
 place called C/tevtlol, but the trouble of the Normans from Sicily still iiicreasiiig, he_^ soon recalled them to 
 the capital, and intrusted the princial palace with all its treasures to their keeping. '1 his was tlie me-thoil in 
 wliicli the Saxon English found their way to Ionia, where they still remain, highly valued by the Emperor 
 vttid the peo,jle.”—Book iv. ji. .'KW. 
 
 (’ 
 
20 
 
 W A V E K L E V NOVELS. 
 
 circle in which ho had now trodden for more than an hour, and in which 
 he still loitered like an unliberated spirit, which cannot leave the haunted 
 spot till licensed bj the spell which has brought it hither. Even so the 
 barbarian, casting an impatient glance to the sun, which was setting in a 
 blaze of light behind a rich grove of cypress-trees, looked for some ac¬ 
 commodation on the benches of stone which were placed under shadow of 
 the triumphal arch of Theodosius, drew the axe, which w^as his principal 
 weapon, close to his side, wrapped his cloak about him, and, though his 
 dress was not in other respects a fit attire for slumber, any more than the 
 place well selected for repose, yet in less than three minutes he was fast 
 asleep. The irresistible impulse which induced him to seek for repose in a 
 place very indifferently fitted for the purpose, might be weariness consequent 
 upon the military vigils, which had proved a part of his duty on the pre¬ 
 ceding evening. At the same time, his spirit was so alive within him, even 
 while he gave way to this transient fit of oblivion, that he remained almost 
 awake even with shut eyes, and no hound ever seemed to sleep more lightly 
 than our Anglo-Saxon at the Golden Gate of Constantinople. 
 
 And now the sluraberer, as the loiterer had been before, was the subject 
 of observation to the accidental passengers. Two men entered the porch in 
 company. One "was a somewhat slight made, but alert-looking man, by 
 name Lysimachus, and by profession a designer. A roll of paper in his 
 hand, with a little satchel containing a few chalks, or pencils, completed 
 his stock in trade; and his acquaintance with the remains of ancient art 
 gave him a power of talking on the subject, which unfortunately bore more 
 than due proportion to his talents of execution. His companion, a mag¬ 
 nificent-looking man in form, and so far resembling the young barbarian, 
 but more clownish and peasant-like in the expression of his features, was 
 Stephanos the wrestler, well known in the Palestra. 
 
 “ Stop here, my friend,’^ said the artist, producing his pencils, “ till I 
 make a sketch for my youthful Ilercules.^^ 
 
 “ I thought Hercules had been a Greek,’’ said the wrestler. “ This sleep¬ 
 ing animal is a barbarian.” 
 
 The tone intimated some offence, and the designer hastened to soothe the 
 displeasure which he had thoughtlessly excited. Stephanos, known by the 
 surname of Castor, w^ho was highly distinguished for gymnastic exercises, 
 was a sort of patron to the little artist, and not unlikely by his own repu¬ 
 tation to bring the talents of his friend into notice. 
 
 “ Beauty and strength,” said the adroit artist, “ are of no particular 
 nation; and may our Muse never deign me her prize, but it is my greatest 
 pleasure to compare them, as existing in the uncultivated savage of the 
 north, and when they are found in the darling of an enlightened people, 
 who has added the height of gymnastic skill to the most distinguished 
 natural qualities, such as we can now only see in the works of Phidias 
 and Praxiteles—or in our living model of the gymnastic champions of 
 antiquity.” 
 
 “Nay, I acknowledge that the Varangian is a proper man,” said the 
 athletic hero, softening his tone; “ but the poor savage hath not, perhaps, 
 in his lifetime, had a single drop of oil on his bosom ! Hercules instituted 
 the Isthmian Games”- 
 
 “But hold! what sleeps he with, wrapt so close in his bear-skin?” said 
 the artist. “ Is it a club ?” 
 
 “ Away, away, my friend!” cried Stephanos, as they looked closer on the 
 sleeper. “ Do you not know that is the instrument of their barbarous 
 office? They do not war with swords or lances, as if destined to attack 
 men of flesh and blood; but with maces and axes, as if they were to hack 
 limbs formed of stone, and sinews of oak. I will wager my crown [of 
 withered parsley] that he lies here to arrest some distinguished commander 
 who has offendeil the government! He would not have been thus formid- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 27 
 
 ably armed otherwise—Away, away, good Lysimachus ; let us respect the 
 slumbers of the bear/^ 
 
 So saying, the champion of the Palestra made off with less apparent 
 confidence than his size and strength might have inspired. 
 
 Others, now thinly straggling, passed onward as the evening closed, and 
 the shadows of the cypress-trees fell darker around. Two females of the 
 lower rank cast their eyes on the sleeper. “ Holy Maria said one, “ if 
 he does not put me in mind of the Eastern tale, how the Genie brought a 
 gallant young prince from his nuptial chamber in Egypt, and left him 
 sleeping at the gate of Damascus. I will awake the poor lamb, lest ho 
 catch harm from the night dew.'^ 
 
 “ Harm V’ answered the older and crosser looking woman. “ Ay, such 
 harm as the cold water of the Cydnus does to the wild-swan. A lamb ? — 
 ay, forsooth! Why he's a wolf or a bear, at least a Varangian, and no 
 modest matron would exchange a word with such an unmannered barbarian. 
 I'll tell you what one of these English Danes did to me"- 
 
 So saying, she drew on her companion, who followed with some reluc- 
 t.ance, seeming to listen to her gabble, while she looked back upon the 
 sleeper. 
 
 The total disappearance of the sun, and nearly at the same time the 
 departure of the twilight, which lasts so short time in that tropical region 
 ■—one of the few advantages which a more temperate climate possesses 
 over it, being the longer continuance of that sweet and placid light—-gave 
 signal to the warders of the city to shut the folding leaves of the Golden 
 Gate, leaving a wicket lightly bolted for the passage of those whom business 
 might have detained too late without the walls, and indeed for all who 
 chose to pay a small coin. The position and apparent insensibility of the 
 Varangian did not escape those who had charge of the gate, of whom there 
 was a strong guard, w’hich belonged to the ordinary Greek forces. 
 
 “By Castor and by Pollux," said the centurion — for the Greeks swore 
 by the ancient deities, although they no longer worshipped them, and pre¬ 
 served those military distinctions with which “ the steady Homans shook 
 the world," although they were altogether degenerated from their original 
 manners—“ By Castor and Pollux, comrades, we cannot gather gold in this 
 gate, according as its legend tells us : 3 "et it will be our fault if we cannot 
 glean a goodly crop of silver; and though the golden age be the most 
 ancient and honourable, yet in this degenerate time it is much if we see a 
 glimpse of the inferior metal." 
 
 “Unworthy are we to follow the noble centurion Ilarpax," answered one 
 of the soldiers of the watch, who showed the shaven head and the single 
 tuft* of a Mussulman, “if we do not hold silver a sufficient cause to bestir 
 ourselves, when there has been no gold to be had — as, by the faith of an 
 honest man, I think we can hardly tell its colour—whether out of the im¬ 
 perial treasury, or obtained at the expense of individuals, for many long 
 moons!" 
 
 “But this silver," said the centurion, “thou shalt see with thine own 
 eye, and hear it ring a knell in the purse which holds our common stock." 
 
 “AVhich did hold it, as thou wouldst say, most valiant commander," re¬ 
 plied the inferior warder; “but what that purse holds now, save a few 
 miserable oboli for purchasing certain pickled potherbs and salt fish, to 
 relish our allowance of stummed wine, I cannot tell, but willingly give my 
 share of the contents to the devil, if either purse or platter exhibits symp¬ 
 tom of any age richer than the age of copper." 
 
 “ I will replenish our treasury," said the centurion, “ were our stock yet 
 lower than it is. Stand up close by the wicket, my masters. Bethink you 
 we are the Imperial.Guards, or the guards of the Imperial City, it is all one, 
 
 • One tuft is left on the shaven crown of the Moslem, for the angel to crasp by, when conveying him to 
 Paradise 
 
28 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 and let us have no man rush past us on a sudden ; — and now that we are 
 
 oil our guard, I will unfold to you-But stop,’' said the valiant centurion, 
 
 ‘‘are we all here true brothers? Do all well understand the ancient and 
 laudable customs of our watch—keeping all things secret which concern the 
 profit and advantage of this our vigil, and aiding and abetting the common 
 cause, without information or treachery V’ v 
 
 “ You are strangely suspicious to-night," answered the sentinel. “ Me- 
 thinks we have stood by you without tale-telling in matters which were 
 more weighty. Have you forgot the passage of the jeweller — which was 
 neither the gold nor silver age; but if there were a diamond one"- 
 
 “Peace, good Ismail the Infidel," said the centurion, — “for, I thank 
 Heaven, we are of all religions, so it is to be hoped we must have the true 
 one amongst us, — Peace, 1 say ; it is unnecessary to prove thou canst keep 
 new secrets, by ripping up old ones. Come hither—look through the Avicket 
 to the stone bench, on the shady side of the grand porch — tell me, old lad, 
 what dost thou see there ?" 
 
 “A man asleep," said Ismail. “By Heaven, I think from what I can 
 see by the moonlight, that it is one of those barbarians, one of those island 
 dogs, whom the Emperor sets such store by!" 
 
 “ And can thy fertile brain," said the centurion, “ spin nothing out of his 
 present situation, tending towards our advantage?" 
 
 “ Why, ay," said Ismail; “ they have large pay, though they are not only 
 barbarians, but pagan dogs, in comparison with us Moslems and Nazarenes. 
 That fellow hath besotted himself Avith liquor, and hath not found his way 
 home to his barracks in good time. He Avill be severely punished, unless 
 we consent to admit him; and to prevail on us to do so, he must empty the 
 contents of his girdle." 
 
 “ That, at least—that, at least," ansAvered the soldiers of the city AA’atch, 
 but carefully suppressing their voices, though they spoke in an eager tone. 
 
 “ And is that all that you would make of such an opportunity ?" said 
 Harpax, scornfully. “No, no, comrades. If this outlandish animal indeed 
 escape us, he must at least leave his fleece behind. See you not the gleams 
 from his headpiece and his cuirass ? I presume these betoken substantial 
 silver, though it may be of the thinnest. There lies the silver mine I spoke 
 of, ready to enrich the dexterous hands Avho shall labour it." 
 
 “ But," said timidly a young Greek, a companion of their Avatch lately 
 enlisted in the corps, and unacquainted with their habits, “ still this bar¬ 
 barian, as you call him, is a soldier of the Emperor; and if we are con¬ 
 victed of depriving him of his arms, aa'O shall be justly punished for a 
 military crime." 
 
 “ Hear to a new Lycurgus come to teach us our duty !" said the centurion. 
 “ Learn first, young man, that the metropolitan cohort never can commit a 
 crime ; and next, of course, that they can never be convicted of one. Sup¬ 
 pose we found a straggling barbarian, a Varangian, like this slumberer, 
 perhaps a Frank, or some other of these foreigners bearing unpronounceable 
 names, while they dishonour us by putting on the arms and apparel of the 
 real Roman soldier, are Ave, placed to defend an important post, to admit a 
 man so suspicious within our postern, when the event may probably be to 
 betray both the Golden Gate and the hearts of gold Avho guard it,—to have 
 the one seized, and the throats of the others handsomely cut ?" 
 
 “ Keep him without side of the gate, then," replied the novice, “ if you 
 think him so dangerous. For my part, I should not fear him, AA^ere he 
 deprived of that huge double-edged axe, Avhich gleams from under his cloak, 
 having a more deadly glare than the comet Avhich astrologers prophesy such 
 strange things of." 
 
 “ Nay, then, we agree together," answered Harpax, “ and you speak like 
 a youth of modesty and sense ; and I promise you the state will lose nothing 
 in the despoiling of this same btirbarian. Each of these savages hath a 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 29 
 
 double set of accoutrements, the one wrought with gold, silver, inlaid work, 
 and ivory, as becomes their duties in the prince’s household; the other 
 fashioned of triple steel, strong, weighty, and irresistible. Now, in taking 
 from this suspicious character his silver helmet and cuirass, you reduce him 
 to his proper weapons, and you will see him start up in arms fit for duty.” 
 
 “Yes,” said the novice; “but I do not see that this reasoning will do 
 more than waftant our stripping the Varangian of his armour, to be after¬ 
 wards heedfully returned to him on the morrow, if he prove a true man. 
 How, I know not, but I had adopted some idea that it was to be confiscated 
 - for our joint behoof.” 
 
 “ Unquestionably,” said Ilarpax ; “ for such has been the rule of our 
 watch ever since the days of the excellent centurion Sisyphus, in whose 
 time it first was determined, that all contraband commodities or suspicious 
 weapons, or the like, which were brought into the city during the night- 
 watch, should be uniformly forfeited to the use of the soldiery of the guard; 
 and where the Emperor finds the goods or arms unjustly seized, I hope he 
 is rich enough to make it up to the sufferer.” 
 
 “ But still—but still,” said Sebastes of Mitylene, the young Greek afore¬ 
 said, “were the Emperor to discover”- 
 
 “ Ass!” replied Ilarpax, “ he cannot discover, if he had all the eyes of 
 Argus’s tail. — Here are twelve of us sworn according to the rules of the 
 watch, to abide in the same story. Here is a barbarian, who, if he remem¬ 
 bers any thing of the matter—which I greatly doubt—his choice of a lodg¬ 
 ing arguing his familiarity with the wine-pot—tells but a wild tale of losing 
 his armour, which we, my masters,” (looking round to his companions,) 
 “deny stoutly—I hope we have courage enough for that—and which party 
 will be believed? The companions of the.watch, surely!” 
 
 “ Quite the contrary,” said Sebastes. “ I was born at a distance from 
 hence; yet even in the island of Mitylene, the rumour had reached me that 
 the cavaliers of the city-guard of Constantinople were so accomplished in 
 falsehood, that the oath of a single barbarian would outweigh the Christian 
 oath of the whole body, if Christians some of them are — for example, this 
 dark man with a single tuft on his head.” 
 
 “ And if it were even so,” said the centurion, with a gloomy and sinister 
 look, “ there is another way of making the transaction a safe one.” 
 
 Sebastes, fixing his eye on his commander, moved his hand to the hilt of 
 an Eastern poniard which he wore, as if to penetrate his exact meaning. 
 The centurion nodded in acquiescence. 
 
 “ Ytoung as I am,” said Sebastes, “ I have been already a pirate five years 
 at sea, and a robber three years now in the hills, and it is the first time I 
 have seen or heard a man hesitate, in such a case, to take the only part 
 which is worth a brave man’s while to resort to in a pressing affair.” 
 
 Ilarpax struck his hand into that of the soldier, as sharing his uncompro¬ 
 mising sentiments; but when he spoke, it was in a tremulous voice. 
 
 “ How shall we deal with him ?” said he to Sebastes, who, from the most 
 raw recruit in the corps, had now risen to the highest place in his esti¬ 
 mation. 
 
 “ Any how,” returned the islander ; “ I see bows here and shafts, and if 
 no other person can use them”- 
 
 “ They are not,” said the centurion, “ the regular arms of our corps.” 
 
 “ The fitter you to guard the gates of a city,” said the young soldier, with 
 a horse-laugh, which had something insulting in it. “Well — be it so. I 
 can shoot like a Scythian,” he proceeded; “nod but with your head, one 
 shaft shall crash among the splinters of his skull and his brains ; the second 
 shall quiver in his heart.” 
 
 “ Bravo, my noble comrade!” said Ilarpax, in a tone of affected rapture, 
 alwa 3 ’S lowering his voice, however, as respecting the slumbers of the \ aran- 
 gian. “ Such were the robbers of ancient days, the Diomedes, Corvnetes, 
 
 r2 
 
30 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Synnes, Scyrons, Procrustes, •whom it required demigods to bring to what 
 was miscalled justice, and whose compeers and fellows will remain masters 
 of the continent and isles»of Greece, until Hercules and Theseus shall again 
 appear upon earth. Nevertheless, shoot not, my valiant Sebastes — draw 
 not the bow, my invaluable Mitylenian ; you may wound and not kill.’’ 
 
 “ I am little wont to do so,” said Sebastes, again repeating the hoarse, 
 chuckling, discordant laugh, which grated upon the ears of the centurion, 
 though he could hardly tell the reason why it was so uncommonly unpleasant. 
 
 “ If I look not about me,” was his internal reflection, “we shall have two 
 centurions of the watch, instead of one. This Mitylenian, or be he who 
 the devil will, is a bow’s length beyond me. I must keep my eye on him.’^ 
 He then spoke aloud, in a tone of authority. “ But, come, young man, it 
 is hard to discourage a young beginner. If you have been such a rover of 
 wood and river as you tell us of, you know how to play the Sicarius: there 
 lies your object, drunk or asleep, we know not which ; — you will deal with 
 him in either case.” 
 
 “ Will you give me no odds to stab a stupefied or drunken man, most noble 
 centurion ?” answered the Greek. “ You would perhaps love the commis¬ 
 sion yourself?” he continued, somewhat ironically. 
 
 “ I)o as you are directed, friend,” said Harpax, pointing to the turret 
 staircase which led down from the battlement to the arched entrance under¬ 
 neath the porch. 
 
 “ He has the true cat-like stealthy pace,” half muttered the centurion, as 
 his sentinel descended to do such a crime as he was posted there to prevent. 
 “ This cockerel’s comb must be cut, or he will become king of the roost. 
 But let us see if his hand be as resolute as his tongue; then we will con¬ 
 sider what turn to give to the conclusion.” 
 
 As Harpax spoke between his teeth, and rather to himself than any of 
 his companions, the Mitylenian emerged from under the archway, treading 
 on tiptoe, yet swiftly, with an admirable mixture of silence and celerity. 
 His poniard, drawn as he descended, gleamed in his hand, which was held 
 a little behind the rest of his person, so as to conceal it. The assassin 
 hovered less than an instant over the sleeper, as if to mark the interval 
 between the ill-fated silver corslet, and the body which it was designed to 
 protect, when, at the instant the blow was rushing to its descent, the Varan¬ 
 gian started up at once, arrested the armed hand of the assassin, by striking 
 it upwards with the head of his battle-axe; and while he thus parried the 
 intended stab, struck the Greek a blow heavier than Sebastes had ever 
 learned at the Pancration, which left him scarce the power to cry help to 
 his comrades on the battlements. They saw what had happened, however, 
 and beheld the barbarian set his foot on their companion, and brandish high 
 his formidable weapon, the whistling sound of which made the old arch ring 
 ominously, while he paused an instant, with his weapon upheaved, ere he 
 gave the finishing blow to his enemy. The warders made a bustle, as if 
 some of them would descend to the assistance of Sebastes, without, how¬ 
 ever, appearing very eager to do so, when Harpax, in a rapid Avhisper, com¬ 
 manded them to stand fast. 
 
 “ Each man to his place,” he said, “ happen what may. Yonder comes a 
 captain of the guard — the secret is our own, if the savage has killed the 
 Mitylenian, as I well trust, for he stirs neither hand nor foot. But if he 
 lives, my comrades, make hard your faces as flints — he is but one man, wo 
 are twelve. We know nothing of his purpose, save that he went to see 
 wherefore the barbarian slept so near the post.” 
 
 While the centurion thus bruited his purpose in busy insinuation to the 
 companions of his watch, the stately figure of a tall soldier, richly armed, 
 and presenting a lofty crest, which glistened as he stept from the open moon¬ 
 light into the shade of the vault, became visible beneath. A whisper passed 
 among the warders on the top of the gate. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 81 
 
 “ Draw bolt, shut gate, come of the ^Mitylenian what will,’' said the cen¬ 
 turion ; “we are lost men if we own him. — Here comes the chief of the 
 Varangian axes, the Follower himself.” 
 
 “Well, Ilereward,” said the officer who came last upon the scene, in a 
 sort of lingua Franca, generally used by the barbarians of the guard, “hast 
 thou caught a night-hawk?” 
 
 “ Ay, by Saint George !” answered the soldier; “ and yet, in my country, 
 we would call him but a kite.” 
 
 “What is he?” said the leader. 
 
 “ lie will tell you that himself,” replied the Varangian, “when I take my 
 grasp from his windpipe.” 
 
 “ Let him go, then,” said the officer. 
 
 The Englishman did as he was commanded; but, escaping as soon as he 
 felt himself at liberty, with an alertness which could scarce have been an¬ 
 ticipated, the Mitylenian rushed out at the arch, and, availing himself of 
 the complicated ornaments which had originally graced the exterior of the 
 gateway, he fled around buttress and projection, closely pursued by the 
 Varangian, who, encumbered with his armour, was hardly a match in tho 
 course for the light-footed Grecian, as he dodged his pursuer from one skulk¬ 
 ing place to another. The officer laughed heartily, as the two figures, like 
 shadows appearing and disappearing as suddenly, held rapid flight and 
 chase around the arch of Theodosius. 
 
 “ By Hercules ! it is Hector pursued round the walls of Ilion by Achilles,” 
 said the officer; “ but my Pelides will scarce overtake the son of Priam. 
 What, ho ! goddess-born—son of the white-footed Thetis !—But the allusion 
 is lost on the poor savage — Hollo, Ilereward ! I say, stop—know thine own 
 most barbarous name.” These last words were muttered ; then raising his 
 voice, “ Do not out-run thy wind, good Ilereward. Thou mayst have more 
 occasion for breath to-night.” 
 
 “ If it had been my leader’s will,” answered the Varangian, coming back 
 in sulky mood, and breathing like one who had been at the top of his speed, 
 “ I would have had him as fast as ever grey-hound held hare, ere I left ofif 
 the chase. Were it not for this foolish armour, which encumbers without 
 defending one, I would not have made two bounds without taking him by 
 the throat.” 
 
 “ As well as it is,” said the officer, who was, in flict, the Acoulouthos, or 
 Follower, so called because it was the duty of this highly-trusted officer of 
 the Varangian Guards constantly to attend on the person of the Emperor. 
 “ But let us now see by what means we are to regain our entrance through 
 the gate; for if, as I suspect, it was one of those warders who was willing 
 to have played thee a trick, his companions may not let us enter willingly.” 
 
 “And is it not,” said the Varangian, “your Valour’s duty to probe this 
 want of discipline to the bottom ?” 
 
 “Hush thee here, my simple-minded savage! I have often told you, 
 most ignorant Ilereward, that the skulls of those who come from your cold 
 and muddy Boeotia of the North, are fitter to bear out twenty blows with a 
 sledge-hammer, than turn ofi* one witty or ingenious idea. But follow me, 
 Ilereward, and although I am aware that showing the fine meshes of Gre¬ 
 cian policy to the coarse eye of an unpractised barbarian like thee, is much 
 like casting pearls before swine, a thing forbidden in the Blessed Gospel, 
 yet, as thou hast so good a heart, and so trusty, as is scarce to be met with 
 among my Varangians themselves, I care not if, while thou art in attendance 
 on my person, I endeavour to indoctrinate thee in some of that policy by 
 which I myself—the Follower—the chief of the Varangians, and therefore 
 erected by their axes into the most valiant of the valiant, am content to 
 guide myself, although every way qualified to bear me through the cross 
 currents of the court by main pull of oar and press of sail—a condescension 
 in me, to do that by policy, which no man in this imperial court, the chosen 
 
32 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 sphere of superior wits, could so well accomplish by open force as myself. 
 What think’st thou, good savage V’ 
 
 “ I know,^^ answered the Varangian, who walked about a step and a half 
 behind his leader, like an orderly of the present day behind his ofl&cer^s 
 shoulder, “ I should be. sorry to trouble my head with what I could do by 
 my hands at once/^ 
 
 “ Did I not say so V’ replied the Follower, who had now for some minutes 
 led the way from the Golden Gate, and was seen gliding along the outside 
 of the moonlight walls, as if seeking an entrance elsewhere. “ Lo, such is 
 the stuff of what you call your head is made ! Your hands and arms are 
 perfect Ahitophels, compared to it. Hearken to me, thou most ignorant of 
 all animals, — but, for that very reason, thou stoutest of confidants, and 
 bravest of soldiers,—I will tell thee the very riddle of this night-work, and 
 yet, even then I doubt if thou canst understand me.'^ 
 
 “ It is my present duty to try to comprehend your Valour,'^ said the Va¬ 
 rangian— “ I would say your policy, since you condescend to expound it to 
 me. As for your valour,'' he added, “ I should be unlucky if I did not 
 think I understand its length and breadth already." 
 
 The Greek General coloured a little, but replied, with unaltered voice, 
 “ True, good Ilereward. We have seen each other in battle." 
 
 Hereward here could not suppress a short cough, which to those gramma¬ 
 rians of the day who were skilful in applying the use of accents, would have 
 implied no peculiar eulogium on his officer's military bravery. Indeed, 
 during their whole intercourse, the conversation of the General, in spite of 
 his tone of affected importance and superiority, displayed an obvious respect 
 for his companion, as one who, in many points of action, might, if brought 
 to the test, prove a more effective soldier than himself. On the other hand, 
 wlien the powerful Northern warrior replied, although it was with all ob¬ 
 servance of discipline and duty, yet the discussion might sometimes re¬ 
 semble that between an ignorant macaroni officer, before the Duke of York's 
 reformation of the British army, and a steady sergeant of the regiment in 
 which they both served. There was a consciousness of superiority, dis¬ 
 guised by external respect, and half admitted by the leader. 
 
 “ You will grant me, my simple friend," continued the chief, in the same 
 tone as before, “ in order to lead thee by a short passage into the deepest 
 principle of policy which pervades this same court of Constantinople, that 
 the favour of the Emperor" — (here the officer raised his casque, and the 
 soldier made a semblance of doing so also) — “ who (be the place where he 
 puts his foot sacred!) is the vivifying principle of the sphere in which wo 
 live, as the sun itself is that of humanity"- 
 
 “I have heard something like this said by our tribunes," said the Va¬ 
 rangian. 
 
 “ It is their duty so to instruct you," answered the leader ; “ and I trust 
 that the priests also, in their sphere, forget not to teach my Varangians 
 their constant service to their Emperor." 
 
 “ They do not omit it," replied the soldier, “though we of the exiles know 
 our duty." 
 
 “ God forbid I should doubt it," said the commander of the battle-axes. 
 “All I mean is to make thee understand, my dear Hereward, that as there 
 are, though perhaps such do not exist in thy dark and gloomy climate, a 
 race of insects which are born in the first rays of the morning, and expire 
 with those of sunset, (thence called by us ephemerae, as enduring one day 
 only,) such is the case of a favourite at court, while enjoying the smiles of 
 the most sacred Emperor. And happy is he whose favour, rising as the 
 person of the sovereign emerges from the level space which extends around 
 the throne, displays itself in the first imperial blaze of glory, and who, 
 keeping his post during the meridian splendour of the crown, has only the 
 fate to disappear and die with the last beam of imperial brightness." 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 33 
 
 “Your ValouiV’ said the islander, “speaks higher language than my 
 Northern wits are able to comprehend. Only, methinks, rather than part 
 with life at the sunset, I would, since insect I must needs be, become a moth 
 for two or three dark hours,’^ 
 
 “ Such is the sordid desire of the vulgar, Ilereward,^' answered the Fol¬ 
 lower, with assumed superiority, “ who are contented to enjoy life, lacking 
 distinction ; whereas we, on the other hand, we of choicer quality, who form 
 the nearest and innermost circle around the Imperial Alexius, in which he 
 himself forms the central point, are watchful, to woman’s jealousy, of tho 
 distribution of his favours, and omit no opportunity, whether by leaguing 
 with or against each other, to recommend ourselves individually to the pe- 
 liar light of his countenance.” 
 
 “ I think I comprehend what you mean,” said the guardsman ; “ although 
 as for living such a life of intrigue — but that matters not.” 
 
 “ It does indeed matter not, my good Ilereward,” said his officer, “ and 
 thou art lucky in having no appetite for the life I have described. Yet have 
 I seen barbarians rise high in the empire, and if they have not altogether 
 the flexibility, the malleability, as it is called — that happy ductility which 
 can give way to circumstances, I have yet known those of barbaric tribes, 
 especially if bred up at court from their youth, who joined to a limited por¬ 
 tion of this flexile quality enough of a certain tough durability of temper, 
 which, if it does not excel in availing itself of opportunity, has no con¬ 
 temptible talent at creating it. But letting comparisons pass, it follows, 
 from this emulation of glory, that is, of royal favour, amongst the servants 
 of the imperial and most sacred court, that each is desirous of distinguish¬ 
 ing himself by showing to the Emperor, not only that he fully understands 
 the duties of his own employments, but that he is capable, in case of neces¬ 
 sity, of discharging those of others.” 
 
 “ I understand,” said the Saxon ; “ and thence it happens that the under 
 ministers, soldiers, and assistants of the great crown-officers, are perpetually 
 engaged, not in aiding each other, but in acting as spies on their neigh¬ 
 bours’ actions ?” 
 
 “ Even so,” answered the commander; “ it is but few days since I had a 
 disagreeable instance of it. Every one, however dull in the intellect, hath 
 understood thus much, that the great Prostospathaire,* which title thou 
 knowest signifies the General-in-chief of the forces of the empire, hath me 
 at hatred, because I am the leader of those redoubtable Varangians, who 
 enjoy and well deserve, privileges exempting them from the absolute com¬ 
 mand which he possesses over all other corps of the army — an authority 
 which becomes Nicanor, notwithstanding the victorious sound of his name, 
 nearly as well as a war-saddle would become a bullock.” 
 
 “ IIow!” said the Varangian, “ does the Protospathaire pretend to any 
 authority over the noble exiles ? — By the red dragon, under which we will 
 live and die, we will obey no man alive but Alexius Comnenus himself, and 
 our own officers!” 
 
 “ Rightly and bravely resolved,” said the leader; “ but, my good Ilere¬ 
 ward, let not your just indignation hurry you so far as to name the most 
 sacred Emperor, without raising your hand to your casque, and adding the 
 epithets of his lofty rank.” 
 
 “ I will raise my hand often enough and high enough,” said the Norse¬ 
 man, “ when the Emperor’s service requires it.” 
 
 “ I dare be sworn thou wilt,” said Achilles Tatius, the commander of the 
 Varangian Imperial Body Guard, who thought the time was unfavourable 
 for distinguishing himself by insisting on tliat exact observance of etiquette, 
 which was one of his great pretensions to the name of a soldier. “ Yet 
 were it not for tho constant vigilance of your leader, my child, the noble 
 
 VoL. XIr. —3 
 
 Literally, the P'irst Swordsman. 
 
WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 tv 1 
 
 Varangians would be trode down, in the common mass of the army, with 
 the heathen cohorts of Huns, Scythians, or those turban’d infidels the rene¬ 
 gade Turks; and even for this is your commander here in peril, because he 
 vindicates his axe-men as worthy of being prized above the paltry shafts of 
 the Eastern tribes and the javelins of the Moors, which are only fit to be 
 playthings for children/’ 
 
 “You are exposed to no danger,” said the soldier, closing up to Achilles 
 in a confidential manner, “from which these axes can protect you.” 
 
 “Do I not know it?” said Achilles. “But it is to your arms alone that 
 the Follower of his most sacred Majesty now intrusts his safety.” 
 
 “ In aught that a soldier may do,” answered Hereward ; “ make your ov.'n 
 computation, and then reckon this single arm worth two against any man 
 the Emperor has, not being of our own corps.” 
 
 “ Listen, my brave friend,” continued Achilles. “ This Nicanor was 
 daring enough to throw a reproach on our noble corps, accusing them—gods 
 and goddesses! — of plundering in the field, and, yet more sacrilegious, of 
 drinking the precious wine which was prepared for his most sacred Majesty’s 
 own blessed consumption. I, the sacred person of the Emperor being 
 present, proceeded, as thou may’st well believe”- 
 
 “ To give him the lie in his audacious throat!” burst in the Varangian— 
 “ named a place of meeting somewhere in the vicinity, and called the attend¬ 
 ance of your poor follower, Hereward of Hampton, w’ho is your bond-slave 
 for life long, for such an honour! I wish only you had told me to get my 
 
 work-day arms; but, however, I have my battle-axe, and”-Here his 
 
 companion seized a moment to break in, for he was somewhat abashed at 
 the lively tone of the young soldier. 
 
 “ Hush thee, my son,” said Achilles Tatius; “ speak low, my excellent 
 Hereward. Thou mistakest this thing. With thee by my side, I would 
 not, indeed, hesitate to meet five such as Nicanor; but such is not the law 
 of this most hallowed empire, nor the sentiments of the three times illus¬ 
 trious Prince who now rules it. Thou art debauched, my soldier, with the 
 swaggering stories of the Franks, of whom we hear more and more every 
 day.” 
 
 “ I would not willingly borrow any thing from those whom you call 
 Franks, and we Normans,” answered the Varangian, in a disappointed, 
 dogged tone. 
 
 “ Why, listen, then,” said the officer as they proceeded on their walk, 
 “ listen to the reason of the thing, and consider whether such a custom can 
 obtain, as that which they term the duello, in any country of civilization 
 and common sense, to say nothing of one which is blessed with the domi¬ 
 nation of the most rare Alexius Comnenus. Two great lords, or high 
 officers, quarrel in the court, and before the reverend person of the Emperor. 
 They dispute about a point of fact. Now, instead of each maintaining his 
 own opinion by argument or evidence, suppose they had adopted the custom 
 of these barbarous Franks,—‘Why, thou liest in thy throat,” says the one; 
 ‘ and thou liest in thy very lungs,’ says another; and they measure forth 
 the lists of battle in the next meadow. Each swears to the truth of his 
 quarrel, though probably neither well knows precisely how the fact stands. 
 One, perhaps the hardier, truer, and better man of the two, the Follower of 
 the Emperor, and father of the Varangians, (for death, my faithful follower, 
 spares no man,) lies dead on the ground, and the other comes back to pre¬ 
 dominate in the court, where, had the matter been enquired into by the 
 rules of common sense and reason, the victor, as he is termed, would have 
 been sent to the gallows. And yet this is the law of arms, as your fancy 
 pleases to call it, friend Hereward!” 
 
 “May it please your Valour,” answered the barbarian, “ there is a show 
 of sense in what you say ; but you will sooner convince me that this blessed 
 moonlight is the blackness of a vrolf’s mouth, than that I ought to hear 
 
COUNT 11 0 11 K K T 0 F 1' A RTS. 
 
 r 
 
 'jf) 
 
 myself called liar, without cramming the epithet down the speaker’s throat 
 with the spike of my battle-axe. The lie is to a man the same as a blow, 
 and a blow degrades him into a slave and a beast of burden, if endured 
 without retaliation.” 
 
 “ Ay, there it is !” said Achilles ; “ could I but get you to lay aside that 
 inborn barbarism, which leads you, otherwise the most disciplined soldiers 
 who serve the sacred Emperor, into such deadly quarrels and feuds”- 
 
 “ Sir Captain,” said the Varangian, in a sullen tone, “ take my advice, 
 and take the Varangians as you have them; for, believe my word, that if 
 you could teach them to endure reproaches, bear the lie, or tolerate stripes, 
 you would hardly find them, when their discipline is completed, worth the 
 single day’s salt which they cost to his holiness, if that be his title. I must 
 tell you, moreover, valorous sir, that the Varangians will little thank their 
 leader, who heard them called marauders, drunkards, and what not, and 
 repelled not the charge on the spot.” 
 
 ” Now, if I knew not the humours of my barbarians,” thought Tatius, in 
 his own mind, “I should bring on myself a quarrel with these untamed 
 islanders, who the Emperor thinks can be so easily kept in discipline. But 
 1 will settle this sport presently.” Accordingly, he addressed the Saxon in 
 a soothing tone. 
 
 “ My faithful soldier,” he proceeded aloud, “ we Romans, according to 
 the custom of our ancestors, set as much glory on actually telling the truth, 
 as you do in resenting the imputation of falsehood ; and I could not with 
 honour return a charge of falsehood upon Nicanor, since what he said was 
 substantially true.” 
 
 “AV’’hat! that we Varangians were plunderers, drunkards, and the like?” 
 said Hereward, more impatient than before. 
 
 “ No, surely, not in that broad sense,” said Achilles ; “but there was too 
 much foundation for the legend.” 
 
 “When and where?” asked the Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 “ You remember,” replied his leader, “ the long march near Laodicea, 
 where the Varangians beat off a cloud of Turks, and retook a train of the 
 imperial baggage ? You know what was done that day—how you quenched 
 your thirst, I mean?” 
 
 “ I have some reason to remember it,” said Hereward of Hampton ; “ for 
 we were half choked with dust, fatigue, and, which was worst of all, con¬ 
 stantly fighting with our faces to the rear, when we found some firkins of 
 wine in certain carriages which were broken down — down our throats it 
 went, as if it had been the best ale in Southampton.” 
 
 “ Ah, unhappy !” said the Follower ; “ saw you not that the firkins were 
 stamped with the thrice excellent Grand Butler’s own inviolable seal, and 
 set apart for the private use of his Imperial Majesty’s most sacred lips?” 
 
 “ By good Saint George of merry England, worth a dozen of your Saint 
 George of Cappadocia, I neither thought nor cared about the matter,” an¬ 
 swered Hereward. “And I know your Valour drank a mighty draught 
 yourself out of my head-piece; not this silver bauble, but my steel-cap, 
 which is twice as ample. By the same token, that whereas before you were 
 giving orders to fall back, you were a changed man when you had cleared 
 your throat of the dust, and cried, ‘ Bide the other brunt, my brave and 
 stout boys of Britain !’ ” 
 
 “Ay,” said Achilles, “ I know I am but too apt to be venturous in action. 
 But you mistake, good Hereward ; the wine I tasted in the extremity of 
 martial fatigue, was not that set apart for his sacred Majesty’s own peculiar 
 mouth, but a secondary sort, preserved for the Grand Butler himself, of 
 which, as one of the great officers of the household, I might right lawfully 
 partake—the chance was nevertheless sinfully unhapyjy.” 
 
 “On my life,” replied Hereward, “ I cannot see the infelicity of drinking 
 when we are dving of thirst.” 
 
WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 3G 
 
 “But cheer up, my noble comrade,” said Achilles, after he had hurried 
 over his own exculpation, and without noticing the Varangian's light esti¬ 
 mation of the crime, “ his Imperial Majesty, in his ineffable graciousness, 
 imputes these ill-advised draughts as a crime to no one who partook of 
 them. He rebuked the Protospathaire for fishing up this accusation, and 
 said, when he had recalled the bustle and confusion of that toilsome day, 
 ‘ I thought myself well off amid that seven times heated furnace, when we 
 obtained a draught of the barley-wine drank by my poor Varangians ; and 
 I drank their health, as well I might, since, had it not been for their ser¬ 
 vices, I had drunk my last; and well fare their hearts, though they quaffed 
 my wine in return !' And with that he turned off, as one who said, ‘ 1 have 
 too much of this, being a finding of matter and ripping up of stories against 
 Achilles Tatius and his gallant Varangians.''' 
 
 “ Now, may God bless his honest heart for it!” said Hereward, with more 
 downright heartiness than formal respect. “ I'll drink to his health in what 
 I put next to my lips that quenches thirst, whether it may be ale, wine, or 
 ditch-water.” 
 
 “ Wliy, well said, but speak not above thy breath ! and remember to put 
 thy uaiiJ to thy forehead, when naming, or even thinking of the Emperor! 
 —Well, thou knowest, Hereward, that having thus obtained the advantage, 
 I knew that the moment of a repulsed attack is always that of a successful 
 charge; and so I brought against the Protospathaire, Nicanor, the robberies 
 which have been committed at the Golden Gate, and other entrances of the 
 city, where a merchant was but of late kidnapped and murdered, having on 
 him certain jewels, the property of the Patriarch.” 
 
 “Ay! indeed?” said the Varangian; “and what said Alex-1 moan 
 
 the most sacred Emperor, when he heard such things said of the city 
 warders ?—though he had himself given, as we say in our land, the fox the 
 geese to keep.” 
 
 “ It may be he did,” replied Achilles; “ but he is a sovereign of deep 
 policy, and was resolved not to proceed against these treacherous warders, 
 or their general, the Protospathaire, without decisive proof. His Sacred 
 Majesty, therefore, charged me to obtain specific circumstantial proof by 
 thy means.” 
 
 “ And that I would have managed in two minutes, had you not called me 
 off the chase of yon cut-throat vagabond. But his grace knows the word of 
 a Varangian, and I can assure him that either lucre of my silver gaberdine, 
 which they nickname a cuirass, or the hatred of my corps, would be suffi¬ 
 cient to incite any of these knaves to cut the throat of a Varangian, who 
 appeared to be asleep.—So we go, I suppose, captain, to bear evidence before 
 the Emperor to this night’s work ?” 
 
 “ No, my active soldier, hadst thou taken the runaway villain, my first 
 act must have been to set him free again; and my present charge to you is, 
 to forget that such an adventure has ever taken place.” 
 
 “ Ha 1” said the Varangian ; “ this is a change of policy indeed 1” 
 
 “ Why, yes, brave Hereward; ere I left the palace this night, the Patri¬ 
 arch made overtures of reconciliation betwixt me and the Protospathaire, 
 which, as our agreement is of much consequence to the state, I could not 
 very well reject, either as a good soldier or a good Christian. All oflences 
 to my honour are to be in the fullest degree repaid, for which the Patriarch 
 interposes his warrant. The Emperor, who will rather wink hard than see 
 disagreements, loves better the matter should be slurred over thus.” 
 
 “And the reproaches upon the Varangians,” said Hereward- 
 
 “ Shall be fully retracted and atoned for,” answered Achilles; “ and a 
 weighty donative in gold dealt among the corps of the Anglo-Danish axe¬ 
 men. Thou, my Hereward, ma^^st be distributor ; and thus, if well-managed, 
 mayst plate thy battle-axe with gold.” 
 
 “ I love my axe better as it is,” said the Varangian. “My father bore it 
 
COUNTROBERTOF PARIS. 37 
 
 0 
 
 against the robber Normans at Hastings. Steel instead of gold for ray 
 money.’^ 
 
 “ Thou mayst make thy choice, Ilereward,” answered his oflBcer; “ only, 
 if thou art poor, say the fault was thine own.^^ 
 
 But here, in the course of their circuit round Constantinople, the officer 
 and his soldier came to a very small wicket or sallyport, opening on the in¬ 
 terior of a large and massive advanced work, which terminated an entrance 
 to the city itself. Here the officer halted, and made his obedience, as a 
 devotee who is about to enter a chapel of peculiar sanctity. 
 
 (Ctinpltr tjit '<EjiirL 
 
 Here, youth, tliy foot unbrace, 
 
 Here, youth, thy brow unl)raid; 
 
 Each tribute that may grace ' 
 
 Tile threshold here be paid. 
 
 Walk with the stealthy pace • 
 
 Which Nature teaches deer. 
 
 When, echoing in the chase. 
 
 The hunter’s horn they hear. 
 
 The Cocrt. 
 
 Before entering, Achilles Tatius made various gesticulations, which were 
 imitated roughly and awkwardly by the unpractised Varangian, whose 
 service with his corps had been almost entirely in the field, his routine of 
 duty not having, till very lately, called him to serve as one of the garrison 
 of Constantinople. He was not, therefore, acquainted with the minute 
 observances which the Greeks, who were the most formal and ceremonious 
 soldiers and courtiers in the world, rendered not merely to the Greek 
 Emperor in person, but throughout the sphere which peculiarly partook of 
 his influence. 
 
 Achilles, having gesticulated after his own fashion, at length touched the 
 door with a rap, distinct at once and modest. This was thrice repeated, 
 when the captain whispered to his attendant, “ The interior !—for thy life, 
 do as thou seest me do.^' At the same moment he started back, and, stoop- • 
 ing his head on his breast, with his hands over his eyes, as if to save them 
 from being dazzled by an expected burst of light, awaited the answer to 
 his summons. The Anglo-Dane, desirous to obey his leader, imitating him 
 as near as he could, stood side by side in the posture of Oriental humilia¬ 
 tion. The little portal opened inwards, when no burst of light was seen, 
 but four of the Varangians were made visible in the entrance, holding each 
 his battle-axe, as if about to strike down the intruders who had disturbed 
 the silence of their watch. 
 
 “ Acoulouthos,^^ said, the leader, by way of password. 
 
 “ Tatius and Acoulouthos,^' murmured the warders, as a countersign. 
 
 Each sentinel sunk his weapon. 
 
 Achilles then reared his stately crest, with a conscious dignity at making 
 this display of court influence in the eyes of his soldiers. Hereward ob¬ 
 served an undisturbed gravity, to the surprise of his officer, who marvelled 
 in his own mind how he could be such a barbarian as to regard with apathy 
 a scene, which had in his eyes the most impressive and peculiar awe. This 
 indifference he imputed to the stupid insensibility of his companion. ^ 
 
 They passed on between the sentinels, who wheeled backward in file, on 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 
 each side of the portal, and gave the strangers entrance to a long narrow 
 plank, stretched across the city-moat, which was here drawn within the 
 enclosure of an external rampart, projecting beyond the principal wall of 
 the city. 
 
 “ This,’^ he whispered to Ilereward, “ is called the Bridge of Peril, and 
 it is said that it has been occasionally smeared with oil, or strewed with 
 dried peas, and that the bodies of men, known to have been in company 
 with the Emperor’s most sacred person, have been taken out of the Golden 
 Horn,* into which the moat empties itself.” 
 
 “ I would not have thought,” said the islander, raising his voice to its 
 usual rough tone, “ that Alexius Comnenus”- 
 
 “ Hush, rash and regardless of your life!” said Achilles Tatius; “ to 
 awaken the daughter of the imperial arch,f is to incur deep penalty at all 
 times; but when a rash delinquent has disturbed her with reflections on 
 his most sacred Highness the Emperor, death is a punishment far too light 
 for the effrontery which has interrupted her blessed slumber! — Ill hath 
 been my fate, to have positive commands laid on me, enjoining me to bring 
 into the sacred precincts a creature who hath no more of the salt Of civil¬ 
 ization in him than to keep his mortal frame from corruption, since of all 
 mental culture he is totally incapable. Consider thyself, Hereward, and 
 bethink thee what thou art. By nature a poor barbarian — thy best boast 
 that thou hast slain certain Mussulmans in thy sacred master’s quarrel; 
 anti here art thou admitted into the inviolable enclosure of the Blaquernal, 
 and in the hearing not only of the royal daughter of the imperial arch, 
 w'hich means,” said the eloquent leader, “ the echo of the sublime vaults; 
 but — Heaven be our guide, — for what I know, within the natural hearing 
 of the Sacred Ear itself!” 
 
 “ Well, my captain,” replied the Varangian, “ I cannot presume to speak 
 my mind after the fashion of this place; but I can easily suppose I am but 
 ill qualified to converse in the presence of the court, nor do I mean there¬ 
 fore to say a word till I am spoken to, unless when I shall see no better 
 company than ourselves. To be plain, I find difficulty in modelling my 
 voice to a smoother tone than nature has given it. So, henceforth, my 
 brave captain, I will be mute, unless when you give me a sign to speak.” 
 
 “ You will act wisely,” said the captain. “ Here be certain persons of 
 high rank, nay, some that have been born in the purple itself, that will, 
 Hereward, (alas, for thee!) prepare to sound with the line of their courtly 
 understanding the depths of thy barbarous and shallow conceit. Do not, 
 therefore, then, join their graceful smiles with thy inhuman bursts of 
 « cachinnation, with which thou art wont to thunder forth when opening in 
 chorus with thy messmates.” 
 
 “I tell thee I will be silent,” said the Varangian, moved somewhat 
 beyond his mood. “If you trust my word, so; if you think I am a jack¬ 
 daw that must be speaking, whether in or out of place and purpose, I am 
 contented to go back again, and therein we can end the matter.” 
 
 Achilles, conscious perhaps that it was his best policy not to drive his 
 subaltern to extremity, lowered his tone somewhat in reply to the uncourtly 
 note of the soldier, as if allowing something for the rude manners of one 
 whom he considered as not easily matched among the Varangians them¬ 
 selves, for strength and valour; qualities which, in despite of Hereward’a 
 discourtesy, Achilles suspected in his heart were fully more valuable than 
 all those nameless graces which a more courtly and accomplished soldier 
 might possess. 
 
 The expert navigator of the intricacies of the imperial residence, carried 
 the Varangian through two or three small complicated courts, forming a 
 
 * The harbour of Constantinople. 
 
 t The dauKhter of the arch was a courtly expre.ssion for the echo, as we find explained by the courtly 
 coinniander himself. 
 
 i 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 39 
 
 part of the extensive Palace of the Blaquernal,* and entered the building 
 itself by a side door — watched in like manner by a sentinel of the Varan¬ 
 gian Guard, whom they passed on being recognized. In the next apart¬ 
 ment was stationed the Court of Guard, where were certain soldiers of the 
 same corps amusing themselves at games somewhat resembling the modern 
 draughts and dice, while they seasoned their pastime with frequent appli¬ 
 cations to deep flagons of ale, which were furnished to them while passing 
 away their hours of duty. Some glances passed between Ilereward and 
 his comrades, and he would have joined them, or at least spoke to them ; 
 for, since the adventure of the Mitylenian, Ilereward had rather thought 
 himself annoyed than distinguished by his moonlight ramble in the com¬ 
 pany of his commander, excepting always the short and interesting period 
 during which he conceived they were on the way to fight a duel. Still, 
 however negligent in the strict observance of the ceremonies of the sacred 
 palace, the Varangians had, in their own way, rigid notions of calculating 
 their military duty; in consequence of which Ilereward, without speaking 
 to his companions, followed his leader through the guard-room, and one or 
 two antechambers adjacent, the splendid and luxurious furniture of* which 
 convinced him that he could be nowhere else save in the sacred residence 
 of his master the Emperor. 
 
 At length, having traversed passages and apartments with which the 
 captain seemed familiar, and which he threaded with a stealthy, silent, and 
 apparently reverential pace, as if, in his own inflated phrase, afraid to 
 awaken the sounding echoes of those lofty and monumental halls, another 
 species of inhabitants began to be visible. In different entrances, and in 
 different apartments, the northern soldier beheld those unfortunate slaves, 
 chiefly of African descent, raised occasionally under the Emperors of Greece 
 to great power and honours, who, in that respect, imitated one of the most 
 barbarous points of Oriental despotism. These slaves were differently occu¬ 
 pied ; some standing, as if on guard, at gates or in passages, with thfeir 
 drawn sabres in their hands; some were sitting in the Oriental fashion, on 
 carpets, reposing themselves, or playing at various games, all of a character 
 profoundly silent. Not a word passed between the guide of Ilereward, and 
 the withered and deformed beings Avhom they thus encountered. The ex¬ 
 change of a glance with the principal soldier seemed all that was necessary 
 to ensure both an uninterrupted passage. 
 
 After making their way through several apartments, empty or thus occu¬ 
 pied, they at length entered one of black marble, or some other dark- 
 coloured stone, much loftier and longer than the rest. Side passages opened 
 into it, so far as the islander could discern, descending from several portals 
 in the wall; but as the oils and gums with which the lamps in these pas¬ 
 sages were fed diffused a dim vapour around, it was difficult to ascertain, 
 from the imperfect light, either the shape of the hall, or the style of its 
 architecture. At the upper and lower ends of the chamber, there was a 
 stronger and clearer light. It was when they were in the middle of this 
 huge and long apartment, that Achilles said to the soldier, in the sort of 
 cautionary whisper which he appeared to have substituted in place of his 
 natural voice since he had crossed the Bridge of Peril — 
 
 “ Remain here till I return, and stir from this hall on no account.’^ 
 
 “ To hear is to obey,’’ answered the Varangian, an expression of obe¬ 
 dience, which, like many other phrases and fashions, the empire, which 
 still affected the name of Roman, had borrowed from the barbarians of the 
 East. Achilles Tatius then hastened up the steps which led to one of the 
 side-doors of the hall, which being slightly pressed, its noiseless hinge gave 
 way and admitted him. 
 
 Left alone to amuse himself as he best could, within the limits permitted 
 to him, the Varangian visited in succession both ends of the hall, where the 
 
 • Thi.s palace derived its name from Uie neig:hb<)unng Blarhernian Gate and Bridg^e. 
 
40 
 
 WAVEELEY NOVELS. 
 
 objects were more visible than elsewhere. The lower end had in its centre 
 a small low-browed door of iron. Over it was displayed the Greek crucifix 
 in bronze, and around and on every side, the representation of shackles, 
 fetter-bolts, and the like, were also executed in bronze, and disposed as ap¬ 
 propriate ornaments over the entrance. The door of the dark archway was 
 half open, and Hereward naturally looked in, the orders of his chief not 
 prohibiting his satisfying his curiosity thus far. A dense red light, more 
 like a distant spark than a lamp, affixed to the wall of what seemed a very 
 narrow and winding stair, resembling in shape and size a draw-well, the 
 verge of which opened on the threshold of the iron door, showed a descent 
 which seemed to conduct to the infernal regions. The Varangian, however 
 obtuse he might be considered by the quick-witted Greeks, had no difficulty 
 in comprehending that a staircase having such a gloomy appearance, and 
 the access to which was by a portal decorated in such a melancholy style 
 of architecture, could only lead to the dungeons of the imperial palace, the 
 size and complicated number of which were neither the least remarkable, 
 nor the least awe-imposing portion of the sacred edifice. Listening pro¬ 
 foundly, he even thought he caught such accents as befit those graves of 
 living men, the faint echoing of groans and sighs, sounding as it were from 
 the deep abyss beneath. But in this respect his fancy probably filled up 
 the sketch which his conjectures bodied out. 
 
 “ I have done nothing,^^ he thought, “ to merit being immured in one of 
 these subterranean dens. Surely though my captain, Achilles Tatius, is, 
 under favour, little better than an ass, he cannot be so false of word as to 
 train me to prison under false pretexts ? I trow he shall first see for the 
 last time how the English axe plays, if such is to be the sport of the 
 evening. But let us see the upper end of this enormous vault; it may bear 
 a better omen.^^ 
 
 Thus thinking, and not quite ruling the tramp of his armed footstep ac¬ 
 cording to the ceremonies of the place, the large-limbed Saxon strode to the 
 upper end of the black marble hall. The ornament of the portal here was 
 a small altar, like those in the temples of the heathen deities, which pro¬ 
 jected above the centre of the arch. On this altar smoked incense of some 
 sort, the fumes of which rose curling in a thin cloud to the roof, and thence 
 extending through the hall, enveloped in its column of smoke a singular 
 emblem, of which the Varangian could make nothing. It was the repre¬ 
 sentation of two human arms and hands, seeming to issue from the wall, 
 having the palms extended and open, as about to confer some boon on those 
 who approached the altar. These arms were formed of bronze, and being 
 placed farther back than the altar with its incense, were seen through the 
 curling smoke by lamps so disposed as to illuminate the whole archway. 
 “ The meaning of this,^^ thought the simple barbarian, “ I should well know 
 how to explain, were these fists clenched, and were the hall dedicated to 
 the pancration, which we call boxing; but as even these helpless Greeks 
 use not their hands without their fingers being closed, by St. George I can 
 make out nothing of their meaning.^^ 
 
 At this instant Achilles entered the black marble hall at the same door 
 by which he had left it, and came up to his neophyte, as the Varangian 
 might be termed. 
 
 “ Come with me now, Hereward, for here approaches the thick of the 
 onset. Now, display the utmost courage that thou canst summon up, for 
 believe me thy credit and name also depend on it.'’ 
 
 “ Fear nothing for either," said Hereward, “ if the heart or hand of one 
 man can bear him through the adventure by the help of a toy like this." 
 
 “ Keep thy voice low and submissive, I have told thee a score of times," 
 said the leader, “ and lower thine axe, which, as I bethink me, thou hadst 
 better leave in the outer apartment." 
 
 “With your leave, noble captain," replied Hereward, “I am unwilling 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 41 
 
 to lay aside my bread-winner. I am one of those awkward clowns who 
 cannot behave seemly unless I have something to occupy my hands, and 
 my faithful battle-axe comes most natural to me.’’ 
 
 “ Keep it then ; but remember thou dash it not about according to thy 
 custom, nor bellow, nor shout, nor cry as in a battle-field; think of the 
 sacred character of the place, which exaggerates riot into blasphemy, and 
 remember the persons whom thou mayst chance to see, an offence to some 
 of whom, it may be, ranks in the same sense with blasphemy against Heaven 
 itself.” 
 
 This lecture carried the tutor and the pupil so far as to the side-door, and 
 thence inducted them into a species of anteroom, from which Achilles led 
 his Varangian forward, until a pair of folding-doors, opening into what 
 proved to be a principal apartment of the palace, exhibited to the rough- 
 hewn native of the north a sight equally new and surprising. 
 
 It was an apartment of the palace of the Blaquernal, dedicated to the 
 special service of the beloved daughter of the Emperor Alexius, the Princess 
 Anna Comnena, known to our times by her literary talents, which record 
 the history of her father’s reign. She was seated, the queen and sovereign 
 of a literary circle, such as an imperial Princess, porphyrogenita, or born 
 in the sacred purple chamber itself, could assemble in those days, and a 
 glance around will enable us to form an idea of her guests or companions. 
 
 The literary Princess herself had the bright eyes, straight features, and 
 comely and pleasing manners, which all would have allowed to the Emperor’s 
 daughter, even if she could not have been, with severe truth, said to have 
 possessed them. She was placed upon a small bench, or sofa, the fair sex 
 here not being permitted to recline, as was the fashion of the Roman ladies. 
 A table before her was loaded with books, plants, herbs, and drawings. 
 She sat on a slight elevation, and those who enjoyed the intimacy of the 
 Princess, or to whom she wished to speak in particular, were allowed, 
 during such sublime colloquy, to rest their knees on the little dais, or ele¬ 
 vated place where her chair found its station, in a posture half standing, 
 half kneeling. Three other seats, of diff'erent heights, were placed on the 
 dais, and under the sqme canopy of state which overshadowed that of the 
 Princess Anna. 
 
 The first, which strictly resembled her own chair in size and convenience, 
 was one designed for her husband, Nicephorus Briennius. lie was said to 
 entertain or affect the greatest respect for his wife’s erudition, though the 
 courtiers were of opinion he would have liked to absent himself from 
 her evening parties more frequently than was particularly agreeable to the 
 Princess Anna and her imperial parents. This was partly explained by the 
 private tattle of the court, which averred, that the Princess Anna Comnena 
 had been more beautiful when she was less learned; and that, though still 
 a fine woman, she had somewhat lost the charms of her person as she became 
 enriched in her mind. 
 
 To atone for the lowly fashion of the seat of Nicephorus Briennius, it 
 was placed as near to his princess as it could possibly be edged by the ushers, 
 so that she might not lose one look of her handsome spouse, nor he the 
 least particle of wisdom which might drop from the lips of his erudite 
 consort. 
 
 Two other seats of honour, or rather thrones,—for they had footstools 
 placed for the support of the feet, rests for the arms, and embroidered pil¬ 
 lows for the comfort of the back, not to mention the glories of the outspread¬ 
 ing canopy, were destined for the imperial couple, who frequently attended 
 their daughter’s studies, which she prosecuted in public in the way we have 
 intimated. On such occasions, the Empress Irene enjoyed the triumph^ 
 peculiar to the mother of an accomplished daughter, while Alexius, as it 
 might happen, sometimes listened with complacence to the rehearsal of his 
 own exploits in the inflated language of the Wincess, and sometimes mildly 
 
42 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 nodded over her dialogues upon the mysteries of philosophy, with the Patri¬ 
 arch Zosimus, and other sages. 
 
 All these four distinguished seats for the persons of the Imperial family, 
 were occupied at the moment which we have described, excepting that whi(‘.h 
 ought to have been filled by Nicephorus Briennius, the husband of the fair 
 Anna Comnena. To his negligence and absence was perhaps owing the 
 angry spot on the brow of his fair bride. Beside her on the platform were 
 two white-robed nymphs of her household ; female slaves, in a word, who 
 reposed themselves on their knees on cushions, when their assistance was 
 not wanted as a species of living book-desks, to support and extend the 
 parchment rolls, in which the Princess recorded her own wisdom, or from 
 which she quoted that of others. One of these young maidens, called 
 Astarte, was so distinguished as a calligrapher, or beautiful writer of various 
 alphabets and languages, that she narrowly escaped being sent as a present 
 to the Caliph, (who could neither read nor write,) at a time when it "was 
 necessary to bribe him into peace. Violante, usually called the Muse, the 
 other attendant of the Princess, a mistress of the vocal and instrumental 
 art of music, was actually sent in a compliment to soothe the temper of 
 Robert Guiscard, the Archduke of Apulia, who being aged and stone-deaf, 
 and the girl under ten years old at the time, returned the valued present to 
 the imperial donor, and, with the selfishness which was one of that wily 
 Norman’s characteristics, desired to have some one sent him who could con¬ 
 tribute to his pleasure, instead of a twangling squalling infant. 
 
 Beneath these elevated seats there sat, or reposed on the floor of the hall, 
 such favourites as were admitted. The Patriarch Zosimus, and one or two 
 old men, were permitted the use of certain lowly stools, which were the only 
 seats prepared for the learned members of the Princess’s evening parties, 
 as they would have been called in our days. As for fhe younger magnates, 
 the honour of being permitted to join the imperial conversation was expected 
 to render them far superior to the paltry accommodation of a joint-stool. 
 Five or six courtiers, of different dress and ages, might compose the party, 
 who either stood, or relieved their posture by kneeling, along the verge of 
 an adorned fountain, which shed a mist of such very small rain as to dispel 
 almost insensibly, cooling the fragrant breeze which breathed from the 
 flowers and shrubs, that were so disposed as to send a waste of sweets 
 around. One goodly old man, named Michael Agelastes, big, burly, and 
 dressed like an ancient Cynic philosopher, was distinguished by assuming, 
 in a great measure, the ragged garb and mad bearing of that sect, and by 
 his inflexible practice of the strictest ceremonies exigible by the Imperial 
 family. He was known by an affectation of cynical principle and lan¬ 
 guage, and of republican philosophy, strangely contradicted by his prac¬ 
 tical deference to the great. It was wonderful how long this man, now 
 sixty years old and upwards, disdained to avail himself of the accustomed 
 privilege of leaning, or supporting his limbs, and with what regularity he 
 maintained either the standing posture or that of absolute kneeling; but 
 the first was so much his usual attitude, that he acquired among his court 
 friends the name of Elephas, or the Elephant, because the ancients had an 
 idea that the half-reasoning animal, as it is called, has joints incapable of 
 kneeling down. 
 
 “Yet I have seen them kneel when I was in the country of the Gymno- 
 sophists,” said a person present on the evening of Hereward’s intro¬ 
 duction. •• 
 
 “ To take up their master on their shoulders ? so will ours,” said the 
 Patriarch Zosimus, with the slight sneer which was the nearest advance to 
 a sarcasm tha,t the etiquette of the Greek court permitted; for on all ordi¬ 
 nary occasions, it w'ould not have offended the Presence more surely, lite¬ 
 rally, to have drawn a poniard, than to exchange a repartee in the impe¬ 
 rial on do. Even the sarcasm, suqli as it was, would have been thought 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 43 
 
 censurable by that ceremonious.court in any but the Patriarch, to whose 
 high rank some license was allowed. 
 
 dust as he had thus far offended decorum, Achilles Tatius, and his soldier 
 Ilereward, entered the apartment. The former bore him with even more 
 than his usual degree of courtliness, as if to set his own good-breeding off 
 by a comparison with the inexpert bearing of his follower; while, never¬ 
 theless, he had a secret pride in exhibiting, as one under his own immediate 
 and distinct command, a man whom he was accustomed to consider as one 
 of the finest soldiers of the army of Alexius, whether appearance or reality 
 w’ere to be considered. 
 
 Some astonishment followed the abrupt entrance of the new comers. 
 Achilles indeed glided into the presence with the easy and quiet extremity 
 of respect wdiich intimated his habitude in these regions. But Ilereward 
 started on his entrance, and perceiving himself in company of the court, 
 hastily strove to remedy his disorder. Ilis commander, throwing round a 
 scarce visible shrug of apology, made then a confidential and monitory sign 
 to llerew’ard to mind his conduct. What he meant was, that he should 
 doff his helmet and fall prostrate on the ground. But the Anglo-Saxon, 
 unaccustomed to interpret obscure inferences, naturally thought of his mili¬ 
 tary duties, and advanced in front of the Emperor, as when he rendered his 
 military homage. lie made reverence with his knee, half touched his cap, 
 and then recovering and shouldering his axe, stood in advance of the impe¬ 
 rial chair, as if on duty as a sentinel. 
 
 A gentle smile of surprise went round the circle as they gazed on the 
 manly appearance, and somewhat unceremonious but martial deportment 
 of the northern soldier. The various spectators around consulted the Empe¬ 
 ror’s face, not knowing whether they were to take the intrusive manner of 
 the Varangian’s entrance as matter of ill-breeding, and manifest their 
 horror, or whether they ought rather to consider the bearing of the life- 
 guardsman as indicating blunt and manly zeal, and therefore to be received 
 with applause. 
 
 It w^as some little time ere the Emperor recovered himself sufficiently to 
 strike a key-note, as was usual upon such occasions. Alexius Comnenus 
 had been wrapt for a moment Into some species of slumber, or at least 
 absence of mind. Out of this he had been startled by the sudden appear¬ 
 ance of the V arangian; for though he was accustomed to commit the outer 
 guards of the palace to this trusty corps, yet the deformed blacks w'hom w^e 
 have mentioned, and who sometimes rose to be ministers of state and com¬ 
 manders of armies, were, on all ordinary occasions, intrusted with the guard 
 of the interior of the palace. Alexius, therefore, awakened from his slumber, 
 and the military phrase of his daughter still ringing in his ears as she was 
 reading a description of the great historical work, in which she had detailed 
 the conflicts of his reign, felt somewhat unprepared for the entrance and 
 military deportment of one of the Saxon guard, with whom he was accus¬ 
 tomed to associate, in general, scenes of blows, danger, and death. 
 
 After a troubled glance around, his look rested on Achilles Tatius. “Why 
 here,” he said, “trusty Follower? why this soldier here at this time of 
 night?” Here, of course, was the moment for modelling the visages regis 
 ad exemplum; but, ere the Patriarch could frame his countenance into 
 devout apprehension of danger, Achilles Tatius had spoken a word or two, 
 which reminded Alexius’ memory that the soldier had beeti brought there 
 by his own special orders. “ Oh, ay! true, good fellow,” said he, smooth¬ 
 ing his troubled brow; “ we had forgot that passage among the cares of 
 state.” lie then spoke to the Varangian with a countenance more frank, 
 and a heartier accent than he used to his courtiers; for, to a despotic 
 monarch, a faithful life-guardsman is a person of confidence, while an 
 officer of high rank is always in some degree a subject of distrust. “ Ila!” 
 said he, “ our worthy Anglo-I)ane, how fares he ?” — This unceremonious 
 
44 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 salutation surprised all but him to whom it was addressed. Hereward an¬ 
 swered, accompanying his words with a military obeisance which partook 
 of heartiness rather than reverence, with a loud unsubdued voice, which 
 startled the presence still more that the language was Saxon, which these 
 foreigners occasionally used, “ JVaes liael Kaisar mirrig und maehtighl ”— 
 that is. Be of good health, stout and mighty Emperor. The Emperor, with 
 a smile of intelligence, to show he could speak to his guards in their own 
 foreign language, replied, by the well-known counter-signal — “ Drink 
 hael!” 
 
 Immediately a page brought a silver goblet of wine. The Emperor put 
 his lips to it, though he scarce tasted the liquor, then commanded it to be 
 handed to Hereward, and bade the soldier drink. The Saxon did not wait 
 till he was desired a second time, but took off the contents without hesita¬ 
 tion. A gentle smile, decorous as the presence required, passed over the 
 assembly, at a feat which, though by no means wonderful in a hyperborean, 
 seemed prodigious in the estimation of the moderate Greeks. Alexius him¬ 
 self laughed more loudly than his courtiers thought might be becoming on 
 their part, and mustering what few words of Varangian he possessed, which 
 he eked out with Greek, demanded of his life-guardsman—“Well, my bold 
 Briton, or Edward, as men call thee, dost thou know the flavour of that 
 wine V’ 
 
 “Yes,’’ answered the Varangian, without change of countenance, “I 
 tasted it once before at Laodicea”- 
 
 Here his officer, Achilles Tatius, became sensible that his soldier ap¬ 
 proached delicate ground, and in vain endeavoured to gain his attention, m 
 order that he might furtively convey to him a hint to be silent, or at least 
 take heed what he said in such a presence. But the soldier, who, with 
 proper military observance, continued to have his eye and attention fixed on 
 the Emperor, as the prince whom he was bound to answer or to serve, saw 
 none of the hints, which Achilles at length suffered to become so broad, 
 that Zosimus and the Protospathaire exchanged expressive glances, as call¬ 
 ing on each other to notice the by-play of the leader of the Varangians. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the dialogue between the Emperor and his soldier con¬ 
 tinued:—“How,” said Alexius, “did this draught relish compared with the 
 former?” 
 
 “ There is fairer company here, my liege, than that of the Arabian 
 archers,” answered Hereward, with a look and bow of instinctive good- 
 breeding ; “ Nevertheless, there lacks the flavour which the heat of the 
 sun, the dust of the combat, with the fatigue of wielding such a weapon as 
 this” (advancing his axe) “ for eight hours together, give to a cup of rare 
 wine.” 
 
 “ Another deficiency there might be,” said Agelastes the Elephant, “pro¬ 
 vided I am pardoned hinting at it,” he added, with a look to the throne,— 
 “ it might be the smaller size of the cup compared with that at Laodicea.” 
 
 “ By Taranis, you say true,” answered the life-guardsman ; “ at Laodicea 
 I used my helmet.” 
 
 “ Let us see the cups compared together, good friend,” said Agelastes, 
 continuing his raillery, “ that we may be sure thou hast not swallowed the 
 present goblet; for I thought, from the manner of the draught, there was a 
 chance of its going down with its contents.” 
 
 “ There are some things which I do not easily swallow,” answered the 
 Varangian, in a calm and indifierent tone; “but they must come from a 
 younger and more active man than you.” 
 
 The company again smiled to each other, as if to hint that the philoso¬ 
 pher, though also parcel wit by profession, had the worst of the encounter. 
 
 The Emporor at the same time interfered — “ Nor did I send for thee 
 hither, good fellow, to be baited by idle taunts.” 
 
 Here Agelastes shrunk back in ,the circle, as a hound that has been re- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 45 
 
 ljuked by the huntsman for babbling — and the Princess Anna Comnena, • 
 who had indicated by her fair features a certain degree of impatience, at 
 length spoke — “ Will it then please you, my imperial and much-beloved 
 father, to inform those blessed with admission to the Muses’ temple, for 
 what it is that you have ordered this soldier to be this night admitted to a 
 place so far above his rank in life? Permit me to say, we ought not to 
 waste, in frivolous and silly jests, the time which is sacred to the welfare 
 of the empire, as every moment of your leisure must be.” 
 
 “Our daughter speaks wisely,” said the Empress Irene, who, like most 
 mothers who do not possess much talent themselves, and are not very capable 
 of estimating it in others, was, nevertheless, a great admirer of her favourite 
 daughter’s accomplishments, and ready to draw them out on all occasions. 
 
 “ Permit me to remark, that in this divine and selected palace of the Muses, 
 dedicated to the studies of our well-beloved and highly-gifted daughter, 
 whoso pen will preserve your reputation, our most imperial husband, till 
 the desolation of the universe, and which enlivens and delights this society, 
 the very flower of the wits of our sublime court; — permit me to say, that 
 we have, merely by admitting a single life-guardsman, given our conversa¬ 
 tion the character of that which distinguishes a barrack.” 
 
 Now the Emperor Alexius Comnenus had the same feeling with many 
 an honest man in ordinary life when his wife begins a long oration, 
 especially as the Empress Irene did not always retain the observance con¬ 
 sistent with his awful rule and right supremacy, although especially severe 
 in exacting it from all others, in reference to her lord. Therefore, though 
 he had felt some pleasure in gaining a short release from the monotonous 
 recitation of the Princess’s history, he now saw the necessity of resuming 
 it, or of listening to the matrimonial eloquence of the Empress, lie 
 sighed, therefore, as he said, VI crave your pardon, good our imperial 
 spouse, and our daughter born in the purple chamber. I remember me, 
 our most amiable and accomplished daughter, that last night you wished to 
 know the particulars of the battle of Laodicea, with the heathenish Arabs, 
 whom Heaven confound. And for certain considerations which moved our¬ 
 selves to add other enquiries to our own recollection, Achilles Tatius, our 
 most'trusty Follower, was commissioned to introduce into this place one of 
 t-liose soldiers under his command, being such a one whose courage and 
 presence of mind could best enable him to remark what passed around him 
 on that remarkable and bloody day. And this I suppose to be the man 
 brought to us for that purpose.” 
 
 “If 1 am permitted to speak, and live,” answered the Follower, “your 
 Imperial Highness, with those divine Princesses, whose name is to us as 
 those of blessed saints, have in your presence the flower of my Anglo- 
 Danes, or whatsoever unbaptized name is given to my soldiers. He is, as I 
 may say, a barbarian of barbarians; for, although in birth and breeding 
 unfit to soil with his feet the carpet of this precinct of accomplishment and 
 eloquence, he is so brave—so trusty—so devotedly attached—and so unhesi¬ 
 tatingly zealous, that”- 
 
 “ Enough, good Follower,” said the Emperor; “ let us only know that 
 he is cool and observant, not confused and fluttered during close battle, as 
 we have sometimes observed in you and other great commanders — and, to 
 speak truth, have even felt in our imperial self on extraordinary occasions. 
 Which difference in man’s constitution is not owing to any inferiority of 
 courage, but, in us, to a certain consciousness of the importance of our own 
 safety to the welfare of the whole, and to a feeling of the number of duties 
 which at once devolve on us. Speak then, and speak quickly, Tatius ; for 
 I discern that our dearest consort, and our thrice fortunate daughter born 
 in the imperial chamber of purple, seem to wax somewhat impatient.” 
 
 “ Hereward,” answered Tatius, “ is as composed and observant in battle, 
 as another in a festive dance. The dust of war is the breath of his nostrils ; 
 
46 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 and he will prove his worth in combat against any four others, (Varangians 
 excepted,) who shall term themselves your Imperial Highness’s bravest 
 servants.” 
 
 “Follower,” said the Emperor, with a displeased look and tone, “instead 
 of instructing these poor, ignorant barbarians in the rules and civilization 
 of our enlightened empire, you foster, by such boastful words, the idle 
 pride and fury of their temper, which hurries them into brawls with the 
 legions of other foreign countries, and even breeds quarrels among them¬ 
 selves.” 
 
 “ If my mouth may be opened in the way of most humble excuse,” said 
 the Follower, “ I would presume to reply, that I but an hour hence talked 
 with this poor ignorant Anglo-Dane, on the paternal care with which the 
 Imperial Majesty of Greece regards the preservation of that concord which 
 unites the followers of his standard, and how desirous he is to promote that 
 harmony, more especially amongst the various nations who have the happi¬ 
 ness to serve you, in spite of the bloodthirsty quarrels of the Franks, and 
 other northern men, who are never free from civil broil. I think the poor 
 youth’s understanding can bear witness to this much in my behalf.” He 
 then looked towards Ilereward, who gravely inclined his head in token of 
 assent to M^hat his captain said. His excuse thus ratified, Achilles pro¬ 
 ceeded in his apology more firmly. “ What I have said even now was 
 spoken without consideration ; for, instead of pretending that this Ilere¬ 
 ward would face four of your Imperial Highness’s servants, I ought to have 
 said, that he was willing to defy six of your Imperial Majesty’s most deadly 
 enemies, and permit them to choose every circumstance of time, arms, and 
 place of combat.” 
 
 “ That hath a better sound,” said the Emperor; “ and in truth, for the 
 information of my dearest daughter, who piously has undertaken to record 
 the things which I have been the blessed means of doing for the Empire, I 
 earnestly wish that she should remember, that though the sword of Alexius 
 hath not slept in its sheath, yet he hath never sought his own aggrandize¬ 
 ment of fame at the price of bloodshed among his subjects.” 
 
 “I trust,” said Anna Comnena, “that in my humble sketch of the life 
 of the princely sire from whom I derive my existence, I have not forgot to 
 notice his love of peace, and care for the lives of his soldiery, and abhor¬ 
 rence of the bloody manners of the heretic Franks, as one of his most dis¬ 
 tinguishing characteristics.” 
 
 Assuming then an attitude more commanding, as one who was about to 
 claim the attention of the company, the Princess inclined her head gently 
 around to the audience, and taking a roll of parchment from the fair 
 amanuensis, which she had, in a most beautiful handwriting, engrossed to 
 her mistress’s dictation, Anna Comnena prepared to read its contents. 
 
 At this moment, the eyes of the Princess rested for an instant on the 
 barbarian Ilereward, to whom she deigned this greeting—“Valiant bar¬ 
 barian, of whom my fancy recalls some memory, as if in a dream, thou 
 art now to hear a work, which, if the author be put into comparison with 
 the subject, might be likened to a portrait of Alexander, in executing 
 which, some inferior dauber has usurped the pencil of Apelles ; but which 
 essay, however it may appear unworthy of the subject in the eyes of many, 
 must yet command some envy in those who candidly consider its contents, 
 and the difficulty of portraying the great personage concerning whom it is 
 written. Still, I pray thee, give thine attention to what I have now to 
 read, since this account of the battle of Laodicea, the details thereof being 
 principally derived from his Imperial Highness, my excellent father, from 
 the altogether valiant Protospathaire, his invincible general, together with 
 Achilles Tatius, the faithful Follower of our victorious Emperor, may 
 nevertheless be in some circumstances inaccurate. For it is to be thought, 
 that the high offices of those greal: commanders retained them at a distance 
 
COUNT K 0 B E K T OF PARIS. 
 
 47 
 
 from some particularly active parts of the fray, in order that they might 
 have more cool and accurate opportunity to form a judgment upon the 
 whole, and transmit their orders, without being disturbed by any thoughts 
 of personal safety. Even so, brave barbarian, in the art of embroidery, 
 (marvel not that we are a proficient in that mechanical process, since it is 
 patronized by Minerva, whose studies we affect to follow,) we reserve to 
 ourselves the superintendence of the entire web, and commit to our maidens 
 and others the execution of particular parts. Thus, in the same manner, 
 thou, valiant Varangian, being engaged in the very thickest of the affray 
 before Laodicea, mayst point out to us, the unworthy historian of so re¬ 
 nowned a war, those chances which befell where men fought hand to hand, 
 and where the fate of war was decided by the edge of the sword. There¬ 
 fore, dread not, thou bravest of the axe-men to whom we owe that victory, 
 and so many others, to correct any mistake or misapprehension which we 
 may have been led into concerning the details of that glorious event.’^ 
 
 “Madam,’’ said the Varangian, “I shall attend with diligence to what 
 your Highness may be pleased to read to me; although, as to presuming to 
 blame the history of a Princess born in the purple, far be such a presump¬ 
 tion from me; still less would it become a barbaric Varangian to pass a 
 judgment on the military conduct of the Emperor, by whom he is liberally 
 paid, or of the commander, by whom he is well treated. Before an action, 
 if our advice is required, it is ever faithfully tendered ; hut according to 
 my rough wit, our censure after the field is fought would be more invidious 
 than useful. Touching the Protospathaire, if it be the duty of a general to 
 absent himself from close action, I can safely say, or swear, were it neces¬ 
 sary, that the invincible commander was never seen by me within a javelin’s 
 cast of aught that looked like danger.” 
 
 This speech, boldly and bluntly delivered, had a general effect on the 
 company present. The Emperor himself, and Achilles Tatius, looked like 
 men who had got off from a danger better than they expected. The Pro¬ 
 tospathaire laboured to conceal a movement of resentment. Agelastes 
 whispered to the Patriarch, near M-hom he was placed, “ The northern 
 battle-axe lacks neither point nor edge.” 
 
 “ Hush!” said Zosimus, “let us hear how this is to end; the Princess is 
 about to speak.” 
 
 ■ Cjiajittr tljj /Durtli. 
 
 We heard the Tecbir, so these Arabs call 
 Their shout of onset, when with loud acclaim 
 They challenged Heaven, as if deniaiuling conquest. 
 
 The battle join’d, and through the barb’rous herd, 
 
 Fight, fight! and Paradise was all their cry. 
 
 The Siege of Damascus. 
 
 The voice of the northern soldier, although modified by feelings of respect' 
 to the Emperor, and even attachment to his captain, had more of a tone of 
 blunt sincerity, nevertheless, than was usually heard by the sacred echoes 
 of the imperial palace ; and though the Princess Anna Comnena began to 
 think that she had invoked the opinion of a severe judge, she was sensible, 
 at the same time, by the deference of his manner, that his respect was of a 
 character more real, and his applause, should she gain it, would prove more 
 truly flattering, than the gilded assent of the whole court of her father. 
 She gazed with some surprise and attention on Ilereward, already descrilied 
 as a very handsome young man, and felt the natural desire to please, whicli 
 
48 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 is easily created in the mind towards a fine person of the other sex. His 
 attitude was easy and bold, but neither clownish nor uncourtly. His title 
 of a barbarian, placed him at once free from the forms of civilized life, and 
 the rules of artificial politeness. But his character for valour, and the noble 
 self-confidence of his bearing, gave him a deeper interest than would have 
 been acquired by a more studied and anxious address, or an excess of reve¬ 
 rential awe. 
 
 In short, the Princess Anna Comnena, high in rank as she was, and born 
 in the imperial purple, which she herself deemed the first of all attributes, 
 felt herself, nevertheless, in preparing to resume the recitation of her history, 
 more anxious to obtain the approbation of this rude soldier, than that of 
 all the rest of the courteous audience. She knew them well, it is true, and 
 felt nowise solicitous about the applause which the daughter of the Emperor 
 was sure to receive with full hands from those of the Grecian court to whom 
 she might choose to communicate the productions of her father’s daughter. 
 But she had now a judge of a new character, whose applause, if bestowed, 
 must have something in it intrinsically real, since it could only be obtained 
 by affecting his head or his heart. 
 
 It was perhaps under the influence of these feelings, that the Princess 
 was somewhat longer than usual in finding out the passage in the roll of 
 history at which she purposed to commence. It was also noticed, that she 
 began her recitation with a dif&dence and embarrassment surprising to the 
 noble hearers, who had often seen her in full possession of her presence of 
 mind before what they conceived a more distinguished, and even more criti¬ 
 cal audience. 
 
 Neither were the circumstances of the Varangian such as rendered the 
 scene indifferent to him. Anna Comnena had indeed attained her fifth 
 lustre, and that is a period after which Grecian beauty is understood to com¬ 
 mence its decline. How long she had passed that critical period, was a 
 secret to all but the trusted ward-women of the purple chamber. Enough, 
 that it was afiirmed by the popular tongue, and seemed to be attested by 
 that bent towards philosophy and literature, which is not supposed to be 
 congenial to beauty in its earlier buds, to amount to one or two years more. 
 She might be seven-and-twenty. 
 
 Still Anna Comnena was, or had very lately been, a beauty of the very 
 first rank, and must be supposed to have still retained charms to captivate 
 a barbarian of the north; if, indeed, he himself was not careful to maintain 
 an heedful recollection of the immeasurable distance between them. Indeed, 
 even this recollection might hardly have saved Hereward from the charms 
 of this enchantress, bold, free-born, and fearless as he was; for, during that 
 time of strange revolutions, there were many instances of successful gene¬ 
 rals sharing the couch of imperial princesses, whom perhaps they had them¬ 
 selves rendered widows, in order to make way for their own pretensions. 
 But, besides the influence of other recollections, which the reader may learn 
 hereafter, Hereward, though flattered by the unusual degree of attention 
 which the Princess bestowed upon him, saw in her only the daughter of his 
 Emperor and adopted liege lord, and the wife of a noble prince, whom reason 
 and duty alike forbade him to think of in any other light. 
 
 It was after one or two preliminary efforts that tho Princess Anna began 
 her reading, with an uncertain voice, which gained strength and fortitude 
 as she proceeded with the following passage from a well-known part of her 
 history of Alexius Comnenus, but which unfortunately has not been repub¬ 
 lished in the Byzantine historians. The narrative cannot, therefore, be 
 otherwise than acceptable to the antiquarian reader; and the author hopes 
 to receive the thanks of the learned world for the recovery of a curious frag¬ 
 ment, which, without his exertions, must probably have passed to the gulf 
 of total oblivion. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 VJ 
 
 5rt)c 3Evettcat of Haotifcra. 
 
 NOW FIRST PUBLISHED FROM THE GREEK OP THE PRINCESS COMNENA’s HISTORY 
 
 OF HER FATHER. 
 
 “ Tue sun had betaken himself to his bed in the ocean, ashamed, it would 
 seem, to see the immortal army of our most sacred Emperor Alexius sur¬ 
 rounded by those barbarous hordes of unbelieving barbarians, who, as 
 described in our last chapter, had occupied the various passes both in front 
 and rear of the Romans,* secured during the preceding night by the wily 
 barbarians. Although, therefore, a triumphant course of advance had 
 brought us to this point, it now became a serious and doubtful question 
 whether our victorious eagles might be able to penetrate any farther into 
 the country of the enemy, or even to retreat with safety into their own. 
 
 “The extensive acquaintance of the Emperor with military affairs, in 
 which he exceeds most living princes, had induced him, on the preceding 
 evening, to ascertain, with marvellous exactitude and foresight, the precise 
 
 f ) 08 ition of the enemy. In this most necessary service he employed certain 
 ight-armed barbarians, whose habits and discipline had been originally 
 derived from the wilds of Syria; and, if I am required to speak according 
 to the dictation of Truth, seeing she ought always to sit upon the pen of a 
 historian, I must needs say they were infidels like their enemies; faithfully 
 attached, however, to the Roman service, and, as I believe, true slaves of 
 the Emperor, to whom they communicated the information required by him 
 respecting the position of his dreaded opponent Jezdegerd. These men did 
 not bring in their information till long after the hour when the Emperor 
 usually betook himself to rest. 
 
 “ Notwithstanding this derangement of his most sacred time, our impe¬ 
 rial father, who had postponed the ceremony of disrobing, so important 
 were the necessities of the moment, continued, until deep in the night, to 
 hold a council of his wisest chiefs, men whose depth of judgment might 
 have saved a sinking world, and who now consulted what was to be done 
 under the pressure of the circumstances in which they were now placed. 
 And so great was the urgency, that all ordinary observances of the house¬ 
 hold were set aside, since I have heard from those who witnessed the fact, 
 that the royal bed was displayed in the very room where the council assem¬ 
 bled, and that the sacred lamp, called the Light of the Council, and which 
 always burns when the Emperor presides in person over the deliberations 
 of his servants, was for that night — a thing unknown in our annals — fed 
 with unperfumed oil! 
 
 The fair speaker here threw her fine form into an attitude which expressed 
 holy horror, and the hearers intimated their sympathy in the exciting cause 
 by corresponding signs of interest; as to which we need only say, that the 
 sigh of Achilles Tatius was the most pathetic ; while the groan of Agelastes 
 the Elephant was deepest and most tremendously bestial in its sound. Ilere- 
 ward seemed little moved, except by a slight motion of surprise at the 
 wonder expressed by the others. The Princess, having allowed due time 
 for the sympathy of her hearers to exhibit itself, proceeded as follows:— 
 
 “ In this melancholy situation, when even the best-established and most 
 sacred rites of the imperial household gave way to the necessity of a hasty 
 provision for the morrow, th,e opinions of the counsellors were different, 
 according to their tempers and habits; a thing, by the way, which may be 
 remarked as likely to happen among the best and wisest on such occasions 
 of doubt and danger. 
 
 “ I do not in this place put down the names and opinions of those whoso 
 counsels were proposed and rejected, herein paying respect to the secrecy 
 
 ♦ More properly termed the Greeks; but we follow the phraseology of the fair authoress. 
 
 VoL. XII. —4 .E 
 
50 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 and freedom of de1:)ate justly attached to the imperial cabinet. Enono:h it 
 is to say, that some there were who advised a speedy attack upon the enemy, 
 in the dii’ection of our original advance. Others thought it was safer, and 
 might be easier, to force our way to the rear, and retreat b}’’ the same course 
 which had brought us hither; nor must it be concealed, that there wore 
 persons of unsuspected fidelity, who proposed a third course, safer indeed 
 than the others, but totally alien to the mind of our most magnanimous 
 father. They recommended that a confidential slave, in company with a 
 minister of the interior of our imperial palace, should be sent to the tent of 
 Jezdegerd, in order to ascertain upon what terms the barbarian would 
 permit our triumphant father to retreat in safety at the head of his victo¬ 
 rious army. On learning such opinion, our imperial father was heard to 
 exclaim, ‘ Sancta Sophia!’^ being the nearest approach to an adjuration 
 which he has been known to permit himself, and was apparently about to 
 say something violent both concerning the dishonour of the advice, and the 
 cowardice of those by whom it was preferred, when, recollecting the muta¬ 
 bility of human things, and the misfortune of several of his Majesty’s 
 gracious predecessors, some of whom had been compelled to surrender their 
 sacred persons to the infidels in the same region, his Imperial Majesty re¬ 
 pressed his generous feelings, and only suffered his army counsellors to un¬ 
 derstand his sentiments by a speech, in which he declared so desperate and 
 so dishonourable a course would be the last which he would adopt, even in 
 the last extremity of danger. Thus did the judgment of this mighty Prince 
 at once reject counsel that seemed shameful to his arms, and thereby en¬ 
 courage the zeal of his troops, while privately he kept this postern in reserve, 
 which in utmost need might serve for a safe, though not altogether, in less 
 urgent circumstances, an honourable retreat. 
 
 “ AVhen the discussion had reached this melancholy crisis, the renowned 
 Achilles Tatius arrived with the hopeful intelligence, that he himself and 
 some soldiers of his corps had discovered an opening on the left flank of our 
 present encampment, by which, making indeed a considerable circuit, but 
 reaching, if we marched with vigour, the town of Laodicea, we might, by 
 falling back on our resources, be in some measure in surety from the enemy. 
 
 “ So soon as this ray of hope darted on the troubled mind of our gracious 
 father, he proceeded to make such arrangements as might secure the full 
 benefit of the advantage. Ilis Imperial Highness would not permit the 
 brave Varangians, whose battle-axes he accounted the flower of his imperial 
 army, to take the advanced posts of assailants on the present occasion. He 
 repressed the love of battle by which these generous foreigners have been 
 at all times distinguished, and directed that the Syrian forces in the army, 
 who have been before mentioned, should be assembled with as little noise as 
 possible in the vicinity of the deserted pass, with instructions to occupy it. 
 The good genius of the empire suggested that, as their speech, arms, and 
 appearance, resembled those of the enemy, they might be permitted unop¬ 
 posed to take post in the defile with their light-armed forces, and thus secure 
 it for the passage of the rest of the army, of which he proposed that the 
 Varangians, as immediately attached to his own sacred person, should form 
 the vanguard. The well-known battalions, termed the Immortals, camei 
 next, comprising the gross of the army, and forming the centre and rear. 
 Achilles Tatius, the faithful Follower of his Royal Master, although mortified 
 that he was not permitted to assume the charge of the rear, which he had 
 proposed for himself and his valiant troops, as the post of danger at the 
 time, cheerfully acquiesced, nevertheless, in^ the arrangement proposed by 
 the Emperor, as most fit to effect the imperial safety, and that of the army. 
 
 “ The imperial orders, as they were sent instantly abroad, were in like 
 manner executed with the readiest punctuality, the rather that they indi¬ 
 cated a course of safety which^,had been almost despaired of even by the 
 oldest soldiers. During the dead period of time, when, as the divine Homer 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 51 
 
 tells U8, gods and men are alike asleep, it was found that the vigilance and 
 prudence of a single individual had provided safety for the whole Roman 
 army. The pinnacles of the mountain passes were scarcely touched by the 
 earliest beams of the dawn, when these beams were also reflected from the 
 steel caps and spears of the Syrians, under the command of a captain named 
 Monastras, who, with his tribe, had attached himself to the empire. The 
 Emperor, at the head of his faithful Varangians, defiled through the passes in 
 order to gain that degree of advance on the road to the city of Laodicea 
 W’hicli w'as,desired, so as to avoid coming into collision wdth the barbarians. 
 
 “ It was a goodly sight to see the dark mass of northern warriors, who 
 now led the van of the army, moving slowly and steadily through the defiles 
 of the mountains, around the insulated rocks and precipices, and surmount¬ 
 ing the gentler acclivities, like the course of a strong and mighty river; 
 while the loose bands of archers and javelin-men, armed after the Eastern 
 manner, were dispersed on the steep sides of the defiles, and might be com¬ 
 pared to light foam upon the edge of the torrent. In the midst of the 
 squadrons of the life-guard might be seen the proud war-horse of his Im¬ 
 perial Majesty, which pawed tlie earth indignantly, as if impatient at the 
 delay which separated him from his august burden. The Emperor Alexius 
 himself travelled in a litter, borne by eight strong African slaves, that he 
 might rise perfectly refreshed if the army should be overtaken by the enemy. 
 The valiant Achilles Tatius rode near the couch of his master, that none 
 of those luminous ideas, by which our august sire so often decided the fate 
 of battle, might be lost for Avant of instant communication to those whoso 
 duty it w^as to execute them. I may also say, that there were close to the 
 litter of the Emperor, three or four carriages of the same kind; one pre¬ 
 pared for the Moon, as she may be termed, of the universe, the gracious 
 Empress Irene. Among the others which might be mentioned, was that 
 which contained the authoress of this history, unworthy as she may be of 
 distinction, save as the daughter of the eminent and sacred persons whom 
 the narration chiefly concerns. In this manner the imperial army pressed 
 on through the dangerous defiles, where their march was exposed to insults 
 from the barbarians. They were happily cleared without any opposition. 
 When we came to the descent of the pass which looks down on the city of 
 Laodicea, the sagacity of the Emperor commanded the van—which, though 
 the soldiers composing the same were heavily armed, had hitherto marched 
 extremely fast—to halt, as well that they themselves might take some repose 
 and refreshment, as to give the rearward forces time to come up, and close 
 various gaps which the rapid movement of those in front had occasioned in 
 the line of march. 
 
 “ The place chosen for this purpose was eminently beautiful, from the 
 small and comparatively insignificant ridge of hills which melt irregularly 
 down into the plains stretching between the pass which we occupied and 
 Laodicea. The town was about one hundred stadia distant, and some of 
 our more sanguine warriors pretended that they could already discern ibs 
 towers and pinnacles, glittering in the early beams of the sun, which had 
 not as yet risen high into the horizon. A mountain torrent, which found its 
 source at the foot of a huge rock, that yawned to give it birth, as if struck 
 by the rod of the prophet Moses, poured its liquid treasure down to the 
 more level country, nourishing herbage and even large trees, in its descent, 
 until, at the distance of some four or five miles, the stream, at least in dry 
 seasons, was lost amid heaps of sand and stones, which in the rainy season 
 marked the strength and fury of its current. 
 
 “ It was pleasant to see the attention of the Emperor to the comforts of 
 the companions and guardians of his march. The trumpets from time to 
 time gave license to various parties of the Varangians to lay down their 
 arms, to eat the food which was distributed to them, and quench their thirst 
 at the pure stream, which poured its bounties down the hill, or they might 
 
52 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 bo seen to extend their bulky forms upon the turf around them. The Em¬ 
 peror, his most serene spouse, and the princesses and ladies, were also served 
 with breakfast, at the fountain formed by the small brook in its very birth, 
 and which the reverent feelings of the soldiers had left unpolluted by vulgar 
 touch, for the use of that family, emphatically said to be born in the purple. 
 Our beloved husband was also present on this occasion, and was among the 
 first to detect one of the disasters of the day. For, although all the rest of 
 the repast had been, by the dexterity of the officers of the imperial mouth, 
 so arranged, even on so awful an occasion, as to exhibit little difference 
 from the ordinary provisions of the household, yet, when his Imperial High¬ 
 ness called for wine, behold, not only was the sacred liquor, dedicated to bis 
 own peculiar imperial use, wholly exhausted or left behind, but, to use the 
 language of Horace, not the vilest Sabine vintage could be procured; so 
 that his Imperial Highness was glad to accept the offer of a rude Varangian, 
 who proffered his modicum of decocted barley, which these barbarians 
 prefer to the juice of the grape. The Emperor, nevertheless, accepted of 
 this coarse tribute.^^ 
 
 “ Insert,'’ said the Emperor, who had been hitherto either plunged in deep 
 contemplation or in an incipient slumber, “ insert, I say, these very words: 
 
 ‘ And with the heat of the morning, and anxiety of so rapid a march, with 
 a numerous enemy in his rear, the Emperor was so thirsty, as never in his 
 life to think beverage more delicious." 
 
 In obedience to ber imperial father's orders, the Princess resigned the 
 manuscript to the beautiful slave by whom it was written, repeating to the 
 fair scribe the commanded addition, requiring her to note it, as made by 
 the express sacred command of the Emperor, and then proceeded thus : — 
 “ More had I said here respecting the favourite liquor of your Imperial 
 Highness's faithful Varangians; but your Highness having once graced it 
 with a word of commendation, this ail, as they call it, doubtless because 
 removing all disorders, which they term ‘ ailments,' becomes a theme too 
 lofty for the discussion of any inferior person. Suffice it to say, that thus 
 were we all pleasantly engaged, the ladies and slaves trying to find some 
 amusement for the imperial ears; the soldiers, in a long line down the 
 ravine, seen in different postures, some straggling to the watercourse, some 
 keeping guard over the arms of their comrades, in which duty they relieved 
 each other, while body after body of the remaining troops, under command 
 of the Protospathaire, and particularly those called Immortals,* joined the 
 main army as they came up. Those soldiers who were already exhausted, 
 were allowed to take a short repose, after which they were sent forward, 
 with directions to advance steadily on the road to Laodicea; while their 
 leader was instructed, so soon as he should open a free communication with 
 that city, to send thither a command for reinforcements and refreshments, 
 not forgetting fitting provision of the sacred wine for the imperial mouth. 
 Accordingly, the Roman bands of Immortals and others had resumed their 
 march, and held some way on their journey, it being the imperial pleasure 
 that the Varangians, lately the vanguard, should now form the rear of the 
 whole army, so as to bring off in safety the Syrian light troops, by whom 
 the hilly pass was still occupied, when we heard upon the other side of this 
 defile, which he had traversed with so much safety, the awful sound of the 
 Lelies, as the Arabs name their shout of onset, though in what language it 
 is expressed, it would be hard to say. Perchance some in this audience 
 may enlighten my ignorance." 
 
 “May I speak and live!" said the Acoulouthos Achilles, proud of his 
 literary knowledge, “ the words are, Alla ilia alia, Moliamed resoul alla.^ 
 These, or something like them, contain the Arabs' profession of fiiith, which 
 
 * The A-Oavaroi, or Immortals, of the army of Constantinople, were a select body, so named, in imitation 
 of tlie ancient Persians. They were first embodied, according to Ducange, by Michael Ducas 
 
 t i- e. “ God is god — Mahomet is the prophet of God.” 
 
COUNT II 0 B E R T OF PARIS. 
 
 53 
 
 they always call out when they join battle; I have heard them many 
 times.'' 
 
 “ And so have I," said the Emperor; “ and as thou didst, I warrant me, 
 I have sometimes wished myself anywhere else than within hearing." 
 
 All the circle were alive to hear the answer of Achiles Tatius. He was 
 too good a courtier, however, to make any imprudent reply. “ It was my 
 duty," he replied, “ to desire to be as near your Imperial Highness as your 
 faithful Follower ought, wherever you might wish yourself for the time." 
 
 Agelastes and Zosimus exchanged looks, and the Princess Anna Comnena 
 proceeded in her recitation. 
 
 “ The cause of these ominous sounds, which came in wild confusion up 
 the rocky pass, was soon explained to us by a dozen cavaliers, to whom the 
 task of bringing intelligence had been assigned. 
 
 “ These informed us, that the barbarians, whose host had been dispersed 
 around the position in which they had encamped the preceding day, had not 
 been enabled to get their forces together until our light troops were evacu¬ 
 ating the post they had occupied for securing the retreat of our army. They 
 were then drawing off from the tops of the hills into the pass itself, when, 
 in despite of the rocky ground, they were charged furiously by Jezdegerd, 
 at the head of a large body of his followers, which, after repeated exertions, 
 he had at length brought to operate on the rear of the Syrians. Notwith¬ 
 standing that the pass was unfavourable for cavalry, the personal exertions 
 of the infidel chief made his followers advance with a degree of resolution 
 unknown to the Syrians of the Koman army, who, finding themselves at a 
 distance from their companions, formed the injurious idea that they W'ere 
 left there to be sacrificed, and thought of flight in various directions, rather 
 than of a combined and resolute resistance. The state of affairs, therefore, 
 at the further end of the pass, was less favourable than we could wish, and 
 those whose curiosity desired to see something wdiich might be termed the 
 rout of the rear of an army, beheld the Syrians pursued from the hill tops, 
 overwhelmed, and individually cut down and made prisoners by the bands 
 of caitiff Mussulmans. 
 
 “ Ilis Imperial Highness looked upon the scene of battle for a few minutes, 
 and, much commoved at what he saw, was somewhat hasty in his directions 
 to the Varangians to resume their arms, and precipitate their march towards 
 Laodicea; whereupon one of those northern soldiers said boldly, though in 
 opposition to the imperial command, ‘ If we attempt to go hastily down this 
 hill, our rear-guard will be confused, not only by our own hurry, but by 
 these runaway scoundrels of Syrians, who in their headlong flight will not 
 fail to mix themselves among our ranks. Let two hnndred Varangians, 
 who will live and die for the honour of England, abide in the very throat 
 of this pass with me, while the rest escort the Emperor to this Laodicea, or 
 whatever it is called. We may perish in our defence, but we shall die in 
 our duty; and I have little doubt but we shall furnish such a meal as will 
 stay the stomach of these yelping hounds from seeking any farther banquet 
 this day.' 
 
 “ My imperial father at once discovered the importance of this advice, 
 though it made him wellnigh weep to see with what unshrinking fidelity 
 these poor barbarians pressed to fill up the number of those who were to 
 undertake this desperate duty—with what kindness they took leave of their 
 comrades, and with what jovial shouts they followed their sovereign with 
 their eyes as he proceeded on his march down the hill, leaving them behind 
 to resist and perish. The Imperial eyes were filled with tears; and I am 
 not ashamed to confess, that amid the terror of the moment, the Empress, 
 and I myself, forgot our rank in paying a similar tribute to these bold and 
 self-devoted men. 
 
 ‘‘We left their leader carefully arraying his handful of comrades in defence 
 of the pass, where the middle path was occupied by their centre, while their 
 
 E 2 
 
54 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 wings on either side were so disposed as to act upon the flanks of the enemy, 
 should he rashly press upon such as appeared opposed to him in the road. 
 We had not proceeded half way towards the plain, when a dreadful shout 
 arose, in which the yells of the Arabs were mingled with the deep and more 
 regular shouts which these strangers usually repeat thrice, as well when 
 bidding hail to their commanders and princes, as when in the act of enga¬ 
 ging in battle. Many a look was turned back by their comrades, and many 
 a form was seen in the ranks which might have claimed the chisel of a 
 sculptor, while the soldier hesitated whether to follow the line of his duty, 
 which called him to march forward with his Emperor, or the impulse of 
 courage, which prompted him to rush back to join his companions. Disci¬ 
 pline, however, prevailed, and the main body marched on. 
 
 “ An hour had elapsed, during which we heard, from time to time, the 
 noise of battle, when a mounted Varangian presented himself at the side of 
 the Emperor’s litter. The horse was covered with foam, and had obviously, 
 from his trappings, the fineness of his limbs, and the smallness of his joints, 
 been the charger of some chief of the desert, which had fallen by the chance 
 of battle into the possession of the northern warrior. The broad axe which 
 the Varangian bore was also stained with blood, and the paleness of death 
 itself was upon his countenance. These marks of recent battle were held 
 sufficient to excuse the irregularity of his salutation, while he exclaimed,— 
 ‘Noble Prince, the Arabs are defeated, and you may pursue your march at 
 more leisure.’ 
 
 “‘Where is Jezdegerd?’ said the Emperor, who had many reasons for 
 dreading this celebrated chief. 
 
 “ ‘ Jezdegerd,’ continued the Varangian, ‘ is where brave men are who fall 
 in their duty.’ 
 
 “ ‘ And that is’—said the Emperor, impatient to know distinctly the fate 
 of so formidable an adversary- 
 
 “ ‘ Where I am now going,’ answered the faithful soldier, who dropped 
 from his horse as he spoke, and expired at the feet of the litter-bearers. 
 
 “ The Emperor called to his attendants to see that the body of this faithful 
 retainer, to whom he destined an honourable sepulchre, was not left to the 
 jackal or vulture; and some of his brethren, the Anglo-Saxons, among 
 whom he was a man of no mean repute, raised the body on their shoulders, 
 and resumed their march with this additional encumbrance, prepared to 
 fight for their precious burden, like the valiant Menelaus for the body of 
 Patroclus.” 
 
 The Princess Anna Comnena here naturally paused; for, having attained 
 what she probably considered as the rounding of a period, she was willing 
 to gather an idea of the feelings of her audience. Indeed, but that she had 
 been intent upon her own manuscript, the emotions of the foreign soldier 
 must have more early attracted her attention. In the beginning of her reci¬ 
 tation, he had retained the same attitude which he had at first assumed, 
 stiff and rigid as a sentinel upon duty, and apparently remembering nothing 
 save that he was performing that duty in presence of the imperial court. 
 As the narrative advanced, however, he appeared to take more interest in 
 what was read. The anxious fears expressed by the various leaders in the 
 midnight council, he listened to with a smile of suppressed contempt, and 
 he almost laughed at the praises bestowed upon the leader of his own corps, 
 AchiUes Tatius. Nor did even the name of the Emperor, though listened 
 to respectfully, gain that applause for which his daughter fought so hard, 
 and used so much exaggeration. 
 
 Hitherto the Varangian’s countenance indicated very slightly any internal 
 emotions ; but they appeared to take a deeper hold on his mind as she came 
 to the description of the halt after the main army had cleared the pass; the 
 unexpected advance of the Arabs; the retreat of the column which escorted 
 the Emperor; and the account of the distant engagement. He lost, on 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 55 
 
 hearing the narration of these events, the rigid and constrained look of a 
 soldier, who listened to the history of his Emperor with the same feelings 
 with which he would have mounted guard at his palace. Ilis colour began 
 to come and go; his eyes to fill and to sparkle ; his limbs to become more 
 agitated than their owner seemed to assent to; and his whole appearance 
 was changed into that of a listener, highly interested by the recitation 
 which he hears, and insensible, or forgetful, of whatever else is passing 
 before him, as well as of the quality of those who are present. 
 
 As the historian proceeded, Ilereward became less able to conceal his agi¬ 
 tation ; and at the moment the Princess looked round, his feelings became 
 so acute, that, forgetting where he was, he dropped his ponderous axe upon 
 the floor, and, clasping his hands together, exclaimed, — “ My unfortunate 
 brother \” 
 
 All were startled by the clang of the falling weapon, and several persons 
 at once attempted to interfere, as called upon to explain a circumstance so 
 unusual. Achilles Tatius made some small progress in a speech designed 
 to apologize for the rough mode of venting his sorrows to which Ilereward 
 had given way, by assuring the eminent persons present, that the poor un¬ 
 cultivated barbarian was actually younger brother to him who had com¬ 
 manded and fallen at the memorable defile. The Princess said nothing, 
 but was evidently struck, and affected, and not ill-pleased, perhaps, at 
 having given rise to feelings of interest so flattering to her as an authoress. 
 The others, each in their character, uttered incoherent words of what was 
 meant to be consolation ; for distress which flows from a natural cause, 
 generally attracts sympathy even from the most artificial characters. 
 The voice of Alexius silenced all these imperfect speakers: “ Hah, my 
 brave soldier, Edward \” said the Emperor, “ I must have been blind that I 
 did not sooner recognise thee, as I think there is a memorandum entered, 
 respecting five hundred pieces of gold due from us to Edward the Varan¬ 
 gian ; we have it in our secret scroll of such liberalities for which we stand 
 indebted to our servitors, nor shall the payment be longer deferred.’^ 
 
 “ Not to me, if it may please you, my liege,’' said the Anglo-Dane, hastily 
 composing his countenance into its rough' gravity of lineament, “ lest it 
 should be to one who can claim no interest in your imperial munificence. 
 My name is Ilereward; that of Edward is borne by three of my compa¬ 
 nions, all of them as likely as I to have deserved your Highness’s reward 
 for the faithful performance of their duty.” 
 
 Many a sign was made by Tatius in order to guard his soldier against the 
 foll^ of declining the liberality of the Emperor. Agelastes spoke more 
 plainly: “Young man,” he said, “rejoice in an honour so unexpected, and 
 answer henceforth to no other name save that of Edward, by which it hath 
 pleased the light of the world, as it poured a ray upon thee, to distinguish 
 thee from other barbarians. What is to thee the font-stone, or the priest 
 officiating thereat, shouldst thou have derived from either any epithet difl'e- 
 rent from that by which it hath now pleased the Emperor to distinguish 
 thee from the common mass of humanity, and by which proud distinction 
 thou hast now a right to be known ever afterwards ?” 
 
 “ Ilereward was the name of my father,” said the soldier, who had now 
 altogether recovered his composure. “ I cannot abandon it while I honour 
 his memory in death. Edward is the title of my comrade—I must not run 
 the risk of usurping his interest.” 
 
 “ Peace all!” interrupted the Emperor. “ If we have made a mistake, 
 we are rich enough to right it; nor shall Ilereward be the poorer, if an 
 Edward shall be found to merit this gratuity.” 
 
 “ Your Highness may trust that to your affectionate consort,” answered 
 the Empress Irene. 
 
 “ His most sacred Highness,” said the Princess Anna Comnena, “ is so 
 avariciously desirous to do whatever is good and gracious, that he leaves no 
 
5G 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 room even for his nearest connexions to display generosity or munificence. 
 Nevertheless, I, in my degree, will testify my gratitude to this brave man ; 
 for where his exploits are mentioned in this history, I will cause to be re¬ 
 corded,—‘ This feat was done by Hereward the Anglo-Dane, whom it hath 
 pleased his Imperial Majesty to call Edward/ Keep this, good youth,she 
 continued, bestowing at the same time a ring of price, “ in token that we 
 will not forget our engagement.” 
 
 Hereward accepted the token with a profound obeisance, and a discompo¬ 
 sure which his station rendered not unbecoming. It was obvious to most 
 persons present, that the gratitude of the beautiful Princess was expressed 
 in a manner more acceptable to the youthful life-guardsman, than that of 
 Alexius Comnenus. He took the ring with great demonstration of thank¬ 
 fulness:—“ Precious relic !” he said, as he saluted this pledge of esteem by 
 pressing it to his lips ; “we may not remain long together, but be assured,” 
 bending reverently to the Princess, “ that death alone shall part us.” 
 
 “ Proceed, our princely daughter,” said the Empress Irene; “ you have 
 done enough to show that valour is precious to her w'ho can confer fame, 
 whether it be found in a Roman or a barbarian.” 
 
 The Princess resumed her narrative with some slight appearance of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 “ Our movement upon Laodicea was now resumed, and continued with 
 good hopes on the part of those engaged in the march. Yet instinctively 
 we could not help casting our eyes to the rear, which had been so long the 
 direction in which we feared attack. At length, to our surprise, a thick 
 cloud of dust was visible on the descent of the hill, half way betwixt us 
 and the place at which we had halted. Some of the troops who composed 
 our retreating body, particularly those in the rear, began to exclaim ‘ The 
 Arabs ! the Arabs and their march assumed a more precipitate character 
 when they believed themselves pursed by the enemy. But the Varangian 
 guards affirmed with one voice, that the dust was raised by the remains of 
 their own comrades, who, left in the defence of the pass, had marched off 
 after having so valiantly maintained the station intrusted to them. They 
 fortified their opinion by professional remarks that the cloud of dust was 
 more concentrated than if raised by the Arab horse, and they even pre¬ 
 tended to assert, from their knowledge of such cases, that the number of 
 their comrades had been much diminished in the action. Some Syrian 
 horsemen, despatched to reconnoitre the approaching body, brought intelli¬ 
 gence corresponding with the opinion of the Varangians in every particular. 
 The portion of the body-guard had beaten back the Arabs, and their gallant 
 leader had slain their chief Jezdegerd, in which service he was mortally 
 wounded, as this history hath already mentioned. The survivors of the 
 detachment, diminished by one half, were now on their march to join the 
 Emperor, as fast as the encumbrance of bearing their wounded to a place 
 of safety would permit. 
 
 “ The Emperor Alexius, with one of those brilliant and benevolent ideas 
 which mark his paternal character towards his soldiers, ordered all the 
 litters, even that for his own most sacred use, to be instantly sent back to 
 relieve the bold Varangians of the task of bearing the wounded. The 
 shouts of the Varangians’ gratitude may be more easily conceived than 
 described, when they beheld the Emperor himself descend from his litter, 
 like an ordinary cavalier, and assume his war-horse, at the same time that 
 the most sacreu Empress, as well as the authoress of this history, with other 
 princesses born in the purple, mounted upon mules in order to proceed upon 
 the march, while their litters were unhesitatingly assigned for the accom¬ 
 modation of the wounded men. This was indeed a mark, as well of military 
 sagacity as of humanity; fo^ the relief afforded to the bearers of the 
 wounded, enabled the survivors of those who had defended the defile at the 
 fountain, to join us sooner than would otherwise have been possible. 
 
COUNT 11 0 B E II T OF P A 11 I S . 
 
 57 
 
 “ It was an an awful thing to see those men who had left us in the full 
 splendour which military equipment gives to youth and strength, again ap¬ 
 pearing in diminished numbers — their armour shattered—their shields full 
 of arrows—their offensive weapons marked with blood, and they themselves 
 exhibiting all the signs of desperate and recent battle. Nor was it less 
 interesting to remark the meeting of the soldiers who had been engaged, 
 with the comrades whom they had rejoined. The Emperor, at the sug¬ 
 gestion of the trusty Acoulouthos, permitted them a few moments to leave 
 their ranks, and learn from each other the fate of the battle. 
 
 “ As the two bands mingled, it seemed a meeting where grief and joy had 
 a contest together. The most rugged of these barbarians,—and I who saw 
 it can bear witness to the fact,—as he welcomed with a grasp of his strong 
 hand some comrade whom he had given up for lost, had his large blue eyes 
 filled with tears at hearing of the loss of some one whom he had hoped 
 might have survived. Other veterans reviewed the standards which had 
 been in the conflict, satisfled themselves that they had all been brought back 
 in honour and safety, and counted the fresh arrow-shots with which they 
 had been pierced, in addition to similar marks of former battles. All were 
 loud in the praises of the brave young leader they had lost, nor were the 
 acclamations less general in laud of him who had succeeded to the com¬ 
 mand, who brought up the party of his deceased brother—and whom,^^ said 
 the Princess, in a few words which seemed apparently interpolated for the 
 occasion, “ I now assure of the high honour and estimation in which he is 
 held by the author of this history — that is, I would say, by every member 
 of the imperial family — for his gallant services in such an important 
 crisis.^’ 
 
 Having hurried over her tribute to her friend the Varangian, in which 
 emotions mingled that are not willingly expressed before so many hearers, 
 Anna Comnena proceeded with composure in the part of her history which 
 which was less personal. 
 
 “We had not much time to make more observations on what passed 
 among those brave soldiers; for a few minutes having been allowed to their 
 feelings, the trumpet sounded the advance towards Laodicea, and we soon 
 beheld the town, now about four miles from us, in fields which were chiefly 
 covered with trees. Apparently the garrison had already some notice of 
 our approach, for carts and wains were seen advancing from the gates with 
 refreshments, which the heat of the day, the length of the march, and 
 columns of dust, as well as the want of water, had rendered of the last 
 necessity to us. The soldiers joyfully mended their pace in order to meet 
 the sooner with the supplies of which they stood so much in need. But as 
 the cup doth not carry in all cases the liquid treasure to the lips for which 
 it was intended, however much it may be longed for, what was our mortifi¬ 
 cation to behold a cloud of Arabs issue at full gallop from the wooded plain 
 betwixt the Roman army and the city, and throw themselves upon the 
 waggons, slaying the drivers, and making havoc and spoil of the contents! 
 This, we afterwards learned, was a body of the enemy, headed by Varanes, 
 equal in military fame, among those infidels, to Jezdegerd, his slain brother. 
 When this chieftain saw that it was- probable that the Varangians would 
 succeed in their desperate defence of the pass, he put himself at the head 
 of a large body of the cavalry; and as these infidels are mounted on horses 
 unmatched either in speed or wind, performed a long circuit, traversed the 
 stony ridge of hills at a more northerly defile, and placed himself in ambus¬ 
 cade in the wooded plain I have mentioned, with the hope of making an 
 unexpected assault upon the Emperor and his army, at the very time when 
 they might be supposed to reckon upon an undisputed retreat. This surprise 
 would certainly have taken place, and it is not easy to say what might have 
 been the consequence, had not the unexpected appearance of the train of 
 waggons awakened the unbridled rapacity of the Arabs, in spite of their 
 
58 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 commander's prudence, and attempts to restrain them. In this manner the 
 proposed ambuscade was discovered. 
 
 “But Varanes, willing still to gain some advantage from the raj^idity of 
 his movements, assembled as many of his horsemen as could be collected 
 from the spoil, and pushed forward towards the Romans, who had stopped 
 short on their march at so unlooked for an apparition. There was an un¬ 
 certainty and wavering in our first ranks which made their hesitation known 
 even to so poor a judge of military demeanour as myself. On the contrary, 
 the Varangians joined in a unanimous cry of ‘Bills’* (that is, in their lan¬ 
 guage, battle-axes,) ‘to the front!’ and the Emperor’s most gracious will 
 acceding to their valorous desire, they pressed forward from the rear to the 
 head of the column. I can hardly say how this manoeuvre was executed, 
 but it Avas doubtless by the wise directions of my most serene father, distin¬ 
 guished for his presence of mind upon such difficult occasions. It was, no 
 doubt, much facilitated by the good will of the troops themselves ; the Ro¬ 
 man bands, called the Immortals, showing, as it seemed to me, no less desire 
 to fall into the rear, than did the Varangians to occupy the places which 
 the Immortals left vacant in front. The manoeuvre was so happily executed, 
 that before Varanes and his Arabs had arrived at the van of our troops, 
 they found it occupied by the inflexible guard of northern soldiers. I might 
 have seen with my own eyes, and called upon them as sure evidences of 
 that which chanced upon the occasion. But, to confess the truth, my eyes 
 were little used to look upon such sights; for of Varanes’s charge I only 
 beheld, as it were, a thick cloud of dust rapidly driven forward, through 
 which were seen the glittering points of lances, and the waving plumes of 
 turban’d cavaliers imperfectly visible. The teebir was so loudly uttered, 
 that I was scarcely aware that kettle-drums and brazen cymbals were 
 sounding in concert with it. But this wild and outrageous storm was met 
 as effectually as if encountered by a rock. 
 
 “ The Varangians, unshaken by the furious charge of the Arabs, received 
 horse and rider with a shower of blows from their massive battle-axes, 
 which the bravest of the enemy could not face, nor the strongest endure. 
 The guards strengthened their ranks also, by the hindmost pressing so close 
 upon those that went before, after the manner of the ancient Macedonians, 
 that the fine-limbed, though slight steeds of those Idurneans could not make 
 the least inroad upon the northern phalanx. The bravest men, the most 
 gallant horses, fell in the first rank. The weighty, though short, horse 
 javelins, flung from the rear ranks of the brave Varangians, with good aim 
 and sturdy arm, completed the confusion of the assailants, who turned their 
 back in affright, and fled from the field in total confusion. 
 
 “ The enemy thus repulsed, we proceeded on our march, and only halted 
 when we recovered our half-plundered waggons. Here, also, some invidious 
 remarks were made by certain officers of the interior of the household, who 
 had been on duty over the stores, and having -fled from their posts on the 
 assault of the infidels, had only returned upon their being repulsed. These 
 men, quick in malice, though slow in perilous service, reported that, on 
 this occasion, the Varangians so far forgot their duty as to consume a part 
 of the sacred wine reserved for the imperial lips alone. It would be 
 criminal to deny that this was a great and culpable oversight; nevertheless, ^ 
 our imperial hero passed it over as a pardonable ofience ; remarking, in a 
 jesting manner, that since he had drunk the ail, as they termed it, of his 
 trusty guard, the Varangians had acquired a right to quench the thirst, 
 and to relieve the fatigue, which they had undergone that day in his 
 defence, though they used for these purposes the sacred contents of the 
 imperial cellar. 
 
 “ In the meantime, the cavalry of the army were despatched in pursuit 
 
 * Villehardouin says, “ Les Anglois et Danois mult bien rombattoiiil avec leurs haches" 
 
COUNT ROB E R T 0 F PARIS. 
 
 59 
 
 of the fugitive Arabs; and having succeeded in driving them behind the 
 chain of hills which had so recently divided them from the Romans, the 
 imperial arms might justly be considered as having obtained a complete 
 and glorious victory. 
 
 “We are now to mention the rejoicings of the citizens of Laodicca, who, 
 having witnessed from their ramparts, with alternate fear and hope, the 
 fluctuations of the battle, now descended to congratulate the imperial con¬ 
 queror.’^ 
 
 Here the fair narrator was interrupted. The principal entrance of the 
 apartment flew open, noiselessly indeed, but with both folding leaves at 
 once, not as if to accommodate the entrance of an ordinary courtier, study¬ 
 ing to create as little disturbance as possible, but as if there was entering 
 a person, who ranked so high as to make it indifferent how much attention 
 was drawn to his motions. It could only be one born in the purple, or 
 nearly allied to it, to whom such freedom was lawful; and most of the 
 guests, knowing who were likely to appear in that Temple of the Muses, 
 anticipated, from the degree of bustle, the arrival of Nicephorus Briennius, 
 the son-in-law of Alexius Comnenus, the husband to the fair historian, and 
 in the rank of Caesar, which, however, did not at that period imply, as in * 
 early ages, the dignity of second person in the empire. The policy of 
 Alexius had interposed more than one person of condition between the 
 Ca3sar and his original rights and rank, which had once been second to 
 those only of the Emperor himself. 
 
 Cjiaptcr tjjE liftji. 
 
 The storm increases — ’tis no sunny shower, 
 
 Foster’d in the moist breast of March or April, 
 
 Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with: 
 
 Heaven’s windows are flung wide; the inmost deeps 
 Call in hoarse greeting one upon another; 
 
 On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 
 
 And where’s the dike shall stop it! 
 
 The Deluge, a Poem. 
 
 The distinguished individual who entered was a noble Grecian, of stately 
 presence, whose habit was adorned with every mark of dignity, saving 
 those which Alexius had declared sacred to the Emperor’s own person and 
 that of the Sebastocrator, whom he had established as next in rank to the 
 head of the empire. Nicephorus Briennius, who was in the bloom of 
 youth, retained all the marks of that manly beauty which had made the 
 match acceptable to Anna Comnena; while political considerations, and 
 the desire of attaching a powerful house as friendly adherents of the throne, 
 recommended the union to the Emperor. 
 
 'We have already hinted that the royal bride had, though in no great 
 degree, the very doubtful advantage of years. Of her literary talents we 
 have seen tokens. Yet it was not believed by those who best knew, that, 
 with the aid of those claims to respect, Anna Comnena was successful in 
 possessing the unlimited attachment of her handsome husband. To treat 
 her with apparent neglect, her connexion with the crown rendered im¬ 
 possible ; while, on the other hand, the power of Nicephorus’s family was 
 too great to permit his being dictated to even by the Emperor himself. He 
 was possessed of talents, as it was believed, calculated both for war and 
 peace. His advice was, tlierefore, listened to, and his assistance required, 
 
(50 
 
 ’W A V R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 SO that he claimed complete liberty with respect to his own time, which he 
 sometimes used with less regular attendance upon the Temple of the Muses, 
 than the goddess of the place thought herself entitled to, or than the Em¬ 
 press Irene was disposed to exact on the part of her daughter. The good- 
 humoured Alexius observed a sort of neutrality in this matter, and kept it 
 as much as possible from becoming visible to the public, conscious that it 
 required the whole united strength of his family to maintain his place in so 
 agitated an empire. 
 
 lie pressed his son-in-law’s hand, as Nicephorus, passing his father-in- 
 law’s seat, bent his knee in token of homage. The constrained manner of 
 the Empress indicated a more cold reception of her son-in-law, while the 
 fair muse herself scarcely deigned to signify her attention to his arrival, 
 when her handsome mate assumed the vacant seat by her side, which we 
 have already made mention of. 
 
 There was an awkward pause, during which the imperial son-in-law, 
 coldly received when he expected to be welcomed, attempted to enter into 
 some light conversation with the fair slave Astarte, who knelt behind her 
 mistress. This was interrupted by the Princess commanding her attendant 
 to enclose the manuscript within its appropriate casket, and convey it with 
 her own hands to the cabinet of Apollo, the usual scene of the Princess’s 
 studies, as the Temple of the Muses was that commonly dedicated to her 
 recitations. 
 
 The Emperor himself was the first to break an unpleasant silence. “Fair 
 son-in-law,” he said, “ though it now wears something late in the night, you 
 will do yourself wrong if you permit our Anna to send away that volume, 
 with which this company have been so delectably entertained that they may 
 well say, that the desert hath produced roses, and the barren rocks have 
 poured forth milk and honey, so agreeable is the narrative of a toilsome and 
 dangerous campaign, in the language of our daughter.” 
 
 “ The Caesar,” said the Empress, “ seems to have little taste for such 
 dainties as this family can produce. He hath of late repeatedly absented 
 himself from this Temple of the Muses, and found doubtless more agreeable 
 conversation and amusement elsewhere.” 
 
 “ I trust, madam,” said Nicephorus, “ that my taste may vindicate me 
 from the charge implied. But it is natural that our sacred father should 
 be most delighted with the milk and honey which is produced for his own 
 special use.” 
 
 The Princess spoke in the tone of a handsome woman offended by her 
 lover, and feeling the offence, yet not indisposed to a reconciliation. 
 
 “ If,” she said, “ the deeds of Nicephorus Briennius are less frequently 
 celebrated in that poor roll of parchment than those of my illustrious 
 father, he must do me the justice to remember that such was his own 
 special request: either proceeding from that modesty which is justly ascribed 
 to him as serving to soften and adorn his other attributes, or because he 
 with justice distrusts his wife’s power to compose their eulogium.” 
 
 “We will then summon back Astarte,” said the Empress, “ who cannot 
 yet have carried her offering to the cabinet of Apollo.” 
 
 “ With your imperial pleasure,” said Nicephorus, “ it might incense the 
 Pythian god were a deposit to be recalled of which he alone can fitly esti¬ 
 mate the value. I came hither to speak with the Emperor upon pressing 
 affairs of state, and not to hold a literary conversation with a company 
 which I must needs say is something of a miscellaneous description, since I 
 behold an ordinary life-guardsman in the imperial circle.” 
 
 “By the rood, son-in-law,” said Alexius, “you do this gallant man wrong, 
 lie is the brother of that brave Anglo-Dane who secured the victory at 
 Laodicea by his valiant conduct and death; he himself is that Edmund — 
 or Edward — or Ilereward — to whom we are ever bound for securing the 
 success of that victorious day. He was called into our presence, son-in-law, 
 
GL 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF P A R I vS . 
 
 since it imports that you should know so much, to refresh the memory of 
 my Follower, Achilles Tatius, as well as mine own, concerning some tran¬ 
 sactions of the day of which we had become in some degree oblivious/' 
 
 “Truly, imperial sir," answered Briennius, “I grieve that, by having 
 intruded on some such important researches, I may have, in some degree, inter 
 cepted a portion of that light which is to illuminate future ages. Methinks 
 that in a battle-field, fought under your imperial guidance, and that of your 
 great ca.]>tains, your evidence might well supersede the testimony of such a 
 man as this. — Let me know," he added, turning haughtily to the Varan¬ 
 gian, “ what particular thou carist add, that is unnoticed in the Princess's 
 narrative ?" 
 
 The Varangian replied instantly, “ Only that when we made a halt at the 
 fountain, the music that was there made by the ladies of the Emperor's 
 household, and particularly by those two whom I now behold, was the most 
 exquisite that ever reached my ears." 
 
 “Hah! darest thou to speak so audacious an opinion?" exclaimed Nice- 
 phorus; “ is it for such as thou to suppose for a moment that the music 
 which the wife and daughter of the Emperor might condescend to make, 
 was intended to afford either matter of pleasure or of criticism to every 
 plebeian barbarian who might hear them ? Begone from this place! nor 
 dare, on any pretext, again to appear before mine eyes — under allowance 
 always of our imperial father's pleasure." 
 
 The Varangian bent his looks upon Achilles Tatius, as the person from 
 whom he was to take his orders to stay or withdraw. But the Emperor 
 himself took up the subject vvdth considerable dignity. 
 
 “ Son," he said, “ we cannot permit this. On account of some love 
 quarrel, as it would seem, betwixt you and our daughter, you allow yourself 
 strangely to forget our imperial rank, and to order from our presence those 
 whom we have pleased to call to attend us. This is neither right nor seemly, 
 nor is it our pleasure that this same Ilereward — or Edward — or whatever 
 be his name—either leave us at this present moment, or do at any time here¬ 
 after regulate himself by any commands save our owm, or those of our 
 Follower, Achilles Tatius. And now, allowing this foolish affair, which I 
 think w’as blown among us by the wind, to pass as it came, without farther 
 notice, we crave to know the grave matters of state which brought you to 
 our presence at so late an hour.—You look again at this Varangian.—With¬ 
 hold not your words, I pray you, on account of his presence; for he stands 
 as high in our trust, and we are convinced with as good reason, as any 
 counsellor who has been sw'orn our domestic servant." 
 
 “ To hear is to obey," returned the Emperor's son-in-law, who saw that 
 Alexius was somewhat moved, and knew that in such cases it was neither 
 safe nor expedient to drive him to extremity. “What I have to say," con¬ 
 tinued he, “ must so soon be public news, that it little matters Avho hears it; 
 and yet the West, so full of strange changes, never sent to the Eastern half 
 of the globe tidings so alarming as those I now come to tell your Imperial 
 Highness. Europe, to borrow an expression from this lady, who honours 
 me by calling me husband, seems loosened from its foundations and about 
 to precipitate itself upon Asia"- 
 
 “ So 1 did express myself," said the Princess Anna Comnena, “ and, as 
 I trust, not altogether unforcibly, when we first heard that the wild impulse 
 of those restless barbarians of Europe had driven a tempest as of a thousand 
 nations upon our western frontier, with the extravagant purpose, as they 
 pretended, of possessing themselves of Syria, and the holy places there 
 marked as the sepulchres of prophets, the martyrdom of saints, and the 
 great events detailed in the blessed gospel. But that storm, by all accounts, 
 hath burst and passed away, and we well hoped that the danger had gone 
 with it. Devoutly shall we sorrow to find it otherwise." 
 
 “And otherwise we must expect to find it," said her husband. “It is 
 
 F 
 
62 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 very true, as reported to us, that a huge body of men, of low rank and little 
 understanding, assumed arms at the instigation of a mad hermit, and took 
 the road from Germany to Hungary, expecting miracles to be wrought in 
 their favour, as when Israel was guided through the wilderness by a pillar 
 of flame and a cloud. But no showers of manna or of quails relieved their 
 necessities, or proclaimed them the chosen people of God. No waters 
 gushed from the rock for their refreshment. They were enraged at their 
 sufferings, and endeavoured" to obtain supplies by pillaging the country. 
 The Hungarians, and other nations on our western frontiers, Christians, 
 like themselves, did not hesitate to fall upon this disorderly rabble ; and 
 immense piles of bones, in wild passes and unfrequented deserts, attest the 
 calamitous defeats which extirpated these unholy pilgrims.’’ 
 
 “ All this,” said the Emperor, “ we knew before ;—but what new evil now 
 threatens, since we have already escaped so important a one ?” * 
 
 “Knew before?” said the Prince Nicephorus. “AVe knew nothing of 
 our real danger before, save that a wild herd of animals, as brutal and as 
 furious as wild bulls, threatened to bend their way to a pasture for which 
 they had formed a fancy, and deluged the Grecian empire, and its vicinity, 
 in their passage, expecting that Palestine, with its streams of milk and 
 honey, once more awaited them, as God’s predestined people. But so wild 
 and disorderly an invasion had no terrors for a civilized nation like the Ro¬ 
 mans. The brute herd was terrified by our Greek fire; it was snared and 
 shot down by the wild nations who, while they pretend to independence, 
 cover our frontier as with a protecting fortification. The vile multitude has 
 been consumed even by the very quality of the provisions thrown in their 
 way,—those wise means of resistance which were at once suggested by the 
 paternal care of the Emperor, and by his unfailing policy. Thus wisdom 
 has played its part, and the bark over which the tempest had poured its 
 thunder, has escaped, notwithstanding all its violence. But the second 
 storm, by which the former is so closely followed, is of a new descent of 
 these Western nations, more formidable than any which we or our fathers 
 have yet seen. This consists not of the ignorant or of the fanatical — not 
 of the base, the needy, and the improvident. Now,—all that wide Europe 
 possesses of what is wise and worthy, brave and noble, are united by the 
 most religious vows, in the same purpose,” 
 
 “ And what is that purpose ? Speak plainly,” said Alexius. “ The 
 destruction of our whole Roman empire, and the blotting out the very name 
 of its chief from among the princes of the earth, among which it has long 
 been predominant, can alone be an adequate motive for a confederacy such 
 as thy speech infers.” 
 
 “No such design is avowed,” said Nicephorus; “and so many princes, 
 wise men, and statesmen of eminence, aim, it is pretended, at nothing else 
 than the same extravagant purpose announced by the brute multitude who 
 first appeared in these regions. Here, most gracious Emperor, is a scroll, 
 in which you will find marked down a list of the various armies which, by 
 different routes, are approaching the vicinity of the empire. Behold, Hugh 
 of Vermandois, called from his dignity Hugh the Great, has set sail from 
 the shores of Italy. Twenty knights have already announced their coming, 
 sheathed in armour of steel, inlaid with gold, bearing this proud greeting: 
 — ‘ Let the Emperor of Greece, and his lieutenants, understand that Hugo, 
 Earl of Vermandois, is approaching his territories. He is brother to the 
 king of kings—The King of France,* namely—and is attended by the flower 
 of the French nobility. He bears the blessed banner of St. Peter, intrusted 
 to his victorious care by the holy successor of the apostle, and warns thee 
 of all this, that thou mayst^provide a reception suitable to his rank.’ ” 
 
 * Ducange pours out a whole oceati of authorities to sliow that the King of France was in those days style‘1 
 JJcx, by way of eminence. See his notes on the Alexiad. Anna Comnena in lier history makes Hugh of 
 Vermaiulois a.«sume to liirnself the titles whioli could only, ni the most entliusiastic Frenchinaa’s opu.ioii, 
 have been claimed by his elder brother, the reigning monarch. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 G3 
 
 “Here are sounding words/'said the Emperor; “but the wind which 
 whistles loudest is not alwa 3 "s most dangerous to the vessel. AVe know 
 something of this nation of France, and have heard more. They are as 
 petulant at least as they are valiant; we will flatter their vanity till we get 
 time and opportunity for more effectual defence. Tush I if Avords can pay 
 debt, there is no fear of our exchequer becoming insolvent.—AVhat flfllows 
 here, Nicephorus? A list, I suppose, of the followers of this great count?" 
 
 “ My liege, no !" answered Nicephorus Briennius ; “ so manj’ independent 
 chiefs, as your Imperial Highness sees in that memorial, so many inde¬ 
 pendent European armies are advancing by different routes towards the 
 East, and announce the conquest of Palestine from the infidels as their 
 common object." 
 
 “ A dreaflful enumeration," said the Emperor, as he perused the list; 
 “yet so far happy, that its very length assures us of the impossibility that 
 so many princes can bo seriously and consistently united in so wild a pro¬ 
 ject. Thus already my eyes catch the well-known name of an old friend, 
 our enemy—for such are the alternate chances of peace and war—Bohemond 
 of Antioch. Is not he the son of the celebrated Bobert of Apulia, so 
 renowned among his countr^unen, who raised himself to the rank of grand 
 duke from a simple cavalier, and became sovereign of those of his warlike 
 nation, both in Sicily and Italy? Did not the standards of the German 
 Emperor, of the Roman Pontiff’, nay, our own imperial banners, give way 
 before him ; until, equally a wily statesman and a brave warrior, he became 
 the terror of Europe, from being a knight whose Norman castle would have 
 been easily garrisoned by six cross-bows, and as many lances? It is a 
 dreadful family, a race of craft as well as power. But Bohemond, the son 
 of old Robert, will follow his father’s politics. He may talk of Palestine 
 and of the interests of Christendom, but if I can make his interests the same 
 with mine, he is not likely to be guided by any other object. So then, with 
 the knowledge I already possess of his wishes and projects, it may chance 
 that Heaven sends us an ally in the guise of an enemy.—AVhom have wo 
 next? Godfrey* Duke of Bouillon—leading, I see, a most formidable band 
 from the banks of a huge river called the Rhine. What is this person’s 
 character ?" 
 
 “ As Ave hear," replied Nicephorus, “ this Godfrey is one of the wisest, 
 noblest, and bravest of the leaders who have thus strangely put themselves 
 in motion; and among a list of independent princes, as many in number 
 as those who assembled for the siege of Troy, and folloAved, most of them, 
 by subjects ten times more numerous, this Godfrey may be regarded as the 
 Agamemnon. The princes and counts esteem him, because he is the fore¬ 
 most in the ranks of those whom they fantastically call Knights, and also 
 on account of the good faith and generosity which he practises in all his 
 transactions. The clergy give him credit for the highest zeal for the doc¬ 
 trines of religion, and a corresponding respect for the Church and its dig¬ 
 nitaries. Justice, liberality, and frankness, have equally attached to this 
 Godfrey the lower class of the people. His general, attention to moral obli¬ 
 gations is a pledge to them that his religion is real; and, gifted with so 
 much that is excellent, he is already, although inferior in rank, birth, and 
 poAver to many chiefs of the crusade, justl}^ regarded as one of its principal 
 leaders." 
 
 “ Pitj',’’ said the Emperor, “ that a character such as you describe this 
 Prince to be, should be under the dominion of a fanaticism scarce worthy 
 of Peter the Hermit, or the clownish multitude’which he led, or of the very 
 ass which he rode upon ! Avhich I am apt to think the wisest of the first 
 multitude whom we beheld, seeing that it ran away toAvards Europe as soon 
 as water and barley became scarce.’’ 
 
 • Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lower Lorraine — the great Captain of the first Crusade, afterwards King 
 of Jerusalem See Gibbon,—or Mills, paisiwi. 
 
64 
 
 waverley novels. 
 
 \ 
 
 “Might I be permitted here to speak, and yet live,’’ said Agelastes, “I 
 would remark that the Patriarch himself made a similar retreat so soon as 
 blows became plenty and food scarce.” 
 
 “ Thou hast hit it, Agelastes,” said the Emperor; “ but the question now 
 is, whether an honorable and important principality could not be formed out 
 of part of the provinces of the Lesser Asia, now laid waste by the Turks. 
 Such a principality, methinks, with its various advantages of soil, climate, 
 industrious inhabitants, and a healthy atmosphere, were well worth the 
 morasses of Bouillon. It might be held as a dependence upon the sacred 
 Koman empire, and garrisoned, as it were, by Godfrey and his victorious 
 Franks, would be a bulwark on that point to our just and sacred person. 
 Ila! most holy patriarch, would not such a prospect shake the most devout 
 Crusader’s attachment to the burning sands of Palestine ?” 
 
 “Especially,” answered the Patriarch, “if the prince for whom such a 
 rich theme^ was changed into a feudal appanage, should be previously con¬ 
 verted to the only true faith, as your Imperial Highness undoubtedly 
 means.” 
 
 “Certainly—most unquestionably,” answered the Emperor, with a due 
 affectation of gravity, notwithstanding he was internally conscious how often 
 he had been compelled, by state necessities, to admit, not only Latin Chris¬ 
 tians, but Manicheans, and other heretics, nay, Mahomedan barbarians, into 
 the number of his subjects, and that without experiencing opposition from 
 the scruples of the Patriarch. “Here I find,” continued the Emperor, 
 “ such a numerous list of princes and principalities in the act of approach¬ 
 ing our boundaries, as might well rival the armies of old, who were said to 
 have drunk up rivers, exhausted realms, and trode down forests, in their 
 wasteful advance.” As he pronounced these words, a shade of ’paleness 
 came over the Imperial brow, similar to that which had already clothed in 
 sadness most of his counsellors. 
 
 “ This war of nations,” said Nicephorus, “ has also circumstances distin¬ 
 guishing it from every other, save that which his Imperial Highness hath 
 waged in former times against those whom we are accustomed to call 
 Franks. We must go forth against a people to whom the strife of combat 
 is as the breath of their nostrils; who, rather than not be engaged in war, 
 will do battle with their nearest neighbours, and challenge each other to 
 mortal fight, as much in sport as we would defy a comrade to a chariot-race. 
 They are covered with an impenetrable armour of steel, defending them 
 from blows of the lance and sword, and which the uncommon strength of 
 their horses renders them able to support, though one of ours could as well 
 bear Mount Olympus upon his loins. Their foot-ranks carry a missile 
 weapon unknown to us, termed an arblast, or cross-bow. It is not drawn 
 with the right hand, like the bow of other nations, but by placing the feet 
 upon the weapon itself, and pulling with the whole force of the body ; and 
 it despatches arrows called bolts, of hard wood pointed with iron, which the 
 strength of the bow can send through the strongest breastplates, and even 
 through stone walls, where not of uncommon thickness.” 
 
 “ Enough,” said the Emperor; “ we have seen with our own eyes the 
 lances of Frankish knights, and the cross-bows of their infantry. If 
 Heaven has allotted them a degree of bravery, which to other nations seems 
 wellnigh preternatural, the Divine will has given to the Greek councils that 
 wisdom which it hath refused to barbarians ; the art of achieving conquest 
 by wisdom rather than brute force — obtaining by our skill in treaty advan¬ 
 tages which victory itself could not have procured. If we have not the use 
 of that dreadful weapon, which our son-in-law terms the cross-bow. Heaven, 
 in its favour, has concealedffrom these western barbarians the composition 
 and use of the Greek fire—well so called, since by Grecian hands alone it is 
 
 • These provinces were called Themes. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 G5 
 
 prepared, and by such only can its lightnings be darted upon the astonished 
 Ibe.” The Emperor paused, and looked around him ; and although the faces 
 of his counsellors still looked blank, he boldly proceeded:—“ But to return 
 yet again to tliis black scroll, containing the names of those nations who 
 approach our frontier, here occur more than one with which, methinks, old 
 memory should make us familiar, though our recollections are distant and 
 confused. It becomes us to know who these men are, that we may avail 
 ourselves of those feuds and quarrels among them, which, being blown into 
 life, may happily divert them from the prosecution of this extraordinary 
 attempt in which they are now united. Here is, for example, one Robert, 
 styled Duke of Normandy, who commands a goodly band of counts, with 
 wliich title we are but too well acquainted ; of earls, a word totally strange 
 to us, but apparently some barbaric title of honour; and of knights whose 
 names are compounded, as we think, chiefly of the French language, but 
 also of another jargon, which we are not ourselves competent to understand. 
 To you, most reverend and most learned Patriarch, we may fittest apply for 
 information on this subject.’’ 
 
 “ The duties of my station,” replied the patriarch Zosimus, “ have with¬ 
 held my riper years from studying the history of distant realms ; but the 
 wise Agelastes, who hath read as many volumes as would fill the shelves of 
 the famous Alexandrian library, can no doubt satisfy your Imperial Majesty’s 
 enquiries.” * 
 
 Agelastes erected himself on those enduring legs which had procured him 
 the surname of Elephant, and began a reply to the enquiries of the Emperor, 
 rather remarkable for readiness than accuracy. “ I have read,” said he, 
 “ in that brilliant mirror which reflects the time of our fathers, the volumes 
 of the learned Procopius, that the people separately called Normans and 
 Angles are in truth the same race, and that Normandy, sometimes so called, 
 is in fact a part of a district of Gaul. Beyond, and nearly opposite to it, 
 but separated by an arm of the sea, lies a ghastly region, on which clouds 
 and tempests for ever rest, and which is well known to its continental neigh¬ 
 bours as the abode to which departed spirits are sent after this life. On 
 one side of the strait dwell a few fishermen, men possessed of a strange 
 charter, and enjoying singular privileges, in consideration of their being 
 the living ferrymen who, performing the office of the heathen Charon, carry 
 the spirits of the departed to the island which is their residence after death. 
 At the dead of night, these fishermen are, in rotation, summoned to perform 
 the duty by which they seem to hold the permission to reside ou this strange 
 coast. A knock is heard at the door of his cottage who holds the turn of 
 this singular service, sounded by no mortal hand. A whispering, as of a 
 decaying breeze, summons the ferryman to his duty. He hastens to his 
 bark on the sea-shore, and has no sooner launched it than he perceives its 
 hull sink sensibly in the water, so as to express the weight of the dead with 
 whotn it is filled. No form is seen, and though voices are heard, yet the 
 accents are undistinguishable, as of one who speaks in his sleep. Thus he 
 traverses the strait between the continent and the island, impressed with 
 the mysterious awe which afifects the living when they are conscious of tlie 
 presence of the dead. They arrive upon the opposite coast, where the cliffs 
 of white chalk form a strange contrast with the eternal darkness of tlie 
 atmosphere. They stop at a landing-place appointed, but disembark not, 
 for the land is never trodden by earthly feet. Ilere the passage-boat is gra¬ 
 dually lightened of its unearthly inmates, who wander forth in the way 
 appointed to them, while the mariners slowly return to their own side of 
 the strait, having performed for the time this singular service, by which 
 they hold their fishing-huts and their possessions on that strange coast.” 
 Here he ceased, and the Emperor replied,— 
 
 “ If this legend be actually told us by Procopius, most learned Agelastes, 
 it shows that that celebrated historian came more near the heathen than the 
 
 VoL. XII. — 5 f2 
 
66 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Christian belief respecting the future state. In truth, this is little more than 
 the old fable of the infernal Styx. Procopius, we believe, lived before the 
 decay of heathenism, and, as we would gladly disbelieve much which he 
 hath told us respecting our ancestor and predecessor Justinian, so we will 
 not pay him much credit in future in point of geographical knowledge. — 
 Meanwhile, what ails thee, Achilles Tatius, and why dost thou whisper with 
 that soldier V’ 
 
 “ My head,^^ answered Achilles Tatius, “ is at your imperial command, 
 prompt to pay for the unbecoming trespass of my tongue. I did but ask of 
 this llereward here what he knew of this matter; for I have heard my 
 Varangians repeatedly call themselves Anglo-Danes, Normans, Britons, or 
 some other barbaric epithet, and I am sure that one or other, or it may be 
 all, of these barbarous sounds, at different times serve to designate the 
 birth-place of these exiles, too happy in being banished from the darkness 
 of barbarism, to the luminous vicinity of your imperial presence.’^ 
 
 “ Speak, then, Varangian, in the name of Heaven,said the Emperor, 
 “ and let us know whether we are to look for friends or enemies in those 
 men of Normandy who are now approaching our frontier. Speak with 
 courage, man; and if thou apprehendest danger, remember thou servest a 
 prince well qualified to protect thee.^^ 
 
 “ Since I am at liberty to speak,^^ answered the life-guardsman, “although 
 my knowledge of the Greek language, which you term the Roman, is but 
 slight, I trust it is enough to demand of his Imperial Highness, in place of 
 all pay, donative, or gift whatsoever, since he has been pleased to talk of 
 designing such for me, that he would place me in the first line of battle 
 which shall be formed against these same Normans, and their Duke Robert; 
 and if he pleases to allow me the aid of such Varangians as, for love of me, 
 or hatred of their ancient tyrants, may be disposed to join their arms to 
 mine, I have little doubt so to settle our long accounts with these men, that 
 the Grecian eagles and wolves shall do them the last office, by tearing the 
 flesh from their bones.^^ 
 
 “What dreadful feud is this, my soldier,” said the Emperor, “ that after 
 so many years still drives thee to such extremities when the very name of 
 Normandy is mentioned?” 
 
 “ Your Imperial Highness shall be judge!” said the Varangian. “My 
 fathers, and those of most, though not all of the corps to whom I belong, 
 are descended from a valiant race who dwelt in the North of Germany, 
 called Anglo-Saxons. Nobody, save a priest possessed of the art of con¬ 
 sulting ancient chronicles, can even guess how long it is since they came to 
 the island of Britain, then distracted with civil war. They came, however, 
 on the petition of the natives of the island, for the aid of the Angles was 
 requested by the southern inhabitants. Provinces were granted in recom¬ 
 pense of the aid thus liberally afforded, and the greater proportion of the 
 island became, by degrees, the property of the Anglo-Saxons, who occupied 
 it at first as several principalities, and latterly as one kingdom, speaking 
 the language, and observing the laws, of most of those who now form your 
 imperial body-guard of Varangians, or exiles. In process of time, the 
 Northmen became known to the people of the more southern climates. 
 They were so called from their coming from the distant regions of the Baltic 
 Sea — an immense ocean, sometimes frozen with ice as hard as the cliffs of 
 Mount Caucasus. They came seeking milder regions than nature had as¬ 
 signed them at home; and the climate of France being delightful, and its 
 people slow in battle, they extorted from them the grant of a large province, 
 which was, from the name of the new settlers, called Normandy, though I 
 have heard my father say tha^ was not its proper appellation. They settled 
 there under a Duke, who acknowledged the superior authority of the King 
 of France, that is to say, obeying him when it suited his convenience so 
 to do. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 67 
 
 “ Now, it chanced many years since, while these two nations of Normans 
 and Anglo-Saxons were quietly residing upon different sides of the salt¬ 
 water channel which divides France from England, that William, Duke of 
 Normandy, suddenly levied a large army, came over to Kent, which is on 
 the opposite side of the channel, and there defeated in a great battle, 
 Harold, who was at that time King of the Anglo-Saxons. It is but grief 
 to tell what followed. Battles have been fought in old time, that have had 
 dreadful results, which years, nevertheless, could wash away; but at Hast¬ 
 ings—0 woe’s me!—the banner of my country fell, never again to be raised 
 up. Oppression has driven her wheel over us. All that was valiant 
 amongst us have left the land ; and of Englishmen—for such is our proper 
 designation—no one remains in England save as the thrall of the invaders. 
 Many men of Danish descent, who had found their way on diflFerent oc¬ 
 casions to England, were blended in the common calamity. All was laid 
 desolate by the command of the victors. My father’s home lies now an 
 undistinguished ruin, amid an extensive forest, composed out of what were 
 formerly fair fields and domestic pastures, where a manly race derived 
 nourishment by cultivating a friendly soil. The fire has destroyed the 
 church where sleep the fathers of my race; and I, the last of their line, 
 am a wanderer in other climates — a fighter of the battles of others—the 
 servant of a foreign, though a kind master; in a word, one of the banished 
 —a Varangian.” 
 
 ‘‘ Happier in that station,” said Achilles Tatius, “ than in all the bar¬ 
 baric simplicity which your forefathers prized so highly, since you are 
 now under the cheering influence of that smile which is the life of the 
 world.” 
 
 “ It avails not talking of this,” said the Varangian, with a cold gesture. 
 
 “ These Normans,” said the Emperor, “ are then the people by whom the 
 celebrated island of Britain is now conquered and governed ?” 
 
 “ It is but too true,” answered the Varangian. 
 
 “ They are, then, a brave and warlike people ?”—said Alexius. 
 
 “ It would be base and false to say otherwise of an enemy,” said Here- 
 ward. “Wrong have they done me, and a wrong never to be atoned; but 
 to speak falsehood of them were but a woman’s vengeance. Mortal enemies 
 as they are to me, and mingling with all my recollections as that which is 
 hateful and odious, yet were the troops of Europe mustered, as it seems 
 they are likely to be, no nation or tribe dared in gallantry claim the advance 
 of the haughty Norman.” 
 
 “ And this Duke Robert, who is he ?” 
 
 “ That,” answered the Varangian, “ I cannot so w^ell explain. He is the 
 son—the eldest son, as men say, of the tyrant William, who subdued Eng¬ 
 land when I hardly existed, or was a child in the cradle. That William, 
 the victor of Hastings, is now dead, we are assured by concurring testi¬ 
 mony ; but while it seems his eldest son Duke Robert has become his heir 
 to the Duchy of Normandy, some other of his children have been so fortu¬ 
 nate as to acquire the throne of England, — unless, indeed, like the petty 
 farm of some obscure yeoman, the fair kingdom has been divided among 
 the tyrant’s issue.” 
 
 “ Concerning this,” said the Emperor, “ we have heard something, which 
 w'e shall try to reconcile with the soldier’s narrative at leisure, holding the 
 words of this honest Varangian as positive proof, in whatsoever he avers 
 from his own knowledge.—And now, my grave and worthy counsellors, we 
 must close this evening’s service in the Temple of the Muses, this distress¬ 
 ing news, brought us by our dearest son-in-law the Caesar, having induced 
 us to prolong our worship of these learned goddesses, deeper into the night 
 than is consistent with the health of our beloved wife and daughter; while 
 to ourselves, this intelligence brings subject for grave deliberation.” 
 
 The courtiers exhausted their ingenuity in forming the most ingenious 
 
WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 68 
 
 prayers, that all evil consequences should be averted which could attend 
 this excessive vigilance. 
 
 Nicephorus and his fair bride spoke together as a pair equally desirous 
 to close an accidental breach between them. “ Some things thou hast said, 
 'my Caesar,observed the lady, “in detailing this dreadful intelligence, as 
 elegantly turned as if the nine goddesses, to whom this temple is dedicated, 
 had lent each her aid to the sense and expression.” 
 
 “ I need none of their assistance,” answered Nicephorus, “ since I pos¬ 
 sess a muse of my own, in whose genius are included all those attributes 
 which the heathens vainly ascribed to the nine deities of Parnassus!” 
 
 “ It is well,” said the fair historian, retiring by the assistance of her 
 husband’s arm ; “ but if you will load your wife with praises far beyond 
 her merits, you must lend her your arm to support her under the weighty 
 burden you have been pleased to impose.” The council parted when the 
 imperial persons had retired, and most of them sought to indemnify them¬ 
 selves in more free though less dignified circles, for the constraint which 
 they had practised in the Temple of the Muses. 
 
 (CjinptBT tjit liitli. 
 
 Vain man! thou maysl esteem thy love as fair 
 As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. 
 
 She may be all that’s matchless in her person, 
 
 And all-divine in soul to match her body; 
 
 But take this from me — thou shalt never call her 
 Superior to her sex, while one survives, 
 
 And I am her true votary. 
 
 Old Play, 
 
 Achilles Tatius, with his faithful Varangian close by his shoulder, 
 melted from the dispersing assembly silently and almost invisibly, as snow 
 is dissolved from its Alpine abodes as the days become more genial. No 
 lordly step, nor clash of armour, betokened the retreat of the military per¬ 
 sons. The very idea of the necessity of guards was not ostentatiously 
 brought forward, because, so near the presence of the Emperor, the emana¬ 
 tion supposed to flit around that divinity of earthly sovereigns, had credit 
 for rendering it impassive and unassailable. Thus the oldest and most 
 skilful courtiers, among whom our friend Agelastes was not to be forgotten, 
 were of opinion, that, although the Emperor employed the ministry of the 
 Varangians and other guards, it was rather for form’s sake, than from any 
 danger of the commission of a crime of a kind so heinous, that it was the 
 fashion to account it almost impossible. And this doctrine, of the rare oc¬ 
 currence of such a crime, was repeated from month to month in those very 
 chambers, where it had oftener than once been perpetrated, and sometimes 
 by the very persons who monthly laid schemes for carrying some dark con¬ 
 spiracy against the reigning Emperor into positive execution. 
 
 At length the captain of the life-guardsmen, and his faithful attendant, 
 found themselves on the outside of the Blacquernal Palace. The passage 
 which Achilles found for their exit, was closed by a postern which a single 
 Varangian shut behind them, drawing, at the same time, bolt and bar with 
 an ill-omened and jarring sound. Looking back at the mass of turrets, bat¬ 
 tlements, and spires, out of wl^ich they had at length emerged, Here ward 
 could not but feel his heart lighten to find himself once more under the deep 
 blue of a Grecian heaven, where the planets were burning with unusual 
 lustre. He sighed and rubbed his hands with pleasure, like a man newly 
 
COUNT KOBE 11T OF PARIS. 
 
 G9 
 
 restored to liberty. lie even spoke to bis leader, contrary to bis custom 
 unless addressed: — “Methinks the air of yonder halls, valorous Captain, 
 carries with it a perfume, which, though it may be well termed sweet, is so 
 suffocating, as to be more suitable to sepulchrous chambers, than to the 
 dwellings of men. Happy I am that I am free, as I trust, from its influ¬ 
 ences.’' 
 
 “Be happy, then,” said Achilles Tatius, “since thy vile, cloddish spirit 
 feels suffocation rather than refreshment in gales, which, instead of causing 
 death, might recall the dead themselves to life. Yet this I will say for thee, 
 llereward, that, born a barbarian, within the narrow circle of a savage’s 
 desires and pleasures, and having no idea of life, save what thou derivest 
 from such vile and base connexions, thou art, nevertheless, designed by 
 nature for better things, and hast this day sustained a trial, in which, I fear 
 me, not even one of mine own noble corps, frozen as they are into lumps of 
 unfashioned barbarity, could have equalled thy bearing. And speak now 
 in true faith, hast not thou been rewarded ?” 
 
 “ That will I never deny,” said the Varangian. “ The pleasure of know¬ 
 ing, twenty-four hours perhaps before my comrades, that the Normans are 
 coming hither to afford us a full revenge of the bloody day of Hastings, is 
 a lordly recompense, for the task of spending some hours in hearing the 
 lengthened chat of a lady, who has written about she knows not what, and 
 the flattering commentaries of the bystanders, who pretended to give her 
 an account of what they did not themselves stop to witness.” 
 
 “ llereward, my good youth,” said Achilles Tatius, “ thou ravest, and I 
 think 1 should do well to place thee under the custody of spme person of 
 skill. Too much hardihood, my valiant soldier, is in soberness allied to 
 over-daring. It was only natural that thou shouldst feel a becoming pride 
 in thy late position; yet, let it but taint thee with vanity, and the effect 
 will be little short of madness. Why, thou hast looked boldly in the face 
 of a Princess born in the purple, before whom my own eyes, though well 
 used to such spectacles, are never raised beyond the foldings of her veil.” 
 
 “ So be it in the name of Heaven !” replied llereward. “ Nevertheless, 
 handsome faces were made to look upon, and the eyes of young men to see 
 withal.” 
 
 “ If such be their final end,” said Achilles, “ never did thine, I will freely 
 suppose, find a richer apology for the somewhat overbold license which thou 
 tookest in thy gaze upon the Princess this evening.” 
 
 “Good leader, or Follower, whichever is your favourite title,” said the 
 Anglo-Briton, “ drive not to extremity a plain man, who desires to hold his 
 duty in all honour to the imperial family. The Princess, wife of the Caesar, 
 and born, you tell me, of a purple colour, has now inherited, notwithstand¬ 
 ing, the features of a most lovely woman. She hath composed a history, 
 of which I presume not to form a judgment, since I cannot understand it; 
 she sings like an angel; and to conclude, after the fashion of the knights 
 of this day—though I deal not ordinarily Avith their language—I would say 
 cheerfully, that I am ready to place myself in lists against any one whom¬ 
 soever, who dares detract from the beauty of the imperial Anna Comnena’s 
 person, or from the virtues of her mind. Having said this, my noble cap¬ 
 tain, Ave have said all that it is competent for you to inquire into, or for me 
 to ansAver. That there are hansomer Avomen than the Princess, is unques¬ 
 tionable ; and I question it the less, that I have myself seen a person whom 
 I think far her superior; and with that let us close the dialogue.” 
 
 “ Thy beauty, thou unparalleled fool,” said Achilles, “must, I ween, be 
 the daughter of the large-bodied northern boor, living next door to him 
 upon whose farm was brought up the person of an ass, curst with such in- 
 tcderable want of judgment.” 
 
 “ You may say your pleasure, captain,” replied llereward; “ because it 
 is the safer for ns both that thou canst not on such a topic either offend me, 
 
70 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 who hold thy judgment as light as thou canst esteem mine, or speak any 
 derogation of a person whom you never saw, but whom, if you had seen, 
 perchance I might not so patiently have brooked any reflections upon, even 
 at the hands of a military superior/^ 
 
 Achilles Tatius had a good deal of the penetration necessary for one in 
 his situation. lie never provoked to extremity the daring spirits whom he 
 commanded, and never used any freedom with them beyond the extent that 
 he knew their patience could bear. Ilereward was a favourite soldier, and 
 had, in that respect at least, a sincere liking and regard for his commander: 
 when, therefore, the Follower, instead of resenting his petulance, good- 
 humouredly apologized for having hurt his feelings, the momentary dis¬ 
 pleasure between them was at an end; the officer at once reassumed his 
 superiority, and the soldier sunk back with a deep sigh, given to some 
 period which was long past, into his wonted silence and reserve. Indeed 
 the Follower had another and further design upon Ilereward, of which he 
 was as yet unwilling to do more than give a distant hint. 
 
 After a long pause, during which they approached the barracks, a gloomy 
 fortified building constructed for the residence of their corps, the captain 
 motioned his soldier to draw close up to his side, and proceeded to ask him, 
 in a confidential tone—“ Hereward, my friend, although it is scarce to be 
 supposed that in the presence of the imperial family thou shouldst mark 
 any one who did not partake of their blood, or rather, as Homer has it, who 
 did not participate of the divine ichor, which, in their sacred persons, sup¬ 
 plies the place of that vulgar fluid ; yet, during so long an audience, thou 
 mightst possibly, from his uncourtly person and attire, have distinguished 
 Agelastes, whom we courtiers call the Elephant, from his strict observation 
 of the rule which forbids any one to sit down or rest in the Imperial 
 presence V’ 
 
 “ I think,’^ replied the soldier, “ I marked the man you mean; his age 
 was some seventy and upwards, — a big burly person ; — and the baldness 
 which reached to the top of his head was well atoned for by a white beard 
 of prodigious size, which descended in waving curls over his breast, and 
 reached to the towel with which his loins were girded, instead of the silken 
 sash used by other persons of rank.^^ 
 
 “ Most accurately marked, my Varangian,’^ said the officer. “What else 
 didst thou note about this person 
 
 “ His cloak was in its texture as coarse as that of the meanest of the 
 people, but it was strictly clean, as if it had been the intention of the wearer 
 to exhibit poverty, or carelessness and contempt of dress, avoiding, at the 
 same time, every particular which implied anything negligent, sordid, or 
 disgusting.^’ 
 
 “By St. Sophia!” said the officer, “thou astonishest me! The Prophet 
 Baalam was not more surprised when his ass turned round her head and 
 spoke to him!—And what else didst thou note concerning this man ? I see 
 those who meet thee must beware of thy observation, as well as of thy 
 battle-axe.” 
 
 “ If it please your Valour,” answered the soldier, “we English have eyes 
 as well as hands; but it is only when discharging our duty that we permit 
 our tongues to dwell on what we have observed. I noted but little of this 
 man’s conversation, but from what I heard, it seemed he was not unwilling 
 to play what we call the jester, or jack-pudding, in the conversation, a cha¬ 
 racter which, considering the man’s age and physiognomy, is not, I should 
 be tempted to say, natural, but assumed for some purpose of deeper 
 import.” 
 
 “ Hereward,” answered his officer, “ thou hast spoken like an angel sent 
 down to examine men’s bosoms* that man, Agelastes, is a contradiction, 
 such as earth has seldom witnessed. Possessing all that wisdom which in 
 former times united the sages of this nation with the gods themselves. Age- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF 1*ARIS. 
 
 71 
 
 lastes has the same cunning as the elder Brutus, who disguised his talents 
 under the semblance of an idle jester. lie appears to seek no office — he 
 desires no consideration—he pays suit at court only w'hen positively required 
 to do 80 ; yet what shall 1 say, my soldier, concerning the cause of an 
 influence gained without apparent effort, and extending almost into the very 
 thoughts of men, who appear to act as he would desire, without his soli¬ 
 citing them to that purpose? Men say strange things concerning the extent 
 of his communications with other beings, whom our fathers worshipped 
 with prayer and sacrifice. I am determined, however, to know the road by 
 which he climbs so high and so easily towards the point to which all men 
 aspire at court, and it will go hard but he shall either share his ladder with 
 me, or I will strike its support from under him. Thee, Ilereward, I have 
 chosen to assist me in this matter, as the knights among these Frankish 
 infidels select, Avhen going upon an adventure, a sturdy squire, or inferior 
 attendant, to share the dangers and the recompense; and this I am moved 
 to, as much by the shrewdness thou hast this night manifested, as by the 
 courage which thou mayst boast, in common with, or rather beyond, thy 
 companions.’’ 
 
 “I am obliged, and I thank your Valour,” replied the Varangian, more 
 coldly perhaps than his officer expected ; “ I am ready, as is my duty, to 
 serve you in anything consistent with God and the Emperor’s claims upon 
 my service. I would only say, that, as a sworn inferior soldier, I will do 
 nothing contrary to the laws of the empire, and, as a sincere though igno¬ 
 rant Christian, I will have nothing to do with the gods of the heathens, 
 save to defy them in the name and strength of the holy saints.” 
 
 *• Idiot!” said Achilles Tatius, “dost thou think that I, already possessed 
 of one of the first dignities of the empire, could meditate anything con- 
 trarv to the interests of Alexius Comnenus? or, what would be scarce more 
 atrocious, that I, the chosen friend and ally of the reverend Patriarch Zo- 
 simus, should meddle with anything bearing a relation, however remote, to 
 heresy or idolatry ?” 
 
 “Truly,” answered the Varangian, “no one would be more surprised or 
 grieved than I should; but when we walk in a labyrinth, we must assume 
 and announce that we have a steady and forward purpose, which is one 
 mode at least of keeping a straight path. The people of this country have 
 so many ways of saying the same thing, that one can hardly know at last 
 what is their real meaning. We English, on the other hand, can only 
 express ourselves in one set of words, but it is one out of which all the inge¬ 
 nuity of the world could not extract a double meaning.” 
 
 “ ’Tis well,” said his officer, “ to-morrow we will talk more of this, for 
 which purpose thou wilt come to my quarters a little after sunset. And, 
 hark thee, to-morrow, while the sun is in heaven, shall be thine own, either 
 to sport thyself or to repose. Employ thy time in the latter, by my advice, 
 since to-morrow night, like the present, may find us both watchers.” 
 
 So saying, they entered the barracks, where they parted company—the 
 commander of the life-guards taking his way to a splendid set of apartments 
 which belonged to him in that capacity, and the Anglo-Saxon seeking his 
 more humble accommodations as a subaltern officer of the same corps. 
 
72 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 (Cjicpth tjiP Instil, 
 
 Such forces met not, nor so vast a camp, 
 
 When Agrican, with all his northern powers, 
 
 Besieged Albracca, as romances tell. 
 
 The city of Gallaphron, from thence to win 
 The fairest of her sex, Angelica, 
 
 His daughter, sought by many prowess’d knights, 
 
 Both Paynim, and the Peers of Charlemagne. 
 
 Paradise Regaixed. 
 
 Early on the morning of the day following that which we have comme¬ 
 morated, the Imperial Council was assembled, where the number of general 
 officers with sounding titles, disguised under a thin veil the real weakness 
 of the Grecian empire. The commanders were numerous and the dis¬ 
 tinctions of their rank minute, but the soldiers were very few in comparison. 
 
 The offices formerly filled by prefects, proetors, and questors, were now 
 held by persons who had gradually risen into the authority of those officers, 
 and who, though designated from their domestic duties about the Emperor, 
 yet, from that very circumstance, possessed what, in that despotic court, 
 was the most effectual source of power. A long train of officers entered 
 the great hall of the Castle of Blacquernal, and proceeded so far together 
 as their different grades admitted, while in each chamber through which 
 they passed in succession, a certain number of the train whose rank per¬ 
 mitted them to advance no farther, remained behind the others. Thus, 
 when the interior cabinet of audience was gained, which was not until their 
 passage through ten anterooms, five persons only found themselves in the 
 presence of the Emperor in this innermost and most sacred recess of royalty, 
 decorated by all the splendour of the period. 
 
 The Emperor Alexius sat upon a stately throne, rich with barbaric gems 
 and gold, and flanked on either hand, in imitation probably of Solomon’s 
 magnificence, with the form of a couch ant lion in the same precious metal. 
 Not to dwell upon other marks of splendour, a tree whose trunk seemed 
 also of gold, sliot up behind the throne, which it over-canopied with its 
 branches. Amid the boughs were birds of various kinds curiously wrought 
 and enamelled, and fruit composed of precious stones seemed to glisten 
 among the leaves. Five officers alone, the highest in the state, had the pri¬ 
 vilege of entering this sacred recess when the Emperor held council. These 
 were — the Grand Domestic, who might be termed of rank with a modern 
 prime minister—the Logothete, or chancellor—the Protospathaire, or com¬ 
 mander of the guards, already mentioned — the Acolyte, or Follower, and 
 leader of the Varangians — and the Patriarch. 
 
 The doors of this secret apartment, and the adjacent antechamber, were 
 guarded by six deformed Nubian slaves, whose writhen and withered coun¬ 
 tenances formed a hideous contrast with their snow-white dresses and 
 splendid equipment. They were mutes, a species of wretches borrowed 
 from the despotism of the East, that they might be unable to proclaim the 
 deeds of tyranny of which they were the unscrupulous agents. They were 
 generally held in a kind of horror, rather than compassion, for men con¬ 
 sidered that slaves of this sort had a malignant pleasure in avenging upon 
 others the irreparable wrongs which had severed themselves from humanity. 
 
 It was a general custom, though, like many other usages of the Greeks, 
 it would be held childish in modern times, that by means of machinery 
 easily conceived, the lions, at the entrance of a stranger, were made, as it 
 Avere, to rouse themselves and toar, after which a wind seemed to rustle the 
 foliage of the tree, the birds hopped from branch to branch, pecked the fruit, 
 and appeared to fill the chamber with their carolling. This display had 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 73 
 
 alarmed many an ipinorant foreign ambassador, and even the Grecian coun- 
 eellors themselves were expectecl to display the same sensations of fear, suc¬ 
 ceeded by surprise, when they heard the roar of the lions, followed by the 
 concert of the birds, although perhaps it was for the fiftieth time. On this 
 occasion, as a proof of the urgency of the present,meeting of the council, 
 these ceremonies were entirely omitted. 
 
 The speech of the Emperor himself seemed to supply by its commence¬ 
 ment the bellowing of the lions, while it ended in a strain more resembling 
 the warbling of the birds. 
 
 In his first sentences, he treated of the audacity and unheard-of boldness 
 of the millions of Franks, who, under the pretence of wresting Palestine 
 from the infidels, had ventured to invade the sacred territories of the empire, 
 lie threatened them with such chastisement as his innumerable forces and 
 officers would, he affirmed, find it easy to inflict. To all this the audience, 
 and especially the military officers, gave symptoms of ready assent. 
 
 Alexius, however, did not long persist in the warlike intentions which he 
 at first avowed. The Franks, he at length seemed to reflect, were, in pro¬ 
 fession, Christians. They might possibly be serious in their pretext of the 
 crusade, in which case their motives claimed a degree of indulgence, and, 
 although erring, a certain portion of respect. Their numbers also w’ere 
 great, and their valour could not be despised by those who had seen them 
 fight at Durazzo,* and elsewhere. They might also, by the permission of 
 Supreme Providence, be, in the long run, the instruments of advantage to 
 the most sacred empire, though they approached it with so little ceremony. 
 He had, therefore, mingling the virtues of prudence, humanity, and gene¬ 
 rosity, with that valour which must always burn in the heart of an Em¬ 
 peror, formed a plan, which he was about to submit to their consideration, 
 for present execution; and, in the first place, he requested of the Grand 
 Domestic, to let him know what forces he might count upon on the western 
 side of the Bosphorus. 
 
 “ Innumerable are the forces of the empire as the stars in heaven, or the 
 sand on the sea-shore,^' answered the Grand Domestic. 
 
 “ That is a goodly answer,^^ said the Emperor, “ provided there were 
 strangers present at this conference; but since we hold consultation in pri¬ 
 vate, it is necessary that I know precisely to what number that army 
 amounts which I have to rely upon. Reserve your eloquence till some fitter 
 time, and let me know what you, at this present moment, mean by the word 
 innumerable 1” 
 
 The Grand Domestic paused, and hesitated for a short space; but as he 
 became aware that the moment was one in which the Emperor could not be 
 trifled with, (for Alexius Comnenus was at times dangerous,) he answered 
 thus, but not without hesitation. “ Imperial master and lord, none better 
 knows that such an answer cannot be hastily made, if it is at the same time 
 to be correct in its results. The number of the imperial host betwixt tliis 
 city and the western frontier of the empire, deducting those absent on fur¬ 
 lough, cannot be counted upon as amounting to more than twenty-five thou¬ 
 sand men, or thirty thousand at most.^^ 
 
 Alexius struck his forehead with his hand; and the counsellors, seeing 
 him give way to such violent expressions of grief and surprise, began to 
 enter into discussions, which they would otherwise have reserved for a fitter 
 place and time. 
 
 “ By the trust your Highness reposes in me,” said the Logothete, “ there 
 has been drawn from your Highness's cofiers during the last year, gold 
 enough to pay double the number of the armed warriors whom the Grand 
 Domestic now mentions.” 
 
 “ Your Imperial Highness,” retorted the impeached minister, with no 
 
 * For the battle of Durazzo, Oct. 1081, in which Alexius was defeated with great slaughter by Robert 
 Guiscard, and escajied only by the swiftness of his horse, see Giblion, ch. 56. 
 
 O 
 
74 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 small animation, “will at once remember the stationary garrisons, in 
 addition to the movable troops, for which this figure-caster makes no 
 allowance/^ 
 
 “ Peace, both of you!” said Alexius, composing himself hastily; “our 
 actual numbers are in truth less than we counted on, but let us not by 
 wrangling augment the difficulties of the time. Let those troops be dis¬ 
 persed in valleys, in passes, behind ridges of hills, and in difficult ground, 
 where a little art being used in the position, can make few men supply the 
 appearance of numbers, between this city and the western frontier of the 
 empire. While this disposal is made, we will continue to adjust with these 
 crusaders, as they call themselves, the terms on which we will consent to 
 let them pass through our dominions; nor are we without hope of nego¬ 
 tiating with them, so as to gain great advantage to our kingdom. We will 
 insist that they pass through our country only by armies of perhaps fifty 
 thousand at once, whom we will successively transport into Asia, so that no 
 greater number shall, by assembling beneath our walls, ever endanger the 
 safety of the metropolis of the world. 
 
 “ On their way towards the banks of the Bosphorus, we will supply them 
 with provisions, if they march peaceably, and in order; and if any straggle 
 from their standards, or insult the country by marauding, we suppose our 
 valiant peasants will not hesitate to repress their excesses, and that without 
 our giving positive orders, since we would not willingly be charged with any 
 thing like a breach of engagement. We suppose, also, that the Scythians, 
 Arabs, Syrians, and other mercenaries in our service, will not suffer our 
 subjects to be overpowered in their own just defence ; as, besides that there 
 is no justice in stripping our own country of provisions, in order to feed 
 strangers, we will not be surprised nor unpardonably displeased to learn, 
 that of the ostensible quantity of flour, some sacks should be found filled 
 with chalk, or lime, or some such substance. It is, indeed, truly wonderful, 
 what the stomach of a Frank will digest comfortably. Their guides, also, 
 whom you shall choose with reference to such duty, will take care to con¬ 
 duct the crusaders by difficult and circuitous routes; which will be doing 
 them a real service, by inuring them to the hardships of the country and 
 climate, which they would otherwise have to face without seasoning. 
 
 “ In the meantime, in your intercourse with their chiefs, whom they call 
 counts, each of whom thinks himself as great as an Emperor, you will take 
 care to give no offence to their natural presumption, and omit no opportunity 
 of informing them of the wealth and bounty of our government. Sums of 
 money may be even given to persons of note, and largesses of less avail to 
 those under them. You, our Logothete, will take good order for this, and 
 you, our Grand Domestic, will take care that such soldiers as may cut off 
 detached parties of the Franks shall be presented, if possible, in savage 
 dress, and under the show of infidels. In commending these injunctions to 
 your care, I purpose that, the crusaders having found the value of our 
 friendship, and also in some sort the danger of our enmity, those whom we 
 shall safely transport to Asia, shall be, however unwieldy, still a smaller 
 and more compact body, whom we may deal with in all Christian prudence. 
 Thus, by using fair words to one, threats to another, gold to the avaricious,, 
 power to the ambitious, and reasons to those that are capable of listening 
 to them, we doubt not but to prevail upon those Franks, met as they are 
 from a thousand points, and enemies of each other, to acknowledge us as 
 their common superior, rather than choose a leader among themselves, when 
 they are made aware of the great fact, that every village in Palestine, from 
 Dan to Beersheba, is the original property of the sacred Homan empire, 
 and that whatever Christian goes to war for their recovery, must go as our 
 subject, and hold any conquest which he may make, as our vassal. Vice 
 and virtue, sense and folly, ambition and disinterested devotion, will alike 
 recommend to the survivors of these singular-minded men, to become the 
 
COUNT 11OBERTOF P^'.RIS. 75 
 
 feudatories of the empire, not its foe, and the shield, not the enemy, of your 
 paternal Plmperor/' 
 
 There was a general inclination of the head among the courtiers, with 
 the Eastern acclamation of, — “Long live the Emperor!’’ 
 
 When the murmur of this applausive exclamation had subsided, Alexius 
 proceeded: — “Once more, I say, that my faithful Grand Domestic, and 
 those who act under him, will take care to commit the execution of such 
 part of these orders as may seem aggressive, to troops of foreign appearance 
 and language, which, I grieve to say, are more numerous in our imperial 
 army than our natural-born and orthodox subjects.” 
 
 The Patriarch here interposed his opinion.—“ There is a consolation,” ho 
 said, “ in the thought, that the genuine Romans in the imperial army are 
 but few, since a trade so bloody as war, is most fitly prosecuted by those 
 whose doctrines, as well as their doings, on earth, merit eternal condemna¬ 
 tion in the next world.” 
 
 “ Reverend Patriarch,” said the Emperor, “ we would not willingly hold 
 with the wild infidels, that Paradise is to be gained by the sabre; neverthe¬ 
 less, we would hope that a Roman dying in battle for his religion and his 
 Emperor, may find as good hope of acceptation, after the mortal pang is 
 over, as a man who dies in peace, and with unblooded hand.” 
 
 “ It is enough for me to say,” resumed the Patriarch, “ that the Church’s 
 doctrine is not so indulgent: she is herself peaceful, and her promises of 
 favour are for those who have been men of peace. Yet think not I bar the 
 gates of Heaven against a soldier, as such, if believing all the doctrines of 
 our Church, and complying with all our observances ; far less would I con¬ 
 demn your Imperial Majesty’s wise precautions, both for diminishing the 
 power and thinning the ranks of those Latin heretics, who come hither to 
 despoil us, and plunder perhaps both church and temple, under the vain 
 protext that Heaven would permit them, stained with so many heresies, to 
 reconquer that Holy Land, which true orthodox Christians, your Majesty’s 
 sacred predecessors, have not been enabled to retain from the infidel. And 
 well I trust that no settlement made under the Latins will be permitted by 
 your Majesty to establish itself, in which the Cross shall not be elevated 
 with limbs of the same length, instead of that irregulqr and most damnable 
 error which prolongs, in western churches, the nether limb of that most 
 holy emblem.” 
 
 “Reverend Patriarch,” answered the Emperor, “do not deem that wo 
 think lightly of your weighty scruples; but the question is now, not in 
 what manner we may convert these Latin heretics to the true faith, but how 
 we may avoid being overrun by their myriads, which resemble those of the 
 locusts by which their approach was preceded and intimated.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty,” said the Patriarch, “ will act with your usual wisdom ; 
 for my part, I have only stated my doubts, that I may save my own soul 
 alive.” 
 
 “Our construction,” said the Emperor, “ does your sentiments no wrong, 
 most reverend Patriarch ; and you,” addressing himself to the other coun¬ 
 sellors, “ will attend to these separate charges given out for directing the 
 execution of the commands which have been generally intimated to you. 
 They are written out in the sacred ink, and our sacred subscription is duly 
 marked with the fitting tinge of green and purple. Let them, therefore, be 
 strictly obeyed. Ourselves will assume the command of such of the Im¬ 
 mortal Rands as remain in the city, and join to them the cohorts of our 
 faithful Varangians, At the head of these troops, we will await the arrival 
 of these strangers under the walls of the city, and, avoiding combat while 
 our policy can postpone it, we will be ready, in case of the worst, to take 
 whatsoever chance it shall please the Almighty to send us.” 
 
 Here the council broke up, and the diffiu’ont chiefs began to exert them¬ 
 selves in the execution of their various instructions, civil and military, 
 
76 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 secret or public, favourable or hostile to the crusaders. The peculiar genius 
 of the Grecian people was seen upon this occasion. Their loud and boastful 
 talking corresponded with the' ideas which the Emperor wished to enforce 
 upon the crusaders concerning the extent of his power and resources. Nor 
 is it to be disguised, that the wily selfishness of most of those in the service 
 of Alexius, endeavoured to find some indirect way of applying the imperial 
 instruction, so as might best suit their own private ends. 
 
 Meantime, the news had gone abroad in Constantinople of the arrival of 
 the huge miscellaneous army of the west upon the limits of the Grecian 
 empire, and of their purpose to pass to Palestine. A thousand reports 
 magnified, if that was possible, an event so wonderful. Some said, that 
 their ultimate view was the conquest of Arabia, the destruction of the 
 Prophet's tomb, and the conversion of his green banner into a horse-cloth 
 for the King of France's brother. Others supposed that the ruin and sack 
 of Constantinople 'was the real object of the war. A third class thought it 
 was in order to compel the Patriarch to submit himself to the Pope, adopt 
 the Latin form of the cross, and put an end to the schism. 
 
 The Varangians enjoyed an addition to this wonderful news, seasoned as 
 it everywhere was with something peculiarly suited to the prejudices of the 
 hearers. It was gathered originally from what our friend Hereward, who 
 was one of their inferior officers, called sergeants or constables, had suflfered 
 to transpire of what he had heard the preceding evening. Considering 
 that the fact must be soon matter of notoriety, he had no hesitation to give 
 his comrades to understand that a Norman army was coming hither under 
 Duke Robert, the son of the far-famed William the Conqueror, and Muth 
 hostile intentions, he concluded, against them in particular. Like all other 
 men in peculiar circumstances, the Varangians adopted an explanation 
 applicable to their own condition. These Normans, who hated the Saxon 
 nation, and had done so much to- dishonour and oppress them, were now 
 following them, they supposed, to the foreign capital where they had found 
 refuge, with the purpose of making war on the bountiful prince who pro¬ 
 tected their sad remnant. Under this belief, many a deep oath was sworn 
 in Norse and Anglo-Saxon, that their keen battle-axes should avenge the 
 slaughter of Hastings, and many a pledge, both in wine and ale, was quaffed 
 who should most deeply resent, and most effectually revenge, the wrongs 
 which the Anglo-Saxons of England had received at the hand of their op¬ 
 pressors. 
 
 Hereward, the author of this intelligence, began soon to be sorry that he 
 had ever suffered it to escape him, so closely was he cross-examined con¬ 
 cerning its precise import, by the enquiries of his comrades, from whom he 
 thought himself obliged to keep concealed the adventures of the preceding 
 evening, and the place in which he had gained his information. 
 
 About noon, when he was effectually tired with returning the same answer 
 to the same questions, and evading similar others which were repeatedly 
 put to him, the sound of trumpets announced the presence of the Acolyte, 
 Achilles Tatius, who came immediately, it was industriously whispered, 
 from the sacred Interior, with news of the immediate approach of war. 
 
 The *Varangians, and the Roman bands called Immortal, it was said, 
 were to form a camp under the city, in order to be prompt to defend it at 
 the shortest notice. This put the whole barracks into commotion, each 
 man making the necessary provision for the approaching campaign. The 
 noise was chiefly that of joyful bustle and acclamation; and it was so 
 general, that Hereward, whose rank permitted him to commit to a page or 
 esquire the task of preparing his equipments, took the opportunity to leave 
 the barracks, in order to seek some distant place apart from his comrades, 
 and enjoy his solitary reflections upon the singular connexion into which 
 he had been drawn, and his direct communication with the Imperial 
 family. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 77 
 
 Passing through the narrow streets, then deserted on account of the heat 
 of the sun, he reached at length one of those hroad terraces, which, descend¬ 
 ing as it were by steps, upon the margin of the Bosphorus, formed one of 
 the most splendid walks in the universe, and still, it is believed, preserved 
 as a public promenade for the pleasure of the Turks, as formerly for that 
 of the Christians. These graduated terraces were planted with many trees, 
 among which the cypress, as usual, was most generally cultivated. Hero 
 bands of the inhabitants w^ere to be seen : some passing to and fro, witli 
 business and anxiety in their faces; some standing still in groups, as if 
 discussing the strange and weighty tidings of the day, and some, with the 
 indolent carelessness of an eastern climate, eating their noontide refresh¬ 
 ment in the shade, and spending their time as if their sole object was to 
 make much of the day as it passed, and let the cares of to-morrow answer 
 for themselves. 
 
 While the Varangian, afraid of meeting some acquaintance in this con¬ 
 course, which would have been inconsistent with the desire of seclusion 
 which had brought him thither, descended or passed from one terrace to 
 another, all marked him with looks of curiosity and enquiry, considering 
 him to be one, who, from his arms and connexion with the court, must 
 necessarily know more than others concerning the singular invasion by 
 numerous enemies, and from various quarters, which was the news of the 
 day. 
 
 None, however, had the hardihood to address the soldier of the guard, 
 though all looked at him with uncommon interest. He walked from the 
 lighter to the darker alleys, from the more closed to the more open terraces, 
 without interruption from any one, yet not without a feeling that he must 
 not consider himself as alone. 
 
 The desire that he felt to be solitary rendered him at last somewhat 
 watchful, so that he became sensible that he was dogged by a black slave, 
 a personage not so unfrequent in the streets of Constantinople as to excite 
 any particular notice. His attention, however, being at length fixed on 
 this individual, he began to be desirous to escape his observation; and the 
 change of place which he had at first adopted to avoid society in general, 
 he had now recourse to, in order to rid himself of this distant, though ap¬ 
 parently watchful attendant. Still, however, though he by change of place 
 had lost sight of the negro for a few minutes, it was not long ere he again 
 discovered him at a distance too far for a companion, but near enough to 
 serve all the purposes of a spy. Displeased at this, the Varangian turned 
 short in his walk, and choosing a spot where none was in sight but the 
 object of his resentment, walked suddenly up to him, and demanded where¬ 
 fore, and by whose orders, he presumed to dog his footsteps. The negro 
 answered in a jatgon as bad as that in which he was addressed though of 
 a different kind, “ that he had orders to remark whither he went.^^ 
 
 “ Orders from whom said the Varangian. 
 
 “ From my master and yours,answered the negro, boldly. 
 
 “ Thou infidel villain I” exclaimed the angry soldier, “ when was it that 
 we became fellow-servants, and who is it that thou darest to call my 
 master 
 
 “ One who is master of the world,^' said the slave, “ since he commands 
 his own passions/' 
 
 “I shall scarce command mine," said the Varangian, “if thou repliest 
 to my earnest questions with thine affected quirks of philosophy. Once 
 more, what dost thou want with me ? and why hast thou the boldness to 
 watch me?" 
 
 “ I have told thee already," said the slave, “ that 1 do my master's com¬ 
 mands." 
 
 “But I must know who thy master is," said Ilcreward. 
 
 “ lie must tell thee that himself," replied the negro; “ he trusts not a 
 
 g2 
 
78 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 poor slavo like me with the purpose of the errands on which he sends 
 
 “ He has left thee a tongue, however,^^ said the Varangian, “ which some 
 of thy countrymen would, I think, be glad to possess. Do not provoke me 
 to abridge it by refusing me the information which I have a right to 
 demand.” 
 
 The black meditated, as it seemed from the grin on his face, further eva- 
 sions, when Ilereward cut them short by raising the staff of his battle-axe. 
 “ Put me not,” he said, “ to dishonour myself by striking thee with this 
 weapon, calculated for a use so much more noble.” 
 
 “ I may not do so, valiant sir,” said the negro, laying aside an impudent, 
 half-gibing tone which he had hitherto made use of, and betraying personal 
 fear in his manner. “ If you beat the poor slave to death, you cannot learn 
 what his master hath forbid him to tell. A short walk will save your honour 
 the stain, and yourself the trouble, of beating what cannot resist, and me 
 the pain of enduring what I can neither retaliate nor avoid.” 
 
 “Lead on then,” said the Varangian. “Be assured thou shalt not fool 
 me by thy fair words, and I will know the person who is impudent enough 
 to assume the right of watching my motions.” 
 
 The black walked on with a species of leer peculiar to his physiognomy, 
 which might be construed as expressive either of malice or of mere humour. 
 The Varangian followed him with some suspicion, for it happened that he 
 had had little intercourse with the unhappy race of Africa, and had not 
 totally overcome the feeling of surprise with which he had at first regarded 
 them, when he arrived a stranger from the north. So often did this man look 
 back upon him during their walk, and with so penetrating and observing a 
 cast of countenance, that Hereward felt irresistibly renewed in his mind the 
 English prejudices, which assigned to the demons the sable colour and dis¬ 
 torted cast of visage of his conductor. The scene into which he was guided, 
 strengthened an association which was not of itself unlikely to occur to the 
 ignorant and martial islander. 
 
 The negro led the way from the splendid terraced walks which we have 
 described, to'a path descending to the sea-shore, when a place appeared, 
 which, far from being trimmed, like other parts of the coast, into walks of 
 embankments, seemed, on the contrary, abandoned to neglect, and was 
 covered with the mouldering ruins of antiquity, where these had not been 
 overgrown by the luxuriant vegetation of the climate. These fragments of 
 building, occupying a sort of recess of the bay, were hidden by steep banks 
 on each side, and although in fact they formed part of the city, yet they 
 were not seen from any part of it, and, embosomed in the manner we have 
 described, did not in turn command any view of the churches, palaces, 
 towers, and fortifications, amongst which they lay. The sight of this soli¬ 
 tary, and apparently deserted spot, encumbered with ruins, and overgrown 
 with cypress and other trees, situated as it was in the midst of a populous 
 "city, had something in it impressive and awful to the imagination. The 
 ruins were of an ancient date, and in the style of a foreign people. The 
 gigantic remains of a portico, the mutilated fragments of statues of great 
 size, but executed in a taste and attitude so narrow and barbaric as to seem 
 perfectly the reverse of the Grecian, and the half-defaced hieroglyphics 
 which could be traced on some part of the decayed sculpture, corroborated 
 the popular account of their origin, which we shall briefly detail. 
 
 According to tradition, this had been a temple dedicated to the Egyptian 
 goddess Cybele, built while the Homan Empire was yet heathen, and while 
 Constantinople was still called by the name of Byzantium. It is well known 
 that the superstition of the Egyptians—vulgarly gross in its literal meaning 
 as well as in its mystical interpretation, and peculiarly the foundation of 
 many wild doctrines, — was (disowned by the principles of general tolera¬ 
 tion, and the system of polytheism received by Rome, and was excluded by 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 70 
 
 repeated laws from the respect paid by the empire to almost every other 
 religion, however extravagant or absurd. Nevertheless, these Egyptian 
 rites had charms for the curious and the superstitious, and had, after long 
 opposition, obtained a footing in the empire. 
 
 Still, although tolerated, the Egyptian priests w'ere rather considered as 
 sorcerers than as pontiffs, and their 'W'hole ritual had a nearer relation to 
 magic in popular estimation, than to any regular system of devotion. 
 
 Stained with these accusations, even among the heathen themselves, the 
 worship of Egypt was held in more mortal abhorrence by the Christians, 
 than the other and more rational kinds of heathen devotion ; that is, if any 
 at all had a right to be termed so. The brutal worship of Apis and Cybele 
 was regarded, not only as a pretext for obscene and profligate pleasures, but 
 as having a direct tendency to open and encourage a dangerous commerce 
 with evil spirits, who were supposed to take upon themselves, at these un¬ 
 hallowed altars, the names and characters of these foul deities. Not only, 
 therefore, the temple of Cybele, with its gigantic portico, its huge and in¬ 
 elegant statues, and its fantastic hieroglyphics, was thrown down and defaced 
 when the empire was converted to the Christian faith, but the very ground 
 on which it stood was considered as polluted and unhallowed; and no Em¬ 
 peror having yet occupied the site with a Christian church, the place still 
 remained neglected and deserted as we have described it. 
 
 The Varangian Hereward was perfectly acquainted with the evil reputa¬ 
 tion of the place; and wdien the negro seemed disposed to advance into the 
 interior of the ruins, he hesitated, and addressed his guide thus: — “ Hark 
 thee, my black friend, these huge fantastic images, some having dogs' heads, 
 some cows' heads, and some no heads at all, are not held reverently in 
 popular estimation. Your own colour, also, my comrade, is greatly too like 
 that of Satan himself, to render you an unsuspicious companion amid ruins, 
 in which the false spirit, it is said, daily walks his rounds. Midnight and 
 Noon are the times, it is rumoured, of his appearance. I will go no farther 
 with you, unless you assign me a tit reason for so doing." 
 
 “ In making so childish a proposal," said the negro, “ you take from me, 
 in efl'ect, all desire to guide you to my master. I thought I spoke to a man 
 of invincible courage, and of that good sense upon which courage is best 
 founded. But your valour only emboldens you to beat a black slave, who 
 has neither strength nor title to resist you ; and your courage is not enough 
 to enable you to look without trembling on the dark side of a wall, even 
 when the sun is in the heavens." 
 
 “ Thou art insolent," said Hereward, raising his axe. 
 
 “And thou art foolish," said the negro, “to attempt to prove thy man¬ 
 hood and thy wisdom by the very mode which gives reason for calling them 
 both in question. I have already said there can be little valour in beating 
 a w'retch like me; and no man, surely, who wishes to discover his way, 
 would begin by chasing away his guide." 
 
 “ I follow thee" said Hereward, stung with the insinuation of cowardice; 
 “ but if thou leadest me into a snare, thy free talk shall not save thy bones, 
 if a thousand of thy complexion, from earth or hell, were standing ready 
 to back thee." 
 
 “ Thou objectest sorely to my complexion," said the negro; “how know- 
 est thou that it is, in fact, a thing to be counted and acted upon as matter 
 of reality ? Thine own eyes daily apprize thee, that the colour of the sky 
 nightly changes from bright to black, yet thou know'est that this is by no 
 means owing to anyhabitual colour of the heavens themselves. The^ same 
 change that takes place in the hue of the heavens, has existence in the 
 tinge of the deep sea — How canst thou tell, but what the difference of my 
 colour from thine own may be owing to some deceptions change of a similar 
 nature — not real in itself, but only creating an apparent reality ?" 
 
 “Thou mayst have paiuted thyself, no doubt," answered the Varangian, 
 
80 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 upon reflection, “ and thy blackness, therefore, may be only apparent; but 
 I think thy old friend himself could hardly have presented these grinning 
 lips, with the white teeth and flattened nose, so much to the life, unless that 
 peculiarity of Nubian physiognomy, as they call it, had accurately and 
 really an existence; and to save thee some trouble, my dark friend, I will 
 tell thee, that though thou speakest to an uneducated Varangian, I am not 
 entirely unskilled in the Grecian art of making subtle words pass upon the 
 hearers instead of reason.’^ 
 
 “ Ay?’^ said the negro, doubtfully, and somewhat surprised; “and may 
 the slave Diogenes — for so my master has christened me — enquire into the 
 means by which you reached knowledge so unusual V’ 
 
 “ It is soon told,'' replied Ilereward. “ My countryman, Witikind, being 
 a constable of our bands, retired from active service, and spent the end of 
 a long life in this city of Constantinople. Being past all toils of battle, 
 either those of reality, as you word it, or the pomp and fatigue of the exer¬ 
 cising ground, the poor old man, in despair of something to pass his time, 
 attended the lectures of the philosophers." 
 
 “And what did he learn there?" said the negro; “for a barbarian, grown 
 grey under the helmet, was not, as I think, a very hopeful student in our 
 schools." 
 
 “ As much though, I should think, as a menial slave, which I understand 
 to be thy condition," replied the soldier. “ But I have understood from him, 
 that the masters of this idle science make it their business to substitute, in 
 their argumentations, mere words instead of ideas; and as they never agree 
 upon the precise meaning of the former, their disputes can never arrive at 
 a fair or settled conclusion, since they do not agree in the language in which 
 they express them. Their theories, as they call them, are built on the sand, 
 and the wind and tide shall prevail against them." 
 
 “ Say so to my master," answered the black, in a serious tone. 
 
 “I will," said the Varangian; “and he shall know me as an ignorant 
 soldier, having but few ideas, and those only concerning my religion and 
 my military duty. But out of these opinions I will neither be beaten by a 
 battery of sophisms, nor cheated by the arts or the terrors of the friends of 
 heathenism, either in this world or the next." 
 
 “ You may speak your mind to him then yourself," said Diogenes. He 
 stepped aside as if to make way for the Varangian, to whom he motioned 
 to go forward. 
 
 Ilereward advanced accordingly, by a half-worn and almost imperceptible 
 path leading through the long rough grass, and, turning round a half-demo¬ 
 lished shrine, which exhibited the remains of Apis, the bovine deity, he 
 came immediately in front of the philosopher, Agelastes, who, sitting among 
 the ruins, reposed his limbs on the grass. 
 
 Cjinjittr tliE (0ig!it|i. 
 
 Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists’ skill, 
 
 Plain sense and honest meaning work their way; 
 
 So sink the varying clouds upon the hill, 
 
 When the clear dawning brightens into day. 
 
 Dr. Watts. 
 
 Tue old man rose from the gr,ound with alacrity, as Ilereward approached.’ 
 “My bold Varangian," he said, “thou who valuest men and things not ao 
 cording to the false estimate ascribed to them in this world, but to their 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 81 
 
 real importance and actual value, thou art welcome, whatever has brought 
 thee hither—thou art welcome to a place, where it is held the best business 
 of philosophy to strip man of his borrowed ornaments, and reduce him to 
 the just value of his own attributes of body and mind, singly considered/^ 
 
 “ You are a courtier, sir,^^ said the Saxon, “ and as a permitted companion 
 of the Emperor’s Highness, you must be aware, that there are twenty times 
 more ceremonies than such a man as I can be acquainted with, for regu¬ 
 lating the different ranks in society; while a plain man like myself may be 
 well excused from pushing himself into the company of those above him, 
 where he does not exactly know how he should comport himself.” 
 
 “ True,” said the philosopher; “ but a man like yourself, noble Ilere- 
 ward, merits more consideration in the eyes of a real philosopher, than a 
 thousand of those mere insects, whom the smiles of a court call into life, 
 and whom its frowns reduce to annihilation.” 
 
 “ You are yourself, grave sir, a follower of the court,” said Ilereward. 
 
 “And a most punctilious one,” said Agelastes. “There is not, I trust, 
 a subject in the empire who knows better the ten thousand punctilios exi¬ 
 gible from those of different ranks, and due to different authorities. The man 
 is yet to be born who has seen me take advantage of any more commodious 
 posture than that of standing in presence of the royal family. But though 
 I use those false scales in society, and so far conform to its errors, my real 
 judgment is of a more grave character, and more worthy of man, as said 
 to be formed in the image of his Creator.” 
 
 “There can be small occasion,” said the Varangian, “to exercise your 
 judgment in any respect upon me, nor am I desirous that any one should 
 think of me otherwise than I am; — a poor exile, namely, who endeavours 
 to fix his faith upon Heaven, and to perform his duty to the world he lives 
 in, and to the prince in whose service he is engaged. — And now, grave 
 sir, permit me to ask, whether this meeting is by your desire, and for what 
 is its purpose? An African slave, whom I met in the public walks, and 
 who calls himself Diogenes, tells me that you desired to speak with me; he 
 hath somewhat the humour of the old scoffer, and so he may have lied. If| 
 so, I will even forgive him the beating which I owe his assurance, and 
 make my excuse at the same time for having broken in upon your retire¬ 
 ment, which I am totally unfit to share.” 
 
 “ Diogenes has not played you false,” answered Agelastes; “ he has his 
 humours, as you remarked even now, and with these some qualities also 
 that put him upon a level with those of fairer complexion and better 
 features.” 
 
 “ And for what,” said the Varangian, “ have you so employed him ? Can 
 your wisdom possibly entertain a wish to converse with me ?” 
 
 “ I am an observer of nature and of humanity,” answered the philoso¬ 
 pher ; “ is it not natural that I should tire of those beings who are formed 
 entirely upon artifice, and long to see something more fresh from the hand 
 of nature?” 
 
 “ You see not that in me,” said the Varangian ; “the rigour of military 
 discipline, the camp—the centurion—the armour—frame a man’s sentiments 
 and limbs to them, as the sea-crab is framed to its shell. See one of us, 
 and you see us all.” 
 
 “ Permit me to doubt that,” said Agelastes ; “ and to suppose that in 
 Ilereward, the son of Waltheoff, I see an extraordinary man, although he 
 himself may be ignorant, owing to his modesty, of the rarity of his own 
 good qualities.” 
 
 “The son of Waltheoff I” answered the Varangian, somewhat startled.— 
 “ Do you know my father’s name ?” 
 
 “ Be not surprised,” answered the philosopher, “ at my possessing so 
 simple a piece of information. It has cost me but little trouble to attain it, 
 VoL. XII. —6 
 
82 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 yet I would gladly hope that the labour I have taken in that matter may 
 convince you of my real desire to call you friend/' 
 
 “ It was indeed an unusual compliment/' said Hereward, “ that a man 
 of your knowledge and station should be at the trouble to enquire, among 
 the Varangian cohorts, concerning the descent of one of their constables. 
 I scarcely think that my commander, the Acolyte himself, would think such 
 knowledge worthy of being collected or preserved." 
 
 “Greater men than he," said Agelastes, “ certainly would not-You 
 
 know one in high office, who thinks the names of his most faithful soldiers 
 of less moment than those of his hunting dogs or his hawks, and would 
 willingly save himself the trouble of calling them otherwise than by a 
 whistle." 
 
 “ I may not hear this," answered the Varangian. 
 
 “ I would not offend you," said the philosopher, “ I would not even shake 
 your good opinion of the person I allude to; yet it surprises me that such 
 should be entertained by one of your great qualities." 
 
 “ A truce with this, grave sir, which is in fact trifling in a person of your 
 character and appearance," answered the Anglo-Saxon. “ I am like the 
 rocks of my country; the fierce winds cannot shake me, the soft rains cannot 
 melt me; flattery and loud words are alike lost upon me." 
 
 “ And it is even for that inflexibility of mind," replied Agelastes, “ that 
 steady contempt of every thing that approaches thee, save in the light of a 
 duty, that I demand, almost like a beggar, that personal acquaintance, which 
 thou refuses! like a churl." 
 
 “ Pardon me," said Hereward, “ if I doubt this. "Whatever stories you 
 may have picked up concerning me, not unexaggerated probably—since the 
 Greeks do not keep the privilege of boasting so entirely to themselves but 
 the Varangians have learned a little of it — you can have heard nothing 
 of me which can authorise your using your present language, excepting in 
 jest." ' 
 
 “ You mistake, my son," said Agelastes; “ believe me not a person to 
 mix in the idle talk respecting you, with your comrades at the ale-cup. Such 
 as I am, I can strike on this broken image of Anubis"— (here he touched 
 a gigantic fragment of a statue by his side)—“ and bid the spirit who long 
 prompted the oracle, descend, and once more reanimate the trembling mass. 
 We that are initiated enjoy high privileges — we stamp upon those ruined 
 vaults, and the echo which dwells there answers to our demand. Do not 
 think, that although I crave thy friendship, I need therefore supplicate thee 
 for information either respecting thyself or others." 
 
 “ Your words are wonderful," said the Anglo-Saxon ; “ but by such pro¬ 
 mising words I have heard that many souls have been seduced from the 
 path of heaven. My grandsire, Kenelm, was wont to say, that the fair 
 words of the heathen philosophy were more hurtful to the Christian faith 
 than the menaces of the heathen tyrants." 
 
 “ I know him," said Agelastes. “ What avails it whether it was in the 
 body or in the spirit? — He was converted from the faith of Woden by a 
 noble monk, and died a priest at the shrine of saint Augustin."* 
 
 “True" — said Hereward; “all this is certain — and I am the rather 
 bound to remember his words now that he is dead and gone. When I 
 hardly knew his meaning, he bid me beware of the doctrine which causeth 
 to err, which is taught by false prophets, who attest their doctrine by un¬ 
 real miracles." 
 
 “ This," said Agelastes, “ is mere superstition. Thy grandsire was a 
 good and excellent man, but narrow-minded, like other priests; and, deceived 
 by their example, he wished but to open a small wicket in the gate of truth, 
 and admit the world only on that limited scale. Seest thou, Hereward, thy 
 
 * At Canterbury. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 83 
 
 grandpiro and most men of religion would fain narrow our intellect to the 
 consideration of such parts of the immaterial world as are essential to our 
 moral guidance here, and our final salvation hereafter; but it is not the 
 less true) that man has liberty, provided he has wisdom and courage, to 
 form intimacies with beings more powerful than himself, who can defy the 
 bounds of space by which he is circumscribed, and overcome, by their meta¬ 
 physical powers, difficulties which, to the timid and unlearned, may appear 
 wild and impossible.’^ 
 
 “ You talk of a folly,” answered Ilereward, “ at which childhood gapes 
 and manhood smiles.” 
 
 “ On the contrary,” said the sage, “ I talk of a longing wish which every 
 man feels at the bottom of his heart, to hold communication with beings 
 more powerful than himself, and who are not naturally accessible to our 
 organs. Believe me, Ilereward, so ardent and universal an aspiration had 
 not existed in our bosoms, had there not also been means, if steadily and 
 wisely sought, of attaining its accomplishment. I will appeal to thine own 
 heart, and prove to thee even by a single word, that what I say is truth. 
 Thy thoughts are even now upon a being long absent or dead, and with the 
 name of Bertha, a thousand emotions rush to thy heart, which in thy igno¬ 
 rance thou hadst esteemed furled up for ever, like spoils of the dead hung 
 above a tombstone ! — Thou startest and changest thy colour — I joy to see 
 by these signs, that the firmness and indomitable courage which men ascribe 
 to thee, have left the avenues of the heart as free as ever to kindlv and to 
 generous affections, while they have barred them against those of fear, un¬ 
 certainty, and all the caitiff tribe of meaner sensations. I have proffered 
 to esteem thee, and I have no hesitation in proving it. I will tell thee, if 
 thou desirest to know it, the fate of that very Bertha, whose memory thou 
 hast cherished in thy breast in spite of thee, amidst the toil of the day and 
 the repose of the night, in the battle and in the truce, when sporting with 
 thy companions in fields of exercise, or attempting to prosecute the study 
 of Greek learning, in which if thou wouldst advance, I can teach it by a 
 short road.” 
 
 While Agelastes thus spoke, the Varangian in some degree recovered his 
 composure, and made answer, though his voice was somewhat tremulous,— 
 
 “ Who thou art, I know not—what thou wouldst with me, I cannot tell— 
 by what means thou hast gathered intelligence of such consequence to me, 
 and of so little to another, I have no conception — But this I know, that by 
 intention or accident, thou hast pronounced a name which agitates my heart 
 to its deepest recesses; yet am I a Christian and Varangian, and neither to 
 my God nor to my adopted prince will I willingly stagger in my faith. 
 What is to be wrought by idols or by false deities, must be a treason to the 
 real divinity. Nor is it less certain that thou hast let glance some arrows, 
 though the rules of thy allegiance strictly forbid it, at the Emperor himself. 
 Henceforward, therefore, I refuse to communicate with thee, be it for weal 
 or woe. I am the Emperor’s waged soldier, and although I affect not the 
 nice precisions of respect and obedience, which are exacted in so many 
 various cases, and by so many various rules, yet I am his defence, and my 
 battle-axe is his body-guard.” 
 
 ” No one doubts it,” said the philosopher. “ But art not thou also bound 
 to a nearer dependence upon the great Acolyte, Achilles Tatius?” 
 
 “ No. lie is my general, according to the rules of our service,” answered 
 the Varangian; “to me he has always shown himself a kind and good- 
 natured man, and, his dues of rank apart, I may say has deported himself 
 as a friend rather than a commander, lie is, however, my master’s servant 
 as well as I am; nor do I hold the difference of great amount, which the 
 word of a man can give or take away at pleasure.” 
 
 “ It is nobly spoken,” said Agelastes; “ and you yourself are surely 
 
84 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 entitled to stand erect before one whom you supersede in courage and in the 
 art of war/^ 
 
 “ Pardon me,” returned the Briton, “ if I decline the attributed compli¬ 
 ment, as what in no respect belongs to me. The Emperor chooses his own 
 of&cers, in respect of their power of serving him as he desires to be served. 
 In this it is likely I might fail; I have said already, I owe my Emperor my 
 obedience, my duty, and my service, nor does it seem to me necessary to 
 carry our explanation farther.” 
 
 “ Singular man !” said Agelastes ; “is there nothing than can move thee 
 but things that are foreign to thyself? The name of thy Emperor and thy 
 commander are no spell upon thee, and even that of the object thou hast 
 loved”- 
 
 Here the Varangian interrupted him. 
 
 “ I have thought,” he said, “ upon the words thou hast spoken—thou hast 
 found the means to shake my heart-strings, but not to unsettle my princi¬ 
 ples. I will hold no converse with thee on a matter in which thou canst 
 not have interest.—Necromancers, it is said, perform their spells by means 
 of the epithets of the Holiest; no marvel, then, should they use the names 
 of the purest of his creation to serve their unhallowed purposes. I will 
 none of such truckling, disgraceful to the dead perhaps as to the living. 
 Whatever has been thy purpose, old man—for, think not thy strange words 
 have passed unnoticed—be thou assured I bear that in my heart which defies 
 alike the seduction of men and of fiends.” 
 
 AVith this the soldier turned, and left the ruined temple, after a slight 
 inclination of his head to the philosopher. 
 
 Agelastes, after the departure of the soldier, remained alone, apparently 
 absorbed in meditation, until he was suddenly disturbed by the entrance, 
 into the ruins, of Achilles Tatius. The leader of the Varangians spoke not 
 until he had time to form some result from the philosopher’s features. He 
 then said, “ Thou remainest, sage Agelastes, confident in the purpose of 
 which we have lately spoke together ?” 
 
 “I do,” said Agelastes, with gravity and firmness. 
 
 “But,” replied Achilles Tatius, “thou hast not gained to our side that 
 proselyte, whose coolness and courage would serve us better in our hour of 
 need than the service of a thousand cold-hearted slaves ?” 
 
 “ I have not succeeded,” answered the philosopher. 
 
 “ And thou dost not blush to own it?” said the imperial officer in reply. 
 “ Thou, the wisest of those who yet pretend to Grecian wisdom, the most 
 powerful of those who still assert the skill by words, signs, names, periapts, 
 and spells, to exceed the sphere to which thy faculties belong, hast been 
 foiled in thy trade of persuasion, like an infant worsted in debate with its 
 domestic tutor ? Out upon thee, that thou canst not sustain in argument 
 the character which thou wouldst so fain assume to thyself!” 
 
 “Peace!” said the Grecian. “I have as yet gained nothing, it is true, 
 over this obstinate and inflexible man ; but, Achilles Tatius, neither have I 
 lost. AVe both stand where yesterday we did, with this advantage on my 
 side, that I have suggested to him such an object of interest as he shall 
 never be able to expel from his mind, until he hath had recourse to me to 
 obtain farther knowledge concerning it.—And now let this singular person 
 remain for a time unmentioned; yet, trust me, though flattery, avarice, and 
 ambition may fail to gain him, a bait nevertheless remains, that shall make 
 him as completely our own as any that is bound within our mystic and invi¬ 
 olable contract. Tell me then, how go on the afiairs of the empire ? Does 
 this tide of Latin warriors, so strangely set aflowing, still rush on to the 
 banks of the Bosphorus? and does Alexius still entertain hopes to diminish 
 and divide the strength of nifmbers, which he could in vain hope to defy ?” 
 
 “ Something further of intelligence has been gained, even within a very 
 few hours,” answered Achilles Tatius. “Bohemond came to the city with 
 
C (> U N T R 0 B E 11 T OF PARIS. 
 
 85 
 
 some six or eight light horse, and in a species of disguise. Considering how 
 often he had been the Emperor’s enemy, his project was a perilous one. 
 But when is it that these Franks draw back on account of danger? The 
 Emperor perceived at once that the Count was come to see what he might 
 obtain, by presenting himself as the very first object of his liberality, and 
 by offering his assistance as mediator with Godfrey of Bouillon .and the 
 other princes of the crusade.” 
 
 “It is a species of policy,” answered the sage, “for which he would 
 receive full credit from the Emperor.” 
 
 Achilles Tatius proceeded: — “Count Bohemond was discovered to the 
 imperial court as if it were by mere accident, and he was welcomed with 
 marks of fiivour and splendour which had never been even mentioned as 
 being fit for any one of the Frankish race. There was no word of ancient 
 enmity or of former wars, no mention of Bohemond as the ancient usurper 
 of Antioch, and the encroacher upon the empire. But thanks to Heaven 
 were returned on all sides, which had sent a faithful ally to the imperial 
 assistance at a moment of such imminent peril.” 
 
 “And what said Bohemond?” enquired the philosopher. 
 
 “Little or nothing,” said the captain of the Varangians, “until, as I 
 learned from the domestic slave Narses, a large sum of gold had been aban¬ 
 doned to him. Considerable districts were afterwards agreed to be ceded to 
 him, and other advantages granted, on condition he should stand on this 
 occasion the steady friend of the empire and its master. Such was the 
 Emperor’s munificence towards the greedy barbarian, that a chamber in the 
 palace was, by chance, as it were, left exposed to his view, containing large 
 quantities of manufactured silks, of jewellers’ work, of gold and silver, and 
 other articles of great value. When the rapacious Frank could not forbear 
 some expressions of admiration, he was assured, that the contents of the 
 treasure-chamber were his own, provided he valued them as showing forth 
 the warmth and sincerity of his imperial ally towards his friends ; and these 
 precious articles were accordingly conveyed to the tent of the Norman 
 leader. By such measures, the Emperor must make himself master of Bohe¬ 
 mond, both body and soul, for the Franks themselves say it is strange to 
 see a man of undaunted bravery, and towering ambition, so infected, never¬ 
 theless, with avarice, which they term a mean and unnatural vice.” 
 
 “ Bohemond,” said Agelastes, “ is then the Emperor’s for life and death 
 —always, that is, till the recollection of the royal munificence be effaced by 
 a greater gratuity. Alexius, proud as he naturally is of his management 
 with this important chieftain, will no doubt expect to prevail by his counsels, 
 on most of the other crusaders, and even on Godfrey of Bouillon himself, to 
 take an oath of submission and fidelity to the Emperor, which, were it not 
 for the sacred nature of their warfare, the meanest gentleman among them 
 would not submit to, were it to be lord of a province. There, then, we rest. 
 A few days must determine what we have to do. An earlier discovery would 
 be destruction.” 
 
 “ We meet not then to-night?” said the Acolyte. 
 
 “ No,” replied the sage ; “ unless we are summoned to that foolish stage- 
 play or recitation ; and then we meet as playthings in the hand of a silly 
 woman, the spoiled child of a weak-minded parent.” 
 
 Tatius then took his leave of the philosopher, and, as if fearful of being 
 seen in each other’s company, they left their solitary place of meeting by 
 different routes. The Varangian, Hereward, received, shortly after, a sum¬ 
 mons from his superior, who acquainted him, that he should not, as formerly 
 intimated, require his attendance that evening. 
 
 Achilles then paused, and added,—“Thou hast something on thy lips thou 
 wouldst say to me, which, nevertheless hesitates to break forth.” 
 
 “It is only this,” answered the soldier: “ I have had an interview with 
 the man called Agelastes, and he seems something so different from what he 
 
 n 
 
80 
 
 WAVEKLEV NOVELS. 
 
 appeared when we last spoke of him, that I cannot forbear mentioning to 
 you what I have seen. He is not an insignificant trifler, whose object it is 
 to raise a laugh at his own expense, or that of any other. He is a deep¬ 
 thinking and far-reaching man, who, for some reason or other, is desirous 
 of forming friends, and drawing, a party to himself. Your own wisdom will 
 teach you to beware of him.^’ 
 
 “ Thou art an honest fellow, my poor Hereward,’’ said Achilles Tatius, 
 with an affectation of good-natured contempt, “ Such men as Agelastes do 
 often frame their severest jests in the shape of formal gravity — they will 
 pretend to possess the most unbounded power over elements and elemental 
 spirits—they will make themselves masters of the names and anecdotes best 
 known to those whom they make their sport; and any one who shall listen 
 to them, shall, in the words of the Divine Homer, only expose himself to a 
 flood of inextinguishable laughter. I have often known him select one of 
 the rawest and most ignorant persons in presence, and to him for the amuse¬ 
 ment of the rest, he has pretended to cause the absent to appear, the distant 
 to draw near, and the dead themselves to burst the cerements of the grave. 
 Take care, Hereward, that his arts make not a stain on the credit of one of 
 my bravest Varangians.’^ 
 
 “ There is no danger,” answered Hereward. “ I shall not be fond of being 
 often with this man. If he jests upon one subject which he hath men¬ 
 tioned to me, I shall be but too likely to teach him seriousness after a 
 rough manner. And if he is serious in his pretensions in such mystical 
 matters, we should, according to the faith of my grandfather, Kenelm, do 
 insult to the deceased, whose name is taken in the mouth of a soothsayer, 
 or impious enchanter. I will not, therefore, again go near this Agelastes, 
 be he wizard, or be he impostor.” 
 
 “You apprehend me not,” said the Acolyte, hastily; “you mistake my 
 meaning. He is a man from whom, if he pleases to converse with such as 
 you, you may derive much knowledge; keeping out of the reach of those 
 pretended secret arts, which he will only use to turn thee into ridicule.” 
 With these words, which he himself would perhaps have felt it difficult to 
 reconcile, the leader and his follower parted. 
 
 (Ctnipttr tfit Sintji. 
 
 Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent, 
 
 The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; 
 
 By level long he subdivides their strength, 
 stealing the waters from their rocky bed. 
 
 First to diminish what he means to conquer; 
 
 Then, for the residue he forms a road. 
 
 Easy to keep, and painful to desert. 
 
 And guiding to the end the planner aim’d at. 
 
 The Engineer. 
 
 It would have been easy for Alexius, by a course of avowed suspicion, 
 or any false step in the manner of receiving this tumultuary invasion of 
 the European nations, to have blown into a flame the numerous but 
 smothered grievances under which they laboured ; and a similar catastrophe 
 would not have been less certain, had he at once abandoned all thoughts of 
 resistance, and placed his hope of safety in surrendering to the multitudes 
 of the west whatsoever they accounted worth taking. The Emperor chose 
 a middle course ; and, unquestionably, in the weakness of the Greek empire, 
 it was the only one which would have given him at once safety, and a great 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 87 
 
 dogroo of conscquonce in the eyes of the Frank invaders and those of his 
 own subjects. The means with which he acted were of various kinds, and, 
 rather from policy than inclination, were often stained with falsehood or 
 meanness ; therefore it follows that the measures of the Emperor resembled 
 those of the snake, who twines himself through the grass, with the purpose 
 of stinging insidiously those whom he fears to approach with the step of the 
 bold and generous lion. We are not, however, writing the History of the 
 Crusades, and what w^e have already said of the Emperor’s precautions on 
 the first appearance of Godfrey of Bouillon, and his associates, may suffice 
 for the elucidation of our story. 
 
 About four weeks had now passed over, marked by quarrels and recon¬ 
 cilements between the crusaders and the Grecians of the empire. The 
 former were, as Alexius’s policy dictated, occasionally and individually re¬ 
 ceived with extreme honour, and their leaders loaded with respect and 
 favour; while, from time to time, such bodies of them as sought distant or 
 circuitous routes to the capital, were intercepted and cut to pieces by light¬ 
 armed troops, who easily passed upon their ignorant opponents for Turks, 
 Scythians, or other infidels, and sometimes were actually such, but in the 
 service of the Grecian monarch. Often, too, it happened, that while the 
 more powerful chiefs of the crusade were feasted by the Emperor and his 
 ministers with the richest delicacies, and their thirst slaked with iced wines, 
 their followers were left at a distance, where, intentionally supplied with 
 adulterated flour, tainted provisions, and bad water, they contracted diseases, 
 and died in great numbers, without having once seen a foot of the Holy 
 Land, for the recovery of which they had abandoned their peace, their com¬ 
 petence, and their native country. These aggressions did not pass without 
 complaint. Many of the crusading chiefs impugned the fidelity of their 
 allies, exposed the losses sustained by their armies as evils voluntarily 
 inflicted on them by the Greeks, and on more than one occasion, the two 
 nations stood opposed to each other on such terms that a general war seemed 
 to be inevitable. 
 
 Alexius, however, though obliged to have recourse to every finesse, still 
 kept his ground, and made peace with the most powerful chiefs, under one 
 pretence or other. The actual losses of the crusaders by the sword he 
 imputed to their own aggressions — their misguidance, to accident and to 
 wilfulness — the effects produced on them by the adulterated provisions, to 
 the vehemence of their own appetite for raw fruits and unripened wines. 
 In short, there was no disaster of any kind whatsoever which could possibly 
 befall the unhappy pilgrims, but the Emperor stood prepared to prove that 
 it was the natural consequence of their own violence, wilfulness of conduct, 
 or hostile precipitancy. 
 
 The chiefs, who were not ignorant of their strength, would not, it was 
 likely, have tamely suffered injuries from a power so inferior to their own, 
 were it not that they had formed extravagant ideas of the wealth of the 
 Eastern empire, which Alexius seemed willing to share with them with an 
 excess of bounty as new to the leaders as the rich productions of the East 
 were tempting to their followers. 
 
 The French nobles would perhaps have been the most difficult to be 
 brought into order when differences arose; but an accident, which the Em¬ 
 peror might have termed providential, reduced the high-spirited Count of 
 Vermandois to the situation of a suppliant, when he expected to hold that 
 of a dictator. A fierce tempest surprised his' fleet after he set sail from 
 Italy, and he was finally driven on the coast of Greece. Many ships were 
 destroyed, and those troops who got ashore were so much distressed, that 
 they were obliged to surrender themselves to the lieutenants of Alexius. 
 So that the Count of Vermandois, so haughty in his bearing when he first 
 embarked, was sent to the court of Constantinople, not as a prince, but as 
 
88 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 a prisoner. In this case, the Emperor instantly set the soldiers at liberty, 
 and loaded them with presents.* 
 
 Grateful, therefore, for attentions in which Alexius was unremitting, 
 Count Hugh was by gratitude as well as interest, inclined to join the opinion 
 of those who, for other reasons, desired the subsistence of peace betwixt the 
 crusaders and the empire of Greece. A better principle determined the 
 celebrated Godfrey, Raymond of Thoulouse, and some others, in whom 
 devotion was something more than a mere burst of fanaticism. These 
 princes considered with what scandal their whole journey must be stained, 
 if the first of their exploits should be a war upon the Grecian empire, which 
 might justly be called the barrier of Christendom. If it was weak, and at 
 the same time rich — if at the same time it invited rapine, and was unable 
 to protect itself against it—it was the more their interest and duty, as Chris¬ 
 tian soldiers, to protect a Christian state, whose existence was of so much 
 consequence to the common cause, even when it could not defend itself. It 
 was the wish of these frank-hearted men to receive the Emperor’s profes¬ 
 sions of friendship with such sincere returns of amity—to return his kind¬ 
 ness with so much usury, as to convince him that their purpose towards him 
 was in every respect fair and honourable, and that it would be his interest 
 to abstain from every injurious treatment which might induce or compel 
 them to alter their measures towards him. 
 
 It was with this accommodating spirit towards Alexius, which, for many 
 difierent and complicated reasons, had now animated most of the crusaders, 
 that the chiefs consented to a measure which, in other circumstances, they 
 would probably have refused, as undue to the Greeks, and dishonourable to 
 themselves. This was the famous resolution, that, before crossing the Bos¬ 
 phorus to go in quest of that Palestine which they had vowed to regain, 
 each chief of crusaders would acknowledge individually the Grecian Em¬ 
 peror, originally lord paramount of all these regions, as their liege lord and 
 suzerain. 
 
 The Emperor Alexius, with trembling joy, beheld the crusaders approach 
 a conclusion to which he had hoped to bribe them rather by interested means 
 than by reasoning, although much might be said why provinces reconquered 
 from the Turks or Saracens should, if recovered from the infidel, become 
 again a part of the Grecian empire, from which they had been rent without 
 any pretence, save that of violence. 
 
 Though fearful, and almost despairing of being able to manage the rude 
 and discordant army of haughty chiefs, who were wholly independent of 
 each other, Alexius failed not, with eagerness and dexterity, to seize upon 
 the admission of Godfrey and his compeers, that the Emperor was entitled 
 to the allegiance of all who should war on Palestine, and natural lord para¬ 
 mount of all the conquests which should be made in the course of the expe¬ 
 dition. lie was resolved to make this ceremony so public, and to interest 
 men’s minds in it by such a display of the imperial pomp and munificence, 
 that it should not either pass unknown, or be readily forgotten. 
 
 An extensive terrace, one of the numerous spaces which extend along the 
 coast of the Propontis, was chosen for the site of the magnificent ceremony. 
 Here was placed an elevated and august throne, calculated for the use of 
 the Emperor alone. On this occasion, by suffering no other seats within 
 view of the pageant, the Greeks endeavoured to secure a point of ceremony 
 peculiarly dear to their vanity, namely, that none of that presence, save the 
 Emperor himself, should be seated. Around the throne of Alexius Comne- 
 nus were placed in order, but standing, the various dignitaries of his splendid 
 court, in their difierent ranks, from the Protosebastos and the Caesar, to the 
 Patriarch, spieudid in his ecclesiastical robes, and to Agelastes, who, in his 
 simple habit, gave also the necessary attendance. Behind and around the 
 
 • See Mills’ History of the Crusades, vol i. p. 96. 
 
• COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 80 
 
 splendid display of the Emperor’s court, were drawn many dark circles of 
 the exiled Anglo-Saxons. These, by their own desire, were not, on that 
 memorable dav, accoutred in the silver corslets which were the fashion of 
 an idle court, hut sheathed in mail and plate. They desired, they said, to 
 be known as warriors to warriors. This was the more readily granted, as 
 there was no knowing what trifle might infringe a truce between parties so 
 inflammable as were now assembled. 
 
 Beyond the Varangians, in much greater numbers, were drawn up the 
 bands of Grecians, or Romans, then known by the title of Immortals, which 
 had been borrowed by the Romans originally from the empire of Persia. 
 The stately forms, lofty crests, and splendid apparel of these guards, would 
 have given the foreign princes present a higher idea of their military prowess, 
 had there not occurred in their ranks a frequent indication of loquacity and 
 of motion, forming a strong contrast to the steady composure and death-like 
 silence with which the well-trained Varangians stood in the parade, like 
 statues made of iron. 
 
 The reader must then conceive this throne in all the pomp of Oriental 
 greatness, surrounded by the foreign and Roman troops of the empire, and 
 closed on the rear by clouds of light-horse, who shifted their places repeat¬ 
 edly, so as to convey an idea of their multitude, without aifording the exact 
 means of estimating it. Through the dust which they raised by these evo¬ 
 lutions, might be seen banners and standards, among which could be dis¬ 
 covered by glances, the celebrated Labarum,* the pledge of conquest to the 
 imperial banners, but whose sacred efficacy had somewhat failed of late 
 days. The rude soldiers of the West, who viewed the Grecian army, main¬ 
 tained that the standards which were exhibited in front of their line, were 
 at least sufficient for the array of ten times the number of soldiers. 
 
 Far on the right, the appearance of a very large body of European cavalry 
 drawn up on the sea-shore, intimated the presence of the crusaders. So 
 great was the desire to follow the example of the chief Princes, Dukes, and 
 Counts, in making the proposed fealty, that the number of independent 
 knights and nobles who were to perform this service, seemed very great 
 wlien collected together for that purpose; for every crusader who possessed 
 a tower, and led six lances, would have thought himself abridged of his 
 dignity if he had not been called to acknowledge the Grecian Emperor, and 
 hold the lands he should conquer of his throne, as well as Godfrey of 
 Bouillon, or Hugh the Great, Count of Vermandois. And yet, with strange 
 inconsistency, though they pressed to fulfil the homage, as that which was 
 paid by greater persons than themselves, they seemed, at the very same 
 time, desirous to find some mode of intimating that the homage which they 
 rendered they felt as an idle degradation, and in fact held the whole show 
 as a mere piece of mocker 3 ^ 
 
 The order of the procession had been thus settled: — The Crusaders, or, 
 as the Grecians called them, the Counts ,—that being the most common title 
 among them,—were to advance from the left of their bod^', and passing the 
 Emperor one by one, were apprized, that, in passing, each was to render to 
 him, in as few words as possible, the homage which had been previously 
 agreed on. Godfrey of Bouillon, his brotlier Baldwin, Bohemond of An- 
 
 " Ducanse fills half a column of his huge pag:e with the mere names of the authors who have written at 
 lenfftli on the Labarum, or principal standard of the empire for the time of Constantine. It consisted of a 
 spear of silver, or plated with that metal, having suspended from a cross beam below tlie spoke a small square 
 silken banner, adorned with portraits of the reigning family, and over these the famous Monogram which ex- 
 pres-ies at once the figure of the cross and the initial letters of the name of Christ. The bearer of the Laba¬ 
 rum was an officer of high rank down to the last days of the Byzantine government.—See Gibbon, chap. 20. 
 
 Ducauge seems to have proved, from the evidence of coins and triumphial monuments, that a standard of 
 the form of the Labarum was used by various barbarous nations long before it was adopted by their Roman 
 rxmquerors, and he is of opinion that its name also was borrowed from either Teutonic Germany, or Celtic 
 (Jaul. or Sclavonic Illyria. It is certain that either the German language or the Welsh may afford at this day 
 a perfectly satisfactory etymon ; Lap-heer in the former and Lab-hair in the latter, having precisely the same 
 ineaiiing — the cloth oj the host. 
 
 The form of the Labarum may still be recognised in the banners carried in ecrdesiastical processions in all 
 Roman Catholic countries. 
 
 II 
 
 o 
 
90 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 tioch, and several other crusaders of eminence, were the first to perform tlie 
 ceremony, alighting when their own part was performed, and remaining in 
 attendance by the Emperor’s chair, to prevent, by the awe of their presence, 
 any of their numerous associates from being guilty of petulance or pre¬ 
 sumption during the solemnity. Other crusaders of less degree retained 
 their station near the Emperor, when they had once gained it, out of mere 
 curiosity, or to show that they were as much at liberty to do so as the 
 greater commanders who assumed that privilege. 
 
 Thus two great bodies of troops, Grecian and European, paused at some 
 distance from each other on the banks of the Bosphorus canal, differing in 
 language, arms, and appearance. The small troops of horse which from 
 time to time issued forth from these bodies, resembled the flashes of light¬ 
 ning passing from one thunder-cloud to another, which communicate to each 
 other by such emissaries their overcharged contents. After some halt on 
 the margin of the Bosphorus, the Franks who had performed homage, 
 straggled irregularly forward to a quay on the shore, where innumerable 
 galleys and smaller vessels, provided for the purpose, lay with sails and 
 oars prepared to waft the warlike pilgrims across the passage, and place 
 them on that Asia which they longed so passionately to visit, and from 
 which but few of them were likely to return. The gay appearance of the 
 vessels which were to receive them, the readiness with which they were sup¬ 
 plied with refreshments, the narrowness of the strait they had to cross, the 
 near approach of that active service which they had vowed and longed to 
 discharge, put the warriors into gay spirits, and songs and music bore 
 chorus to the departing oars. 
 
 While such was the temper of the crusaders, the Grecian Emperor did 
 his best through the whole ceremonial to impress on the armed multitude 
 the highest ideas of his own grandeur, and the importance of the occasion 
 which had brought them together. This was readily admitted by the higher 
 chiefs; some because their vanity had been propitiated, — some because 
 their avarice had been gratified, — some because their ambition had been 
 inflamed, — and a few, a very few, because to remain friends with Alexius 
 was the most probable means of advancing the purposes of their expedition. 
 Accordingly the great lords, from these various motives, practised a humility 
 which perhaps they were far from feeling, and carefully abstained from all 
 which might seem like irreverence at the solemn festival of the Grecians. 
 But there were very many of a different temper. 
 
 Of the great number of counts, lords, and knights, under whose variety 
 of banners the crusaders were led to the walls of Constantinople, many 
 were too insignificant to be bribed to this distasteful measure of homage; 
 and these, though they felt it dangerous to oppose resistance, yet mixed 
 their submission with taunts, ridicule, and such contraventions of decorum, 
 as plainly intimated that they entertained resentment and scorn at the step 
 they were about to take, and esteemed it as proclaiming themselves vassals 
 to a prince, heretic in his faith, limited in the exercise of his boasted 
 power, their enemy when he dared to show himself such, and the friend of 
 those only among their number, "who were able to compel him to be so; 
 and who, though to them an obsequious ally, was to the others, when 
 occasion offered, an insidious and murderous enemy. 
 
 The nobles of Frankish origin and descent were chiefly remarkable for 
 their presumptuous contempt of every other nation engaged in the crusade, 
 as well as for their dauntless bravery, and for the scorn with which they 
 regarded the power and authority of the Greek empire. It was a common 
 saying among them, that if the skies should fall, the French crusaders 
 alone were able to hold therA up with their lances. The same bold and 
 arrogant disposition showed itself in occasional quarrels with their un¬ 
 willing hosts, in which the Greeks, notwithstanding all their art, were often 
 worsted ; so that Alexius was determined, at all events, to get rid of these 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 91 
 
 intractable and fiery allies, by ferrying them over the Bosphorus "with all 
 manner of diligence. To do this with safety, he availed himself of the 
 presence of the Count of Yermandois, Godfrey of Bouillon, and other chiefs 
 of great influence, to keep in order the lesser Frankish knights, who were 
 so numerous and unruly.* 
 
 Struggling with his feelings of olfended pride, tempered by a prudent 
 degree of apprehension, the Emperor endeavoured to receive with com¬ 
 placence a homage tendered in mockery. An incident shortly took place 
 of a character highly descriptive of the nations brought together in so ex¬ 
 traordinary a manner, and with such difierent feelings and sentiments. 
 Several bands of French'had passed, in a sort of procession, the throne of 
 the Emperor, and rendered, with some appearance of gravity, the usual 
 homage. On this occasion they bent their knees to Alexius, placed their 
 hands within his, and in that posture paid the ceremonies of feudal fealty. 
 But when it came to the turn of Bohemond of Antioch, already mentioned, 
 to render this fealty, the Emperor, desirous to show every species of honour 
 to this wily person, his former enemy, and now apparently his ally, advanced 
 two or three paces towards the sea-side, where the boats lay as if in readi¬ 
 ness for his use. 
 
 The distance to which the Emperor moved was very small, and it was 
 assumed as a piece of deference to Bohemond ; but it became the means of 
 exposing Alexius himself to a cutting afl'ront, which his guards and subjects 
 felt deeply, as an intentional humiliation. A half score of horsemen, at¬ 
 tendants of the Frankish Count who was next to perform the homage, with 
 their lord at their head, set off at full gallop from the right flank of the 
 French squadrons, and arriving before the throne, which was yet empty, 
 they at once halted. The rider at the head of the band was a strong her¬ 
 culean figure, with a decided and stern countenance, though extremely 
 handsome, looking out from thick black curls. Ilis head was surmounted 
 with a barret cap, while his hands, limbs, and feet were covered Avith gar¬ 
 ments of chamois leather, over Avhich he in general wore the ponderous 
 and complete armour of his country. This, however, he had laid aside for 
 personal convenience, though in doing so he evinced a total neglect of the 
 ceremonial which marked so important a meeting. He waited not a mo¬ 
 ment for the Emperor’s return, nor regarded the impropriety of obliging 
 Alexius to hurry his steps back to his throne, but sprung from his gigantic 
 horse, and threw the reins loose, which were instantly seized by one of the 
 attendant pages. Without a moment’s hesitation the Frank seated himself 
 in the vacant throne of the Emperor, and extending his half-armed and 
 robust figure on the golden cushions which were destined for Alexius, he 
 indolently began to caress a large wolf-hound which had followed him, and 
 which, feeling itself as much at ease as its master, reposed its grim form 
 on the carpets of silk and gold damask, which tapestried the imperial foot¬ 
 stool. The very hound stretched itself with a bold, ferocious insolence, 
 and seemed to regard no one with respect, save the stern knight whom it 
 called master. 
 
 The Emperor, turning back from the short space which, as a special 
 mark of favour, he had accompanied Bohemond, beheld with astonishment 
 his seat occupied by this insolent Frank. The bands of the half-savage 
 Varangians who were stationed around, would not have hesitated an instant 
 in avenging the insult, by prostrating the violator of their master’s throne 
 even in this act of his contempt, had they not been restrained by Achilles 
 Tatius and other officers, who were uncertain what the Emperor would do, 
 and somewhat timorous of taking a resolution for themselves. 
 
 Meanwhile, the unceremonious knight spoke aloud, in a speech which, 
 though provincial, might be understood by all to whom the French language 
 
 * See Mills, vol. i. chap. 3. 
 
no 
 
 t' aJ 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Avas known, while even those Avho understood it not, gathered its interpre¬ 
 tation from his tone and manner. “What churl is this,he said, “who 
 has remained sitting stationary like a block of wood, or the fragment of a 
 rock, when so many noble knights, the flower of chivalry and muster of 
 gallantry, stand uncovered around, among the thrice conquered Varan- 
 ..^ians ?” 
 
 A deep, clear accent replied, as if from the bottom of the earth, so like 
 it was to the accents of some being from the other world, — “If the Nor¬ 
 mans desire battle of the Varangians, they will meet them in the lists man 
 to man, Avithout the poor boast of insulting the Emperor of Greece, who is 
 well known to fight only by the battle-axes of his guard.^^ 
 
 The astonishment was so great when this answer was heard, as to alfect 
 even the knight, whose insult upon the Emperor had occasioned it; and 
 amid the efforts of Achilles to retain his soldiers within the bounds of 
 subordination and silence, a loud murmur seemed to intimate that they 
 would not long remain so. Bohemond returned through the press with a 
 celerity which did not so well suit the dignity of Alexius, and catching the 
 crusader by the arm, he, something betAveen fair means and a gentle degree 
 of force, obliged him to leave the chair of the Emperor, in which he had 
 placed himself so boldly. 
 
 “ How is it,’^ said Bohemond, “noble Count of Paris? Is there one of 
 this great assembly who can see with patience, that your name, so widely 
 renowned for valour, is now to be quoted in an idle brawl with hirelings, 
 whose utmost boast it is to bear a mercenary battle-axe in the ranks of the 
 Emperor’s guards? For shame — for shame — do not, for the discredit of 
 Norman chivalry, let it be so!” 
 
 “ I know not,” said the crusader, rising reluctantly — “I am not nice in 
 choosing the degree of my adversary, when he bears himself like one who 
 is willing and forward in battle. I am good-natured, I tell thee. Count 
 Bohemond ; and Turk or Tartar, or wandering Anglo-Saxon, who only 
 escapes from the chain of the Normans to become the slave of the Greek, 
 is equally welcome to whet his blade clean against my armour, if he desires 
 to achieve such an honourable office.” 
 
 The Emperor had heard what passed — had heard it with indignation, 
 mixed with fear; for he imagined the whole scheme of his policy was about 
 to be overturned at once by a premeditated plan of personal afiront, and 
 probably an assault upon his person. He was about to call to arms, when, 
 casting his eyes on the right flank of the crusaders, he saw that all remained 
 quiet after the Frank Baron had transferred himself from thence. He 
 therefore instantly resoh^ed to let the insult pass, as one of the rough 
 pleasantries of the Franks, since the advance of more troops did not give 
 any symptom of an actual onset. 
 
 Besolving on his line of conduct with the quickness of thought, he glided 
 back to his canopy, and stood beside his throne, of which, however, he chose 
 not instantly to take possession, lest he should give the insolent stranger 
 some ground for renewing and persisting in a competition for it. 
 
 “What bold Vavasour is this,” said he to Count Baldwin, “'whom, as is 
 apparent from his dignity, I ought to have received seated upon my throne, 
 and who thinks proper thus to vindicate his rank ?” 
 
 “ He is reckoned one of the bravest men in our host,” answered Baldwin, 
 “ though the brave are as numerous there as the sands of the sea. He will 
 himself tell you his name and rank.” 
 
 Alexius looked at the Vavasour. He saw nothing in his large, well-formed 
 features, lighted by a wild touch of enthusiasm which spoke in his quick 
 eye, that intimated premeditated insult, and was induced to suppose that 
 what had occurred, so contrary to the form and ceremonial of the Grecian 
 court, was neither an intentional affront, nor designed as the means of in¬ 
 troducing a quarrel. He therefore spoke with comparative ease, when he 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 93 
 
 addressed the stranger thus: — “We know not by what dignified name to 
 salute you ; hut we are aware, from Count Baldwin’s information, that we 
 are honoured in having in our presence one of the bravest knights whom a 
 sense of the wrongs done to the Holy Land has brought thus far on his way 
 to Palestine, to free it from its bondage.” 
 
 “If you mean to ask my name,” answered the European knight, “any 
 one of these pilgrims can readily satisfy you, and more gracefully than I 
 can myself; since we use to say in our country, that many a fierce quarrel 
 is prevented from being fought out by an untimely disclosure of names, 
 when men, who might have fought with the fear of God before their eyes, 
 must, when their names are manifested, recognise each other as spiritual 
 allies, by baptism, gossipred, or some such irresistible bond of friendship; 
 whereas, had they fought first and told their names afterwards, they could 
 have had some assurance of each other’s valour, and have been able to view 
 their relationship as an honour to both.” 
 
 “ Still,” said the Emperor, “methinks I would know if you, who, in this 
 extraordinary press of knights, seem to assert a precedence to yourself, 
 claim the dignity due to a king or prince?” 
 
 “ IIow speak you that?” said the Frank, with a brow somewhat over¬ 
 clouded ; “do you feel that I have not left you unjostled by my advance to 
 these squadrons of yours?” 
 
 Alexius hastened to answer, that he felt no particular desire to connect 
 the Count with an affront or offence; observing, that in the extreme neces¬ 
 sity of the Empire, it was no time for him, who was at the helm, to engage 
 in idle or unnecessary quarrels. 
 
 The Frankish knight heard him, and answered drily — “Since such are 
 your sentiments, I wonder that you have ever resided long enough Avithin 
 the hearing of the French language to learn to speak it as you do. I would 
 have thought some of the sentiments of the chivalry of the nation, since 
 you are neither a monk nor a woman, would, at the same time with the 
 AYords of the dialect, have found their way into your heart.” 
 
 “Hush, Sir Count,” said Bohemond, who remained by the Emperor to 
 avert the threatening quarrel. “It is surely requisite to answer the Em¬ 
 peror with civility; and those who are impatient for warfare, will have infi¬ 
 dels enough to wage it with. He only demanded your name and lineage, 
 Avhich you of all men can have the least objection to disclose.” 
 
 “I know not if it will interest this prince, or Emperor as you term him,” 
 answered the Frank Count; “but all the account I can gi\’e of myself is 
 this: — In the midst of one of the vast forests which occupy the centre of 
 France, my native country, there stands a chapel, sunk so low into the 
 ground, that it seems as if it Avere become decrepid by its own great age. 
 The image of the Holy Virgin Avho presides OA^er its altar, is called by all 
 men our Lady of the Broken Lances, and is accounted through the whole 
 kingdom the most celebrated for military adventures. Four beaten roads, 
 each leading from an opposite point in the compass, meet before the prin¬ 
 cipal door of the chapel; and ever and anon, as a good knight arrives at 
 this place, he passes in to the performance of his devotions in the chapel, 
 having first sounded his horn three times, till ash and oak-tree quiver and 
 ring. IlaA'ing then kneeled doAvn to his devotions, he seldom arises from 
 the mass of Her of the Broken Lances, but there is attending on his leisure 
 some adventurous knight ready to satisfy the new comer’s desire of battle. 
 This station have I held for a month and more against all comers, and all 
 gave me fair thanks for the knightly manner of quitting myself toAvards 
 them, except one, Avho had the evil hap to fall from his horse, and did break 
 his neck ; and another, who was struck through the body, so that the lance 
 came out behind his back about a cloth-yard, all dripping with blood. 
 Allowing for such accidents, Avhich cannot easily be avoided, my opponents 
 })ai Led with me with fair acknoAvledgment of the grace I had done them.” 
 
94 
 
 WAVEHLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ I conceive, Sir Knight,’’ said the Emperor, “ that a form like yours, 
 animated by the courage you display, is likely to find few equals even among 
 your adventurous countrymen ; far less among men who are taught that to 
 cast away their lives in a senseless quarrel among themselves, is to throw 
 away, like a boy, the gift of Providence.” 
 
 “You are welcome to your opinion,” said the Frank, somewhat con¬ 
 temptuously; “yet I assure you, if you doubt that our gallant strife was 
 unmixed with sullenness and anger, and that we hunt not the hart or the 
 boar with merrier hearts in the evening, than w^e discharge our task of 
 chivalry by the morn had arisen, before the portal of the old chapel, you do 
 us foul injustice.” 
 
 “ With the Turks you will not enjoy this amiable exchange of courtesies,” 
 answered Alexius. “ Wherefore I would advise you neither to stray far 
 into the van nor into the rear, but to abide by the standard where the best 
 infidels make their efforts, and the best knights are required to repel them.” 
 
 “ By our Lady of the Broken Lances,” said the Crusader, “ I would not 
 that the Turks were more courteous than they are Christian, and am well 
 pleased that unbeliever and heathen hound are a proper description for the 
 best of them, as being traitor alike to their God and to the laws of chivalry; 
 and devoutly do I trust that I shall meet with them in the front rank of our 
 army, beside our standard, or elsewhere, and have an open field to my 
 devoir against them, both as the enemies of our Lady and the holy saints, 
 and as, by their evil customs, more expressly my own. Meanwhile you have 
 time to seat yourself and receive my homage, and I will be bound to you 
 for despatching this foolish ceremony with as little waste and delay of time 
 as the occasion will permit.” 
 
 The Emperor hastily seated himself, and received into his the sinewy 
 hands of the Crusader, who made the acknowledgment of his homage, and 
 was then guided off by Count Baldwin, who walked with the stranger to 
 the ships, and then, apparently well pleased at seeing him in the course of 
 going on board, returned back to the side of the Emperor. 
 
 “ What is the name,” said the Emperor, “ of that singular and assuming 
 man ?” 
 
 “It is Bobert, Count of Paris,” answered Baldwin, “accounted one of 
 the bravest peers who stand around the throne of France.” 
 
 After a moment’s recollection, Alexius Comnenus issued orders, that the 
 ceremonial of the day should be discontinued, afraid, perhaps, lest the rough 
 and careless humour of the strangers should produce some new quarrel. 
 The crusaders were led, nothing loth, back to palaces in which they had 
 been hospitably received, and readily resumed the interrupted feast, from 
 which they had been called to pay their homage. The trumpets of the 
 various leaders blew the recall of the few troops of an ordinary character 
 who were attendant, together with the host of knights and leaders, who, 
 pleased with the indulgences provided for them, and obscurely foreseeing 
 that the passage of the Bosphorus would be the commencement of their 
 actual suffering, rejoiced in being called to the hither side. 
 
 It was not probably intended; but the hero, as he might be styled, of the 
 tumultuous day. Count Robert of Paris, who was already on his road to em¬ 
 barkation on the strait, was disturbed in his purpose by the sound of recall 
 which was echoed around; nor could Bohemond, Godfrey, or any one who 
 took upon him to explain the signal, alter his resolution of returning to 
 Constantinople. He laughed to scorn the threatened displeasure of the 
 Emperor, and seemed to think there would be a peculiar pleasure in braving 
 Alexius at his own board, or, at least, that nothing could be more indifferent 
 than whether he gave offence or not. 
 
 To Godfrey of Bouillon, to AVhom he showed some respect, he was still 
 far from paying deference; and that sagacious prince, having used every 
 argument which might shake his purpose of returning to the imperial city, 
 
COUNT R 0 li 1': R T OF PARIS. 
 
 95 
 
 to the very point of making it a quarrel with him in person, at length aban¬ 
 doned him to his own discretion, and pointed him out to the Count of Thou- 
 louse, as he passed, as a wild knight-errant, incapable of being influenced 
 by any thing save his own wayward fancy. “ lie brings not five hundred 
 men to the crusade,” said Godfrey ; “ and I dare be sworn, that even in this, 
 the very outset of the undertaking, he knows not where these five hundred 
 men are, and how their wants are provided for. There is an eternal trumpet 
 in his ear sounding to assault, nor has he room or time to hear a milder or 
 more rational signal. See how' he strolls along yonder, tlie very emblem of 
 an idle schoolboy, broke out of the school-bounds upon a holyday, half ani¬ 
 mated by curiosity and half by love of mischief.” 
 
 “ And,” said Kaymond, Count of Thoulouse, “ with resolution sufficient 
 to support the desperate purpose of the whole army of devoted crusaders. 
 And yet so passionate a Rodomont is Count Robert, that he w'ould rather 
 risk the success of the whole expedition, that omit an opportunity of meet¬ 
 ing a worthy antagonist en champ-clos, or lose, as he terms it, a chance of 
 worshipping our Lady of the Broken Lances. Who are yon with w’hom he 
 has now met, and who are apparently walking, or rather strolling in the 
 same way with him, back to Constantinople ?” 
 
 “An armed knight, brilliantly equipped — yet of something less than 
 knightly stature,” answered Godfrey. “ It is, I suppose, the celebrated 
 lady who won Robert's heart in the lists of battle, by bravery and valour 
 equal to his own; and the pilgrim form in the long vestments may be their 
 daughter or niece.” 
 
 “ A singular spectacle, worthy Knight,” said the Count of Thoulouse, 
 “ do our days present to us, to which we have had nothing similar, sinee 
 Gaita,* wife of Robert Guiscard, first took upon her to distinguish herself 
 by manly deeds of emprise, and rival her husband, as well in the front of 
 battle as at the dancing-room or banquet.” 
 
 “ Such is the custom of this pair, most noble knight,” answered another 
 Crusader, who had joined them, “and Heaven pity the poor man who has 
 no power to keep domestic peace by an appeal to the stronger hand!” 
 
 “Well!” replied Raymond, “if it be rather a mortifying reflection, that 
 the lady of our love is far past the bloom of youth, it is a consolation that 
 she is too old-fashioned to beat us, when we return back with no more of 
 youth or manhood than a long crusade has left. But come, follow on the 
 road to Constantinople, and in the rear of this most doughty kniglit.” 
 
 • This Amazon makes a conspicuous figure in Anna Comnena’s account of her father’s cainpaigns against 
 Robert Guiscard. On one occasion (Aiexiud, lib iv. p. 93) she represents her as thus recalliiii’ the fugitive 
 soldiery of her husband to their duty,—' H Se ye Taira HuAAaf aAAr?, kov nrj KQtjvti kut utircav [xcyiftjv 
 a^uaa (fxuvrjv^ fiovov ov to ’ OfiripiKOV ettoj ry i6ia biaXiKrip \tytiv fioKCt. noay ipev^cade 
 
 <TTi}T£ avcpes fcrt. 'Slf Ss en ipcvyovras ruryg euipa, bopv piaKpov ivayKa\iaap£vrj, 6A»f ^vrypat 
 
 ivSyga Kara nov (ptvyovruiv urai .—That is, exhorting Ihein, in all hut Homeric language, at the top of 
 her voice ; and when this failed, brandishing a long spear, and rushing upon the fugitives at the utmost speed 
 of her horse. 
 
 This heroic lady, according to the Chronitjxie Scandal fuse, of those days, was afterwards deluded by some 
 cunning overtures of the Greek Emperor, and poisoned her hu.sband in expectation of gaining a place on the 
 throne of Constantinople. Ducange, however, rejects the story, and so does Giblion. 
 
9(5 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 (Cjiaptn tjiB (KBntjj. 
 
 Those were wild times—the antipodes of ours: 
 
 Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves 
 In the broad lustre of a foeman’s shield 
 Than in a mirror, and who rather soug-ht 
 To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance 
 To meet a lover’s onset.—But though Nature 
 Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 
 
 Feudal Times. 
 
 Brenhilda, Countess of Paris, was one of those stalwart dames who wil¬ 
 lingly hazarded themselves in the front of battle, which, during the first 
 crusade, was as common as’ it was possible for a very unnatural custom to 
 be, and, in fact, gave the real instances of the Marphisas and Bradamantes, 
 whom the writers of romance delighted to paint, assigning them sometimes 
 the advantage of invulnerable armour, or a spear whose thrust did not 
 admit of being resisted, in order to soften the improbability of the weaker 
 sex being frequently victorious over the male part of the creation. 
 
 Blit the spell of Brenhilda ^as of a more simple nature, and rested 
 chiefly in her great beauty. 
 
 From a girl she despised the pursuits of her sex; and they who ventured 
 to become suitors for the hand of the young Lady of Aspramonte, to which 
 warlike fief she had succeeded, and which perhaps encouraged her in her 
 fancy, received for answer, that they must first merit it by their good beha¬ 
 viour in the lists. The fiither of Brenhilda was dead; her mother was of 
 a gentle temper, and easily kept under management by the young lady 
 herself. 
 
 Brenhilda’s numerous suitors readily agreed to terms which were too 
 much according, to the manners of the age to be disputed. A tournament 
 was held at the Castle of Aspramonte, in which one half of the gallant as¬ 
 sembly rolled headlong before their successful rivals, and withdrew from the 
 lists mortified and disappointed. The successful party among the suitors 
 were expected to be summoned to joust among themselves. But they werq 
 surprised at being made acquainted with the lady’s further will. She 
 aspired to wear armour herself, to wield a lance, and back a steed, and 
 prayed the knights that they would permit a lady, whom they professed to 
 honour so highly, to mingle in their games of chivalry. The young knights 
 courteously received their young mistress in the lists, and smiled at the idea 
 of her holding them triumphantly against so many gallant champions of 
 the other sex. But the vassals and old servants of the Count, her father, 
 smiled to each other, and intimated a different result than the gallants anti¬ 
 cipated. The knights who encountered the fair Brenhilda were one by one 
 stretched on the sand; nor was it to be denied, that the situation of tilting 
 with one of the handsomest women of the time was an extremely embar¬ 
 rassing one. Each youth was bent to withhold his charge in full volley, to 
 cause his steed to swerve at the full shock, or in some other way to flinch 
 from doing the utmost which was necessary to gain the victory, lest, in so 
 gaining it, he might cause irreparable injury to the beautiful opponent he 
 tilted with. But the Lady of Aspramonte was not one who could be con¬ 
 quered by less than the exertion of the whole strength and talents of the 
 victor. The defeated suitors departed from the lists the more mortified at 
 their discomfiture, because l^obert of Paris arrived at sunset, and, under¬ 
 standing what was going forward, sent his name to the barriers, as that of 
 a knight who would willingly forego the reward of the tournament, in case 
 he had the fortune to gain it, declaring, that neither lands nor ladies’ 
 
COUNT HUBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 charms were what he came thither to seek. Brenhilda, piqued and morti- 
 lied, chose a new lance, mounted her best steed, and advanced into the lists 
 as one determined to avenge upon the new assailant’s brow the slight of her 
 charms which he seemed to express. But whether her displeasure had 
 somewhat interfered with her usual skill, or whether she had, like others 
 of her sex, felt a partiality towards one whose heart was not particularly 
 set upon gaining hers — or whether, as is often said on such occasions, her 
 fated hour was come, so it was that Count Robert tilted with his usual 
 address and good fortune. Brenhilda of Aspramonte was unhorsed and 
 unhelmed, and stretched on the earth, and the beautiful face, which hided 
 from very red to deadly pale before the eyes of the victor, produced its 
 natural effect in raising the value of his conquest. He would, in conformity 
 wdth his resolution, have left the castle after having mortified the vanity of 
 the lady; but her mother opportunely interposed ; and when she had satis¬ 
 fied herself that no serious injury had been sustained by the young heiress, 
 she returned her thanks to the stranger knight who had taught her daughter 
 a lesson, which, she trusted, she would not easily forget. Thus tempted to 
 do what he secretly wished. Count Robert gave ear to those sentiments, 
 which naturally whispered to him to be in no hurry to withdraw. 
 
 He was of the blood of Charlemagne, and, what was still of more conse¬ 
 quence in the young lady’s eyes, one of the most renowned of Norman 
 knights in that jousting day. After a residence of ten days in the castle 
 of Aspramonte, the bride and bridegroom set out, for such Avas Count 
 Robert’s Avill, with a competent train, to our Lady of the Broken Lances, 
 where it pleased him to be wedded. Two knights who were waiting to do 
 battle, as was the custom of the place, were rather disappointed at the 
 nature of the cavalcade, which seemed to interrupt their purpose. But 
 greatly were they surprised when they received a cartel from the betrothed 
 couple, offering to substitute their own persons in the room of other antago¬ 
 nists, and congratulating themselves in commencing their married life in a 
 manner so consistent with that Avhich they had hitherto led. They were 
 victorious as usual; and the only persons having occasion to rue the com¬ 
 plaisance of the Count and his bride, were the two strangers, one of whom 
 broke an arm in the rencontre, and the other dislocated a collar-bone. 
 
 Count Robert’s course of knight-errantry did not seem to be in the least 
 intermitted by his marriage; on the contrary, when he Avas called upon to 
 support his renown, his wife was often known also in military exploits, nor 
 Avas she inferior to him in thirst after fame. They both assumed the cross 
 at the same time, that being then the predominating folly in Europe. 
 
 The Countess Brenhilda was now above six-and-twenty years old, with as 
 much beauty as can well fall to the share of an Amazon. A figure, of the 
 largest feminine size, was surmounted by a noble countenance, to AA^hich 
 even repeated Avarlike toils had not given more than a sunny hue, relieved 
 by the dazzling whiteness of such parts of her face as were not usually 
 displayed. 
 
 As Alexius gave orders that his retinue should return to Constantinople, 
 he spoke in private to the Folloiver, Achilles Tatius. The Satrap answered 
 with a submissive bend of the head, and separated with a few attendants 
 from the main body of the Emperor’s train. The principal road to the city 
 was, of course, filled with the troops, aqd A\’ith the numerous crowds of 
 spectators, all of whom were inconvenienced in some degree by the dust 
 and heat of the weather. 
 
 Count Robert of Paris had embarked his horses on board of ship, and 
 all his retinue, except an old squire or valet of his own, and an attendant 
 of his wife. He felt himself more incommoded in this crowd than he de¬ 
 sired, especially as his A\dfe shared it Avith him, and began to look among 
 the scattered trees which fringed the shores, down almost to the tide-mark, 
 to see if he could discern any by-path which might carry them more circui- 
 
 VoL. XII. — 7 I. 
 
98 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 tously, but more pleasantly, to the city, and afford them at the same time, 
 what was their principal object in the East, strange sights, or adventures 
 of chivalry. A broad and beaten path seemed to promise them all the 
 enjoyment which shade could give in a warm climate. The ground through 
 which it wound its way was beautifully broken by the appearance of 
 temples, churches, and kiosks, and here and there a fountain distributed 
 its silver produce, like a benevolent individual, who, self-denying to him¬ 
 self, is liberal to all others who are in necessity. The distant sound of the 
 martial music still regaled their way; and, at the same time, as it detained 
 the populace on the high-road, prevented the strangers from becoming in¬ 
 commoded with fellow-travellers. 
 
 Rejoicing in the abated heat of the day—wondering, at the same time, at 
 the various kinds of architecture, the strange features of the landscape, or 
 accidental touches of manners, exhibited by those who met or passed them 
 upon their journey, they strolled easily onwards. One figure particularly 
 caught the attention of the Countess Brenhilda. This was an old man of 
 great stature, engaged, apparently, so deeply with the roll of parchment 
 which he held in his hand, that he paid no attention to the objects which 
 w'ere passing around him. Deep thought appeared to reign on his brow, 
 and his eye was of that piercing kind which seems designed to search and 
 winnow the frivolous from the edifying part of human discussion, and limit 
 its inquiry to the last. Raising his eyes slowly from the parchment on 
 which he had been gazing, the look of Agelastes—for it was the sage him¬ 
 self ■—encountered those of Count Robert and his lady, and addressing 
 them with the kindly epithet of “ my children,he asked if they had 
 missed their road, or whether there was any thing in which he could do 
 them any pleasure. 
 
 “AVe are strangers, father,'’ was the answer, “from a distant country, 
 and belongiug to the army which has passed hither upon pilgrimage; one 
 object brings us here in common, we hope, with all that host. We desire to 
 pay our devotions where the great ransom was paid for us, and to free, by 
 our good swords, enslaved Palestine, from the usurpation and tyranny of 
 the infidel. AVhen we have said this, we have announced our highest 
 human motive. Yet Robert of Paris and his Countess would not willingly 
 set their foot on a land, save what should resound its echo. They have not 
 been accustomed to move in silence upon the face of the earth, and they 
 would purchase an eternal life of fame, though it were at the price of 
 mortal existence." 
 
 “ You seek, then, to barter safety for fame," said Agelastes, “ though 
 you may, perchance, throw death into the scale by w^hich you hope to 
 gain it?" 
 
 “ Assuredly," said Count Robert; “nor is there one wearing such a belt 
 as this, to whom such a thought is stranger." 
 
 “And as I understand," said Agelastes, “your lady shares with your 
 honourable self in these valorous resolutions ?—Can this be ?" 
 
 “ You may undervalue my female courage, father, if such is your will," 
 said the Countess; “but I speak in presence of a witness who can attest 
 the truth, when I say that a man of half your years had not doubted the 
 truth with impunity." 
 
 “Nay, Heaven protect me from the lightning of your eyes," said Agel¬ 
 astes, “ whether in anger or in scorn. I bear an gegis about myself against 
 what I should else have feared. But age, with its incapacities, brings also 
 its apologies. Perhaps, indeed, it is one like me whom you seek to find, 
 and in that case I should be happy to render to you such services as it is 
 my duty to offer to all worthy knights." 
 
 “ I have already said," replied Count Robert, “ that after the accomplish¬ 
 ment of my vow," — he looked upwards and crossed himself, — “there is 
 nothing on earth to which T am more bound than to celebrate my name in 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 09 
 
 arms as becomes a valiant cavalier. When men die obscurely, they die for 
 ever. Had my ancestor Charles never left the paltry banks of the Saale, 
 he had not now been much better known than any vine-dresser who wielded 
 his pruning-hook in the same territories. But he bore him like a brave 
 man, and his name is deathless in the memory of the worthy.^’ 
 
 “ Young man,’’ said the old Grecian, “ although it is but seldom that 
 such as you, whom I was made to serve and to value, visit this country, it 
 is not the less true that I am well qualified to serve you in the matter which 
 you have so much at heart. My acquaintance with nature has been so per¬ 
 fect and so long, that, during its continuance, she has disappeared, and an¬ 
 other Avorld has been spread before me, in which she has but little to do. 
 Thus the curious stores which I have assembled are beyond the researches 
 of other men, and not to be laid before those whose deeds of valour are to 
 be bounded by the ordinary probabilities of everyday nature. No romancer 
 of your romantic country ever devised such extraordinary adventures out 
 of his own imagination, and to feed the idle wonder of those who sat listening 
 around, as those p Inch I know, not of idle invention, but of real positive 
 existence, with the means of achieving and accomplishing the conditions of 
 each adventure.” 
 
 “If such be your real profession,” said the French Count, “you have 
 met one of those whom you chiefly search for; nor will my Countess and I 
 stir farther upon our road until you have pointed out to us some one of those 
 adventures which it is the business of errant-knights to be industrious in 
 seeking out.” 
 
 So saying, he sat doAvn by the side of the old man ; and his lady, with a 
 degree of reverence which had something in it almost diverting, followed 
 his example. 
 
 “We have fallen right, Brenhilda,” said Count Robert; “our guardian 
 angel has watched his charge carefully. Here have we come among an 
 ignorant set of pedants, chattering their absurd language, and holding more 
 important the least look that a cowardly Emperor can give, than the best 
 blow that a good knight can deal. Believe me, I was wellnigh thinking 
 that we had done ill to take the cross—God forgive such an impious doubt! 
 Yet here, when we were even despairing to find the road to fame, we have 
 met with one of those excellent men whom the knights of yore were wont 
 to find sitting by springs, by crosses, and by altars, ready to direct the wan¬ 
 dering knight where fame was to be found. Disturb him not, my Bren¬ 
 hilda,” said the Count, “ but let him recall to himself his stories of the 
 ancient time, and thou shalt see he will enrich us with the treasures of his 
 information.” 
 
 “ If,” replied Agelastes, after some pause, “ I have waited for a longer 
 term than human life is granted to most men, I shall still be overpaid by 
 dedicating what remains of existence to the service of a pair so devoted to 
 chivalry. What first occurs to me is a story of our Greek country, so 
 famous in adventures, and M’hich I shall briefly detail to you:— 
 
 “ Afar hence, in our renowned Grecian Archipelago, amid storms and 
 whirlpools, rocks which, changing their character, appear to precipitate 
 themselves against each other, and billows that are never in a pacific state, 
 lies the rich island of Zulmhium, inhabited, notwithstanding its wealth, by 
 a very few natives, who live only upon the sea-coast. The inland part of 
 the island is one immense mountain, or pile of mountains, amongst which, 
 those who dare approach near enough, may, we are assured, discern the 
 moss-grown and antiquated towers and pinnacles of a stately, but ruinous 
 castle, the habitation of the sovereign of the island, in which she has been 
 enchanted for a gi-eat many years. 
 
 “ A bold knight, who came upon a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, made a vow 
 to deliver this unhappy victim of pain and sorcery ; feeling, with justice, 
 vehemently offended, that the fiends of darkness should exercise any authu- 
 
•JOO 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 rity near the Holy Land, which might be termed the very fountain of light. 
 Two of the oldest inhabitants of the island undertook to guide him as near 
 to the main gate as they durst, nor did they approach it more closely than 
 the length of a bow-shot. Here, then, abandoned to himself, the brave 
 Frank set forth upon his enterprise, with a stout heart, and Heaven alone to 
 friend. The fabric which he approached showed, by its gigantic size, and 
 splendour of outline, the power and wealth of the potentate who had erected 
 it. The brazen gates unfolded themselves as if with hope and pleasure; 
 and aerial voices swept around the spires and turrets, congratulating the 
 genius of the place, it might be, upon the expected approach of its de¬ 
 liverer. 
 
 “ The knight passed on, not unmoved with wonder, though untainted by 
 fear; and the Gothic splendours which he saw were of a kind highly to 
 exalt his idea of the beauty of the mistress for whom a prison-house had 
 been so richly decorated. Guards there were in Eastern dress and arms, 
 upon bulwark and buttress, in readiness, it appeared, to bend their bows; 
 but th^ warriors were motionless and silent, and took no more notice of the 
 armed step of the knight than if a monk or hermit had approached their 
 guarded post. They were living, and yet, as to all power and sense, they 
 might be considered among the dead. If there was truth in the old tradi¬ 
 tion, the sun had shone and the rain had fallen upon them for more than 
 four hundred changing seasons, without their being sensible of the genial 
 warmth of the one or the coldness of the other. Like the Israelites in the 
 desert, their shoes had not decayed, nor their vestments waxed old. As 
 Time left them, so and without alteration was he again to find them,^^ The 
 philosopher began now to recall what he had heard of the cause of their 
 enchantment. 
 
 “ The sage to whom this potent charm is imputed, was one of the Magi 
 who followed the tenets of Zoroaster. He had come to the court of this 
 youthful Princess, who received him with every attention w'hich gratified 
 vanity could dictate, so that in a short time her awe of this grave personage 
 was lost in the sense of ascendency which her beauty gave her over him. 
 It was no difficult matter — in fact it happens every day — for the beautiful 
 woman to lull the wise man into what is not inaptly called a fooFs paradise. 
 The sage was induced to attempt feats of youth which his years rendered 
 ridiculous; he could command the elements, but the common course of 
 nature was beyond his power. When, therefore, he exerted his magic 
 strength, the mountains bent and the seas receded; but when the philoso¬ 
 pher attempted to lead forth the Princess of Zulichium in the youthful 
 dance, youths and maidens turned their heads aside lest they should make 
 too manifest the ludicrous ideas with which they were impressed. 
 
 “ Unhappily, as the aged, even the wisest of them, will forget themselves, 
 so the young naturally enter into an alliance to spy out, ridicule, and enjoy 
 their foibles. Many were the glances which the Princess sent among her 
 retinue, intimating the nature of the amusement which she received from 
 the attentions of her formidable lover. In process of time she lost her 
 caution, and a glance was detected, expressing to the old man the ridicule 
 and contempt in which he had been all along held by the object of his 
 affections. Earth has no passion so bitter as love converted to hatred ; and 
 while the sage bitterly regretted what he had done, he did not the less 
 resent the light-hearted folly of the Princess by whom he had been duped. 
 
 “ If, however, he was angry, he possessed the art to conceal it. Not a 
 word, not a look expressed the bitter disappointment which he had received. 
 A shade of melancholy, or r^ather gloom, upon his brow, alone intimated 
 the coming storm. The Princess became somewhat alarmed; she was 
 besides extremely good-natured, nor had her intentions of leading the old 
 }iiau into what would render him ridiculous, been so accurately planned 
 with malice prepense, as they were the effect of accident and chance. She 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 101 
 
 saw the pain which he suticred, and thought to end it by going up to him, 
 when about to retire, and kindly wishing him good-night. 
 
 “ ‘ You say well, daughter,^ said the sago, ‘ good-night — but who, of the 
 numbers who hear me, shall say good-morning?’ 
 
 “ The speech drew little attention, although two or three persons to whom 
 the character of the sage was known, fled from the island that very night, 
 and by their report made known the circumstances attending the first inflic¬ 
 tion of this extraordinary spell on those who remained within the Castle. 
 A sleep like that of death fell upon them, and was not removed. Most of 
 the inhabitants left the island; the few who remained were cautious how 
 they approached the Castle, and watched until some bold adventurer should 
 bring that happy awakening which the speech of the sorcerer seemed in 
 some degree to intimate. 
 
 “Never seemed there a fairer opportunity for that awakening to take 
 place than when the proud step of Artavan de llautlieu was placed upon 
 those enchanted courts. On the left, lay the palace and donjon-keep; but 
 the right, more attractive, seemed to invite to the apartment of the women. 
 At a side door, reclined on a couch, two guards of the haram, with their 
 naked swords grasped in their hands, and features fiendishly contorted 
 between sleep and dissolution, seemed to menace death to any who should 
 venture to approach. This threat deterred not Artavan de llautlieu. He 
 approached the entrance, when the doors, like those of the great entrance 
 to the Castle, made themselves instantly accessible to him. A guard-room 
 of the same effeminate soldiers received him, nor could the strictest exami¬ 
 nation have discovered to him whether it was sleep or death which arrested 
 the eyes that seemed to look upon and prohibit his advance. Unheeding 
 the presence of these ghastly sentinels, Artavan pressed forward into an 
 inner apartment, where female slaves of the most distinguished beauty 
 were visible in the attitude of those who had already assumed their dress 
 for the night. There was much in this scene which might have arrested so 
 young a pilgrim as Artavan of llautlieu; but his heart was fixed on 
 achieving the freedom of the beautiful Princess, nor did he suffer himself 
 to be withdrawn from that object by any inferior consideration. He 
 passed on, therefore, to a little ivory door, which, after a moment’s 
 pause, as if in maidenly hesitation, gave way like the rest, and yielded 
 access to the sleeping apartment of the Princess herself. A soft light, 
 resembling that of evening, penetrated into a chamber where every thing 
 seemed contrived to exalt the luxury of slumber. The heaps of cushions, 
 which formed a stately bed, seemed rather to be touched than impressed 
 by the form of a nymph of fifteen, the renowned Princess of Zulichium.” 
 
 “ "Without interrupting you, good father,” said the Countess Brenhilda, 
 “ it seems to me that we can comprehend the picture of a woman asleep 
 without much dilating upon it, and that such a subject is little recom¬ 
 mended either by our age or by yours.” 
 
 “ IWdon me, noble lady,” answered Agelastes, “ the most approved part 
 of my story has ever been this passage, and while I now suppress it in 
 obedience to your command, bear notice, I pray you, that I sacrifice the 
 most beautiful part of the tale.” 
 
 “Brenhilda,” added the Count, “I am surprised you think of inter¬ 
 rupting a story w^hich has hitherto proceeded with so much fire; the telling 
 of a few words more or less will surely have a much greater influence upon 
 the sense of the narrative, than such an addition can possibly possess over 
 our sentiments of action.” 
 
 “ As you will,” said his lady, throwing herself carelessly back upon tho 
 seat; “ but methinks the worthy father protracts this discourse, till it be¬ 
 comes of a nature more trifling than interesting.” 
 
 “ Brenhilda,” said the Count, “ this is the first time I have remarked in 
 jmu a woman’s weakness.” 
 
102 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ I may as well say, Count Robert, that it is the first time,” answered 
 Brenhilda, “ that you have shown to me the inconstancy of your sex.” 
 
 “ Gods and goddesses,” said the philosopher, “ was ever known a quarrel 
 more absurdly founded ! The Countess is jealous of one whom her husband 
 probably never will see, nor is there any prospect that the Princess of Zuli- 
 chiura will be hereafter better known to the modern world, than if the cur¬ 
 tain hung before her tomb.” 
 
 “ Proceed,” said Count Robert of Paris ; “ if Sir Artavan of Hautlieu has 
 not accomplished the enfranchisement of the Princess of Zulichium, I make 
 a vow to our Lady of the Broken Lances,” — 
 
 “ Remember,” said his lady interfering, “that you are already under a 
 vow to free the Sepulchre of God; and to that, methinks, all lighter engage¬ 
 ments might give place.” 
 
 “Well, lady—well,” said Count Robert, but half satisfied with this inter¬ 
 ference, “ I will not engage myself, you may be assured, on any adventure 
 which may claim precedence of the enterprise of the Holy Sepulchre, to 
 which we are all bound.” 
 
 “Alas!” said Agelastes, “the distance of Zulichium from the speediest 
 route to the sepulchre is so small that”- 
 
 “Worthy father,” said the Countess, “we will, if it pleases you, hear 
 your tale to an end, and then determine what we will do. We Norman 
 ladies, descendants of the old Germans, claim a voice with our lords in the 
 council which precedes the battle; nor has our assistance in the conflict 
 been deemed altogether useless.” 
 
 The tone in which this was spoken conveyed an awkward innuendo to the 
 philosopher, who began to foresee that the guidance of the Norman knight 
 would be more difficult than he had foreseen, while his consort remained by 
 his side. He took up, therefore, his oratory on somewhat a lower key than 
 before, and avoided those warm descriptions which had given such offence 
 to the Countess Brenhilda. 
 
 “ Sir Artavan de Hautlieu, says the story, considered in what way he 
 should accost the sleeping damsel, when it occurred to him in what manner 
 the charm would be most likely to be reversed. I am in your judgment, 
 fair lady, if he judged wrong in resolving that the method of his address 
 should be a kiss upon the lips.” The colour of Brenhilda was somewhat 
 heightened, but she did not deem the observation worthy of notice. 
 
 “ Never had so innocent an action,” continued the philosopher, “ an effect 
 more horrible. The delightful light of a summer evening was instantly 
 changed into a strange lurid hue, which, infected with sulphur, seemed to 
 breathe suffocation through the apartment. The rich hangings, and splendid 
 furniture of the chamber, the very walls themselves, were changed into huge 
 stones tossed together at random, like the inside of a wild beasPs den, nor 
 was the den without an inhabitant. The beautiful and innocent lips to 
 which Artavan de Hautlieu had approached his own, were now changed 
 into the hideous and bizarre form, and bestial aspect of a fiery dragon. A 
 moment she hovered upon the wing, and it is said, had Sir Artavan found 
 courage to repeat his salute three times, he would then have remained 
 master of all the wealth, and of the disenchanted princess. But the oppor¬ 
 tunity was lost, and the dragon, or the creature who seemed such, sailed 
 out at a side window upon its broad pennons, uttering loud wails of disap¬ 
 pointment.” 
 
 Here ended the story of Agelastes. “ The Princess,” he said, “ is still 
 supposed to abide her doom in the Island of Zulichium, and several knights 
 have undertaken the adventu^re; but I know not whether it was the fear of 
 saluting the sleeping maiden, or that of approaching the dragon into which 
 she was transformed, but so it is, the spell remains unachieved. I know 
 the way, and if you say the word, you may be to-morrow on the road to the 
 castle of enchantment.” 
 
COUNT K 0 B E II T OF PARIS. 
 
 103 
 
 The Countess heard this proposal with the deepest anxiety, for she knew 
 that she might, by opposition, determine her husband irrevocably upon fol¬ 
 lowing out the enterprise. She stood therefore with a timid and basnful 
 look, strange in a person whose bearing was generally so dauntless, and 
 prudently left it to the uninfluenced mind of Count Robert to form the 
 resolution which should best please him. 
 
 “ Brenhilda,” he said, taking her hand, “ fame and honour are dear to 
 thy husband as ever they were to knight who buckled a brand upon his 
 side. Thou hast done, perhaps, I may say, for me, what I might in vain 
 have looked for from ladies of thy condition ; and therefore thou mayst well 
 expect a casting voice in such points of deliberation. —Why dost thou 
 wander by the side of a foreign and unhealthy shore, instead of the banks 
 of the lovely Seine?—Why dost thou wear a dress unusual to thy sex? — 
 Why dost thou seek death, and think it little in comparison of shame? — 
 Why? but that the Count of Paris may have a bride worthy of him.—Dost 
 thou think that this aftection is thrown away ? No, by the saints! Thy 
 knight repays it as he best ought, and sacrifices to thee every thought which 
 thy affection may less than entirely approve I” 
 
 Poor Brenhilda, confused as she was by the various emotions with which 
 she was agitated, now in vain endeavoured to maintain the heroic deport¬ 
 ment which her character as an Amazon required from her. She attempted 
 to assume the proud and lofty look which was properly her own, but failing 
 in the effort, she threw herself into the Count’s arms, hung round his neck, 
 and wept like a village maiden, whose true love is pressed for the wars. 
 Her husband, a little ashamed, while he was much moved by this burst of 
 affection in one to whose character it seemed an unusual attribute, was, at 
 the same time, pleased and proud that he could have awakened an affection 
 so genuine and so gentle in a soul so high-spirited and so unbending. 
 
 “ Not thus,” he said, “ my Brenhilda! I would not have it thus, either 
 for thine own sake or for mine. Do not let this wise old man suppose that 
 thy heart is made of the malleable stuff* which forms that of other maidens; 
 and apologize to him, as may well become thee, for having prevented my 
 undertaking the adventure of Zulichium, which he recommends.” 
 
 It was not easy for Brenhilda to recover herself, after having afforded 
 so notable an instance how nature can vindicate her rights, with whatever 
 rigour she may have been disciplined and tyrannized over. With a look of 
 ineffable affection, she disjoined herself from her husband, still keeping 
 hold of his hand, and turning to the old man with a countenance in which 
 the half-effaced tears were succeeded by smiles of pleasure and of modesty, 
 she spoke to Agelastes as she would to a person whom she respected, and 
 towards whom she had some offence to atone. “ Father,” she said, respect¬ 
 fully, “ be not angry with me that I should have been an obstacle to one of 
 the best knights that ever spurred steed, undertaking the enterprise of thine 
 enchanted Princess; but the truth is, that in our land, where knighthood 
 and religion agree in permitting only one lady love, and one lady wife, we 
 do not quite so willingly see our husbands run into danger—especially of 
 that kind where lonely ladies are the parties relieved—and—and kisses are 
 the ransom paid. I have as much confidence in my Robert’s fidelity, as a 
 lady can have in a loving knight, but still”- 
 
 “ Lovely lady,” said Agelastes, who, notwithstanding his highly artificial 
 character, could not help being moved by the simple and sincere affection 
 of the handsome young pair, “ you have done no evil. The state of the 
 Princess is no worse than it was, and there cannot be a doubt that the 
 knight fiited to relieve her, will appear at the destined period.” 
 
 The Countess smiled sadly, and shook her head. “ You do not know,’^ 
 she said, “ how powerful is the aid of which I have unhappily deprived this 
 luifortunate lady, by a jealousy which I now feel to have been alike paltry 
 and unworthy; and, such is my regret, that I could find in my heart to 
 
104 
 
 WAVEELEY NOVELS. 
 
 retract my opposition to Count Robert’s undertaking this adventure.” She 
 looked at her husband with some anxiety, as one that had made an offer she 
 would not willingly see accepted, and did not recover her courage until he 
 said, decidedly, “ Brenhilda, that may not be.” 
 
 “And why, then, may not Brenhilda herself take the adventure,” con¬ 
 tinued the Countess, “ since she can neither fear the charms of the Princess 
 nor the terrors of the dragon ?” 
 
 “ Lady,” said Agelastes, “ the Princess must be awakened by the kiss of 
 love, and not by that of friendship.” 
 
 “ A sufficient reason,” said the Countess, smiling, “ why a lady may not 
 wish her lord to go forth upon an adventure of which the conditions are so 
 regulated.” 
 
 “ Noble minstrel, or herald, or by whatever name this country calls you,” 
 said Count Robert, “ accept a small remuneration for an hour pleasantly 
 spent, though spent, unhappily, in vain. I should make some apology for 
 the meanness of my offering, but French knights, you may have occasion 
 to know, are more full of fame than of wealth.” 
 
 “ Not for that, noble sir,” replied Agelastes, “ would I refuse your muni¬ 
 ficence ; a besant from your worthy hand, or that' of your noble-minded 
 lady, were centupled in its value, by the eminence of the persons from whom 
 it came. I would hang it round my neck by a string of pearls, and when I 
 came into the presence of knights and of ladies, I would proclaim that this 
 addition to my achievement of armorial distinction, was bestowed by the 
 renowned Count Robert of Paris, and his unequalled lady.” The Knight 
 and the Countess looked on each other, and the lady, taking from her finger 
 a ring of pure gold, prayed the old man to accept of it, as a mark of her 
 esteem and her husband’s. “With one other condition,” said the philo¬ 
 sopher, “ which I trust you will not find altogether unsatisfactory. I have, 
 on the way to the city by the most pleasant road, a small kiosk, or her¬ 
 mitage; where I sometimes receive my friends, who, I venture to say, are 
 among the most respectable personages of this empire. Two or three of 
 these will probably honour my residence to-day, and partake of the pro¬ 
 vision it affords. Could I add to these the company of the noble Count and 
 Countess of Paris, I should deem my poor habitation honoured for ever.” 
 
 “ IIow say you, my noble wife?” said the Count. “The company of a 
 minstrel befits the highest birth, honours the highest rank, and adds to the 
 greatest achievements; and the invitation does us too much credit to be 
 rejected.” 
 
 “ It grows somewhat late,” said the Countess: “ but we came not here to 
 shun a sinking sun or a darkening sky, and I feel it my duty, as well as my 
 satisfaction, to place at the command of the good father every pleasure 
 which it is in my power to offer to him, for having been the means of your 
 neglecting his advice.” 
 
 “ The path is so short,” said Agelastes, “ that we had better keep our 
 present mode of travelling, if the lady should not want the assistance of 
 horses.” 
 
 “No horses on my account,” said the Lady Brenhilda. “My waiting- 
 woman, Agatha, has what necessaries I may require; and, for the rest, no 
 knight ever travelled so little embarrassed with baggage as my husband.” 
 
 Agelastes, therefore, led the way through the deepening wood, which was 
 freshened by the cooler breath of evening, and his guests accompanied him. 
 
 « 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 105 
 
 (Ctiaptpr tjiB £[nn\\). 
 
 Without, a ruin, broken, Uingled, cumbrous, 
 
 Within, it WP5 a little paradise. 
 
 Where T.aste had made her dwelling. Statuary, 
 
 First-born of human art, moulded her images. 
 
 And bade men mark and worship. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 The Count of Paris and his lady attended the old man, whose advanced 
 .age, his excellence in the use of the French language, which he spoke to 
 admiration, — above all, his skill in applying it to poetical and romantic 
 subjects, which was essential to what was then termed history and belles 
 lettres,—drew from the noble hearers a degree of applause, which, as Age- 
 lastes had seldom been vain enough to consider as his due, so, on the part 
 of the Knight of Paris and his lady, had it been but rarely conferred. 
 
 They had walked for some time by a path which sometimes seemed to 
 hide itself among the woods that came down to the shore of the Propontis, 
 sometimes emerged from concealment, and skirted the open margin of the 
 strait, while, at every turn, it seemed guided by the desire to select a choice 
 and contrast of beauty. Variety of scenes and manners enlivened, from 
 their novelty, the landscape to the pilgrims. By the sea-sliore, nymphs 
 were seen dancing, and shepherds piping, or beating the tambourine to their 
 steps, as represented in some groups of ancient statuary. The very faces 
 had a singular resemblance to the antique. If old, their long robes, their 
 attitudes, and magnificent heads, presented the ideas which distinguish 
 prophets and saints; while, on the other hand, the features of the young 
 recalled the expressive countenances of the heroes of antiquity, and the 
 charms of those lovely females by whom their deeds were inspired. 
 
 But the race of the Greeks was no longer t(5 be seen, even in its native 
 country, unmixed, or in absolute purity; on the contrary, they saw groups 
 of persons wdth features which argued a diflferent descent. 
 
 In a retiring bosom of the shore, which was traversed by the path, the 
 rocks, receding from the beach, rounded off a spacious portion of level sand, 
 and, in some degree, enclosed it. A party of heathen Scythians whom they 
 beheld, presented the deformed features of the demons they were said to 
 worship — flat noses with expanded nostrils, which seemed to admit the 
 sight to their very brain; faces which extended rather in breadth tlian 
 length, with strange unintellectual eyes placed in the extremity; figures 
 short and dwarfish, yet garnished with legs and arms of astonishing sinewy 
 strength, disproportioned to their bodies. As the travellers passed, the 
 savages held a species of tournament, as the Count termed it. In this they 
 exercised themselves by d.arting at each other long reeds, or canes, balanced 
 for the purpose, which, in this rude sport, they threw with such force, as 
 not unfrequently to strike each other from their steeds, and otherwise to 
 cause serious dam.age. Some of the combatants being, for the time, out of 
 the play, devoured with greedy looks the beauty of the Countess, and eyed 
 her in such a manner, that she said to Count Robert,—“I have never known 
 fear, my husband, nor is it for me to acknowledge it now; but if disgust be 
 an ingredient of it, these misformed brutes are qu.alified to inspire it.'^ 
 
 “What, ho. Sir Knight!'^ exclaimed one of the infidels, “your wife, or 
 your lady love, has committed a fault against the privileges of the Imperial 
 Scythians, and not small will be the penalty she has incurred. You may 
 go your way as fast as you will out of this place, which is, for the present, 
 our hippodrome, or atmeidan, call it which you will, as you prize the 
 Roman or the Saracen language; but for your wife, if the sacrament has 
 united you, believe my word, that she parts not so soon or so easy.^^ 
 
100 
 
 W A V E 11 L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 “ Scoundrel heathen/' saitf the Christian Knight, “ dost thou hold that 
 language to a Peer of France ?" 
 
 Agolastes here interposed, and using the sounding language of a Grecian 
 courtier, reminded the Scythians, (mercenary soldiers, as they seemed, of 
 the empire,) that all violence against the European pilgrims was, by the 
 Imperial orders, strictly prohibited under pain of death. 
 
 “ I know better," said the exulting savage, shaking one or two javelins 
 with broad steel heads, and wings of the eagle’s feather, which last were 
 dabbled in blood. “ Ask the wings of my javelin," he said, “ in whose 
 heart’s blood these feathers have been dyed. They shall reply to you, that 
 if Alexius Comnenus be the friend of the European pilgrims, it is only 
 while he looks upon them ; and we are too exemplary soldiers to serve our 
 Emperor otherwise than he wishes to be served." ' 
 
 " Peace, Toxartis," said the philosopher, “thou beliest thine Emperor." 
 
 “ Peace thou!’’ said Toxartis, “ or I will do a deed that misbecomes a 
 soldier, and rid the world of a prating old man." 
 
 So saying, he put forth his hand to take hold of the Countess’s veil. 
 With the readiness which frequent use had given to the warlike lady, she 
 withdrew herself from the heathen’s grasp, and with her trenchant sword 
 dealt him so sufficient a blow, that Toxartis lay lifeless on the plain. The 
 Count leapt on the fallen leader’s steed, and crying his war-cry, “ Son of 
 Charlemagne, to the rescue I" he rode amid the rout of heathen cavaliers 
 with a battlQ-axe, which he found at the saddlebow of the deceased chief¬ 
 tain, and wielding it with remorseless dexterity, he soon slew or wounded, 
 or compelled to flight, the objects of his resentment; nor was there any of 
 them who abode an instant to support the boast which they had made. 
 
 “ The despicable churls !’’ said the Countess to Agelastes; “ it irks me 
 that a drop of such coward blood should stain the hands of a noble knight. 
 They call their exercise a tournament, although in their whole exertions 
 every blow is aimed behind the back, and not one has the courage to throw 
 his windlestraw while he perceives that of another pointed against himself." 
 
 “ Such is their custom," said Agelastes ; “ not perhaps so much from 
 cowardice as from habit, in exercising before his Imperial Majesty. I have 
 seqn that Toxartis literally turn his back upon the mark when he bent his 
 bow in full career, and when in the act of galloping the farthest from his 
 object, he pierced it through the very centre with a broad arrow." 
 
 “ A force of such soldiers," said Count Robert, who had now rejoined 
 his friends, “ could not, methinks, be very formidable, where there was but 
 an ounce of genuine courage in the assailants." 
 
 “ Mean time, let us pass on to my kiosk," said Agelastes, “ lest the 
 fugitives And friends to encourage them in thoughts of revenge." 
 
 “ Such friends," said Count Robert, “ methinks the insolent heathens 
 ought not to find in any land which calls itself Christian ; and if I survive 
 the conquest of the Holy Sepulchre, I shall make it my first business to 
 enquire by what right your Emperor retains in his service a band of Paynim 
 and unmannerly cut-throats, who dare offer injury upon the highway, 
 which ought to be sacred to the peace of God and the king, and to noble 
 ladies and inoffensive pilgrims. It is one of a list of many questions 
 which, my vow accomplished, I will not fail to put to him; ay, and expect¬ 
 ing an answer, as they say, prompt and categorical." 
 
 “ You shall gain no answer from me though," said Agelastes to himself. 
 
 “ Your demands. Sir Knight, are over-peremptory, and imposed under too 
 rigid conditions, to be replied to by those who can evade them." 
 
 lie changed the conversation, accordingly, with easy dexterit}’’; and they 
 had not proceeded much farther, before they reached a spot, the natural 
 beauties of which called forth the admiration of his foreign companions. 
 A copious brook, gushing out of the woodland, descended to the sea with 
 no small noise and tumult; and, as if disdaining a quieter course, which it 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF 1' A R I S . 
 
 107 
 
 might have gained by a little circuit to the right, it took the readiest road 
 to the ocean, plunging over the face of a lofty and barren precipice which 
 overhung the sea-shore, and from thence led its little tribute, with as much 
 noise as if it had the stream of a full river to boast of, to the waters of the 
 Hellespont. 
 
 The rock, we have said, was bare, unless in so far as it was clothed with 
 the foaming w’aters of the cataract; but the banks on each side were covered 
 with plane-trees, walnut-trees, cypresses, and other kinds of large timber 
 proper to the East. The fall of water, always agreeable in a warm climate, 
 and generally produced by artificial means, was here natural, and had been 
 chosen, something like the SibyUs temple at Tivoli, for the seat of a god¬ 
 dess to whom the invention of Polytheism had assigned a sovereignty over 
 the department around. The shrine was small and circular, like many of 
 the lesser temples of the rustic deities, and enclosed by the wall of an outer 
 court. After its desecration, it had probably been converted into a luxurious 
 summer retreat by Agelastes, or some Epicurean philosopher. As the 
 building, itself of a light, airy, and fantastic character, was dimly seen 
 through the branches and foliage on the edge of the rock, so the mode by 
 which it was accessible was not at first apparent amongst the mist of the 
 cascade. A pathway, a good deal hidden by vegetation, ascended by a 
 gentle acclivity, and prolonged by the architect by means of a few broad 
 and easy marble steps, making part of the original approach, conducted 
 the passenger to a small, but exquisitely lovely velvet lawn, in front of the 
 turret or temple we have described, the back part of which building over¬ 
 hung the cataract. 
 
 Cjjnpttr tljt (Emtlftji. 
 
 The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 
 
 Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable; 
 
 Evading, arguing, equivocating. 
 
 And the stem Frank came with his two-hand sword, 
 
 Watching to see which way the balance sways, 
 
 'I’hat he may throw it in, and turn the scales. 
 
 Palestine. 
 
 At a signal made by xVgelastes, the door of this romantic retreat was 
 opened by Diogenes, the negro slave, to whom our readers have been already 
 introduced; nor did it escape the wily old man, that the Count and his lady 
 testified some wonder at his form and lineaments, being the first African 
 perhaps whom they had ever seen so closely. The philosopher lost not the 
 opportunity of making an impression on their minds, by a display of the 
 superiority of his knowledge. 
 
 “ This poor being,'' he observed, “ is of the race of Ham, the undutiful 
 son of Noah; for his transgressions against his parent, he was banished to 
 the sands of Africa, and was condemned to be the father of a race doomed 
 to be the slaves of the issue of his more dutiful brethren." 
 
 The knight and his lady gazed on the wonderful appearance before them, 
 and did not, it may be believed, think of doubting the information which 
 was so much of a piece with their prejudices, while their opinion of their 
 host w.as greatly augmented by the supposed extent of his knowledge. 
 
 “It gives pleasure to a man of humanity," continued Agelastes, “when, 
 in old age, or sickness, we must employ the services of others, which is at 
 other times scarce lawful, to choose his assistants out of a race of beings, 
 
108 
 
 W A V R K L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 hewers of wood and drawers of water—from their birth upwards destined to 
 slavery; and to whom, therefore, by employing them as slaves, we render 
 no injury, but carry into elFect, in a slight degree, the intentions of the 
 Great Being who made us all.’^ 
 
 “ Are there many of a race,’’ said the Countess, “so singularly unhappy 
 in their destination ? I have hitherto thought the stories of black men as 
 idle as those which minstrels tell of fairies and ghosts.” 
 
 “ Do not believe so,” said the philosopher; “ the race is numerous as the 
 sands of the sea, neither are they altogether unhappy in discharging the 
 duties which their fate has allotted them. Those who are of worse character 
 suffer even in this life the penance due to their guilt; they become the slaves 
 of the cruel and tyrannical, are beaten, starved, and mutilated. To those 
 whose moral characters are better, better masters are provided, who share 
 with their slaves, as with their children, food and raiment, and the other 
 good things which they themselves enjoy. To some, Heaven allots the 
 favour of kings and of conquerors, and to a few, but those the chief favourites 
 of the species, hath been assigned a place in the mansions of philosophy, 
 where, by availing themselves of the lights which their masters can afford, 
 they gain a prospect into that world which is the residence of true hap¬ 
 piness.” 
 
 “ Methinks I understand you,” replied the Countess, “ and if so, I ought 
 rather to envy our sable friend here than to pity him, for having been 
 allotted in the partition of his kind to the possession of his present master, 
 from whom, doubtless, he has acquired the desirable knowledge which j^ou 
 mention.” 
 
 “ He learns, at least,” said Agelastes, modestly, “what I can teach, and, 
 above all, to be contented with his situation. — Diogenes, my good child,” 
 said he, changing his address to the slave, “thou seest I have company — 
 What does the poor hermit’s larder afford, with which he may regale his 
 honoured guests?” 
 
 Hitherto they had advanced no farther than a sort of outer room, or hall 
 of entrance, fitted up with no more expense than might have suited one who 
 desired at some outlay, and more taste, to avail himself of the ancient 
 building for a sequestered and private retirement. The chairs and couches 
 were covered with Eastern wove mats, and were of the simplest and most 
 primitive form. But on touching a spring, an interior apartment was dis¬ 
 played, which had considerable pretension to splendour and magnificence. 
 
 The furniture and hangings of this apartment were of straw-coloured silk, 
 wrought on the looms of Persia, and crossed with embroidery, which pro¬ 
 duced a rich, yet simple effect. The ceiling was carved in Arabesque, and 
 the four corners of the apartment were formed into recesses for statuary, 
 which had been produced in a better age of the art than that which existed 
 at the period of our story. In one nook, a shepherd seemed to withdraw 
 himself, as if ashamed to produce his scantily-covered person, while he was 
 willing to afford the audience the music of the reed which he held in his 
 hand. Three damsels, resembling the Graces in the beautiful proportions 
 of their limbs, and the slender clothing which they wore, lurked in different 
 attitudes, each in her own niche, and seemed but to await the first sound 
 of the music, to bound forth from thence and join in the frolic dance. The 
 subject was beautiful, yet somewhat light, to ornament the study of such a 
 sage as Agelastes represented himself to be. 
 
 He seemed to be sensible that this might attract observation. — “These 
 figures,” he said, “ executed at the period of the highest excellence of 
 Grecian art, were considered of old as the choral nymphs assembled to 
 adore the goddess of the plKce, waiting but the music to join in the worship 
 of the temple. And, in truth, the wisest may be interested in seeing how 
 near to animation the genius of these wonderful men could bring the 
 inflexible marble. Allow but for the absence of the divine afflatus, or breath 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARTS. 
 
 109 
 
 of animation, and an unenlightened heathen might suppose the miracle of 
 Prometheus was about to be realized. But we,’' said he, looking upwards, 
 “are taught to form a better judgment between what man can do and the 
 productions of the Deity.” 
 
 Some subjects of natural history were painted on the walls, and the phi¬ 
 losopher fixe<l the attention of his guests upon the half-reasoning elephant, 
 of which he mentioned several anecdotes, which they listened to with great 
 eagerness. 
 
 A distant strain was here heard, as if of music in the woods, penetrating 
 by tits through the hoarse roar of the cascade, which, as it sunk imme¬ 
 diately below the windows, filled the apartment with its deep voice. 
 
 “ Apparently,” said Agelastcs, “ the friends whom I expected are ap- 
 
 f reaching, and bring with them the means of enchanting another sense. 
 
 t is well they do so, since wisdom tells us that we best honour the Deity 
 by enjoying the gifts he has provided us.” 
 
 These words called the attention of the philosopher’s Frankish guests to 
 the preparations exhibited in this tasteful saloon. These were made for an 
 entertainment in the manner of the ancient Romans, and couches, which 
 were laid beside a table ready decked, announced that the male guests, at 
 least, were to assist at the banquet in the usual recumbent posture of the 
 ancients; while seats, placed among the couches, seemed to say that females 
 were expected, who would observe the Grecian customs, in eating seated. 
 The preparations for good cheer were such as, though limited in extent, 
 could scarce be excelled in quality, either by the splendid dishes which 
 decked Trimalchio’s banquet of former days, or the lighter delicacies of 
 Grecian cookery, or the succulent and highly-spiced messes indulged in by 
 the nations of the East, to whichever they happened to give the preference ; 
 and it was with an air of some vanity that Agelastes asked his guests to 
 share a poor pilgrim’s meal. 
 
 “We care little for dainties,” said the Count; “nor does our present 
 course of life as pilgrims, bound* by a vow, allow us much choice on such 
 subjects. Whatever is food for soldiers, suffices the Countess and myself; 
 for, with our will, we would at every hour be ready for battle, and the less 
 time we use in preparing for the field, it is even so much the better. Sit 
 then, Brenhilda, since the good man will have it so, and let us lose no time 
 in refreshment, lest we waste that which should be otherwise employed.” 
 
 “ A moment’s forgiveness,” said Agelastes, “ until the amval of my other 
 friends, whose music you may now hear is close at hand, and who will not 
 long, I may safely promise, divide you from your meal.” 
 
 “For that,” said the Count, “there is no haste; and since you scorn to 
 account it a part of civil manners, Brenhilda and I can with ease postpone 
 our repast, unless you will permit us, what I own would be more pleasing, 
 to take a morsel of bread and a cup of water presently; and, thus refreshed, 
 to leave the space clear for your more curious and more familiar guests.” 
 
 “ The saints above forbid !” said Agelastes ; “ guests so honoured never 
 before pressed these cushions, nor could do so, if the sacred family of the 
 imperial Alexius himseif even now stood at the gate.” 
 
 lie had hardly uttered these words, when the full-blown peal of a trumpet, 
 louder in a tenfold degree than the strains of music they had before heard, 
 was now sounded in the front of the temple, piercing through the murmur 
 of the waterfall, as a Damascus blade penetrates the armour, and assailing 
 the ears of the hearers, as the sword pierces the flesh of him who wears the 
 harness. 
 
 “ You seem surprised or alarmed, father,” said Count Robert. “ Is there 
 danger near, and do you distrust our protection ?” 
 
 “No,” said Agelastes, “that would give me confidence in any extremity; 
 but these sounds excite awe, not fear. They tell me that some of the Im pe- 
 rial family are about to be my guests. Yet fear nothing, my noble friends 
 
 K 
 
110 
 
 W A V E K L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 — they, whose look is life, are ready to shower their favours with profusion 
 upon strangers so worthy of honour as they will see here. Meantime, my 
 brow must touch my threshold, in order duly to welcome them.^^ So saying, 
 he hurried to the outer door of the building. 
 
 “ Each land has its customs,’^ said the Count, as he followed his host, 
 with his wife hanging on his^arm ; “ but, Brenhilda, as they are so various, 
 it is little wonder that they appear unseemly to each other. Here, however, 
 in deference to my entertainer, I stoop my crest, in the manner which 
 seems to be required.’’ So saying, he followed Agelastes into the anteroom, 
 where a new scene awaited them. 
 
 (CtinptEr tjjE (£|)iitEBiitji. 
 
 Agelastes gained his threshold before Count Robert of Paris and his 
 lady. He had, therefore, time to make his prostrations before a huge 
 animal, then unknown to the western world, but now universally distin¬ 
 guished as the elephant. On its back was a pavilion or palanquin, within 
 which were enclosed the august persons of the Empress Irene, and her 
 daughter Anna Comnena. Nicephorus Briennius attended the Princesses 
 in the command of a gallant body of light horse, whose splendid armour 
 would have given more pleasure to the crusader, if it had possessed less an 
 air of useless wealth and effeminate magnificence. But the effect which it 
 produced in its appearance was as brilliant as could well be conceived. 
 The officers alone of this corps de garde followed Nicephorus to the plat¬ 
 form, prostrated themselves while the ladies of the Imperial house descended, 
 and rose up again under a cloud of waving plumes and flashing lances, 
 when they stood secure upon the platform in front of the building. Here 
 the somewhat aged, but commanding form of the Empress, and the still 
 juvenile beauties of the fair historian, were seen to great advantage. In 
 the front of a deep back-ground of spears and waving crests, stood the 
 sounder of the sacred trumpet, conspicuous by his size and the richness 
 of his apparel; he kept his post on a rock above the stone staircase, and, 
 by an occasional note of his instrument, intimated to the squadrons beneath 
 that they should stay their progress, and attend the motions of the Empress 
 and the wife of the Caesar. 
 
 The fair form of the Countess Brenhilda, and the fantastic appearance of 
 her half masculine garb, attracted the attention of the ladies of Alexius’ 
 family, but was too extraordinary to command their admiration. Agelastes 
 became sensible there was a necessity that he should introduce his guests 
 to each other, if he desired they should meet on satisfactory terms. “ May 
 I speak,” he said, “and live? The armed strangers whom you find now 
 with me are worthy companions of those myriads, whom zeal for the suf¬ 
 fering inhabitants of Palestine has brought from the western extremity of 
 Europe, at once to enjoy the countenance of Alexius Comnenus, and to aid 
 him, since it pleases him to accept their assistance, in expelling the Pay- 
 nims from the bounds of the sacred empire, and garrison those regions in 
 their stead, as vassals of his Imperial Majesty.” 
 
 “ We are pleased,” said t|ie Empress, “ worthy Agelastes, that you should 
 be kind to those who are disposed to be so reverent to the Emperor. And 
 we are rather disposed to talk with them ourselves, that our daughter (whom 
 Apollo hath gifted with the choice talent of recording what she sees) may 
 bocoino acquainted with one of those female warriors of the West, of whom 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 wc have heard so much by common fame, and yet know so little with cer¬ 
 tainty.'' 
 
 “ Madam," said the Count, “ I can but rudely express to you what I have 
 to find fault with in the explanation which this old man hath given of our 
 purpose in coming hither. Certain it is, we neither owe Alexius fealty, nor 
 nad we the purpose of paying him any, when we took the vow upon our¬ 
 selves which brought us against Asia. We came, because we understood 
 that the Holy Land had been torn from the Greek Emperor by the Pagans, 
 Saracens, Turks, and other infidels, from -whom we are come to win it back. 
 The wisest and most prudent among us have judged it necessary to acknow¬ 
 ledge tlie Emperor’s authority, since there was no such safe w'ay of passing 
 to the discharge of our vow, as that of acknowledging fealty to him, as the 
 best mode of preventing quarrels among Ciiristian States. We, though in¬ 
 dependent of any earthly king, do not pretend to be greater men than they, 
 and therefore have condescended to pay the same homage." 
 
 The Empress coloured several times with indignation in the course of this 
 speech, which, in more passages than one, was at variance with those impe¬ 
 rial maxims of the Grecian court, which held its dignity so high, and plainly 
 intimated a tone of opinion which was depreciating to the Emperor’s power. 
 But the Empress Irene had received instructions from her imperial spouse 
 to beware how she gave, or oven took, any ground of quarrel with the cru¬ 
 saders, who, though coming in the appearance of subjects, were, neverthe¬ 
 less, too punctilious and ready to take fire, to render them safe discussers 
 of delicate difierences. She made a graceful reverence accordingly, as if 
 she had scarce understood what the Count of Paris had explained so bluntly. 
 
 At this moment the appearance of the principal persons on either hand 
 attracted, in a wonderful degree, the attention of the other party, and there 
 seemed to exist among them a general desire of further acquaintance, and, 
 at the same time, a manifest difficulty in expressing such a wish. 
 
 Agelastes — to begin with the master of the house — had risen from the 
 ground indeed, but without venturing to assume an upright posture; he 
 remained before the Imperial ladies with his body and head still bent, his 
 hand interposed between his eyes and their faces, like a man that would 
 shade his eyesight from the level sun, and awaited in silence the commands 
 of those to whom he seemed to think it disrespectful to propose the slightest 
 action, save by testifying in general, that his house and his slaves were at 
 their unlimited command. The Countess of Paris, on the other hand, and 
 her warlike husband, were the peculiar objects of curiosity to Irene, and 
 her accomplished daughter, Anna Comnena; and it occurred to both these 
 Imperial ladies, that they had never seen finer specimens of human strength 
 and beauty ; but by a natural instinct, they preferred the manly bearing of 
 the husband to that of the wife, which seemed to her own sex rather too 
 haughty and too masculine to be altogether pleasing. 
 
 Count Robert and his lady had also their own object of attention in the 
 newly arrived group, and, to speak truth, it was nothing else than the pecu¬ 
 liarities of the monstrous animal which they now saw, for the first time, 
 employed as a beast of burden in the service of the fair Irene and her 
 daughter. The dignity and splendour of the elder Princess, the grace and 
 vivacity of the younger, were alike lost in Brenhilda’s earnest inquiries into 
 the history of the elephant, and the use which it made of its trunk, tusks, 
 and huge ears, upon difiereut occasions. 
 
 Another person, who took a less direct opportunity to gaze on Brenhilda 
 with a deep degree of interest, was the Caesar, Nicephorus. This Prince 
 kept his eye as steadily upon the Frankish Countess as he could well do, 
 without attracting the attention, and exciting perhaps the suspicions, of his 
 wife and mother-in-law; he therefore endeavoured to restore speech to an 
 interview which would have been awkward without it. “ It is possible," 
 be said, “ beautiful Countess, that this being your first visit to the Queen of 
 
112 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the world, you have never hitherto seen the singularly curious animal called 
 the elephant/^ 
 
 “ Pardon me,’^ said the Countess, “ I have been treated by this learned 
 gentleman to a sight, and some account of that wonderful creature/^ 
 
 By all who heard this observation, the Lady Brenhilda was supposed to 
 have made a satirical thrust at the philosopher himself, who, in the imperial 
 court, usually went by the name of the elephant. 
 
 “ No one could describe the beast more accurately than Agelastes,^^ said 
 the Princess, with a smile of intelligence, which went round her attendants. 
 
 “ lie knows its docility, its sensibility, and its fidelity,’^ said the philo¬ 
 sopher, in a subdued tone. 
 
 “ True, good Agelastes,^' said the Princess ; “ we should not criticise the 
 animal which kneels to take us up. — Come, lady of a foreign land,’^ she 
 continued, turning to the Frank Count, and especially his Countess—“ and 
 you her gallant lord! When you return to your native country, you shall 
 say you have seen the imperial family partake of their food, and in so far 
 acknowledge themselves to be of the same clay with other mortals, sharing 
 their poorest wants, and relieving them in the same manner.^^ 
 
 “ That, gentle lady, I can well believe,^’ said Count Bobert; “ my curiosity 
 would be more indulged by seeing this strange animal at his food.^^ 
 
 “ You will see the elephant more conveniently at his mess within doors,'' 
 answered the Princess, looking at Agelastes. 
 
 “ Lady," said Brenhilda, “ I would not willingly refuse an invitation given 
 in courtesy, but the sun has M’^axed low unnoticed, and we must return to 
 the city." 
 
 “Be not afraid," said the fair historian ; “you shall have the advantage 
 of our Imperial escort to protect you in your return." 
 
 “Fear? — afraid? — escort? — protect? — These are words I know not. 
 Know, lady, that my husband, the noble Count of Paris, is my sufficient 
 escort; and even were he not with me, Brenhilda de Aspramonte fears 
 nothing, and can defend herself." 
 
 “ Fair daughter," said Agelastes, “ if I may be permitted to speak, you 
 mistake the gracious intentions of the Princess, who expresses herself as to 
 a lady of her own land. What she desires is to learn from you some of the 
 most marked habits and manners of the Franks, of which you are so beau¬ 
 tiful an example ; and in return for such information the illustrious Princess 
 would be glad to procure your entrance to those spacious collections, where 
 animals from all corners of the habitable world have been assembled at the 
 command of our Emperor Alexius, as if to satisfy the wisdom of those 
 sages to whom all creation is known, from the deer so small in size that it 
 is exceeded by an ordinary rat, to that huge and singular inhabitant of 
 Africa that can browse on the tops of trees that are forty feet high, while 
 the length of its hind-legs does not exceed the half of that wondrous height." 
 
 “ It is enough," said the Countess, with some eagerness; but Agelastes 
 had got a point of discussion after his own mind. 
 
 “ There is also," he said, “ that huge lizard, which, resembling in shape 
 the harmless inhabitant of the moors of other countries, is in Egypt a mon¬ 
 ster thirty feet in length, clothed in impenetrable scales, and moaning over 
 his prey when he catches it, with the hope and purpose of drawing others 
 within his danger, by mimicking the lamentations of humanity." 
 
 “ Say no more, father!" exclaimed the lady. “ My Robert, we will go— 
 will we not, where such objects are to be seen ?" 
 
 “ There is also," said Agelastes, who saw that he would gain his point 
 by addressing himself to the curiosity of the strangers, “ the huge animal, 
 wearing on its back an invulnerable vestment, having on its nose a horn, 
 and sometimes two, the folds of whose hide are of the most immense thick¬ 
 ness, and which never knight was able to wound." 
 
 “We will go, Robert — will we not?" reiterated the Countess. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 113 
 
 “ Ay,” replied the Count, “ and teach these Easterns how to judge of a 
 knight’s sword, by a single blow of my trusty Tranchefer.” 
 
 “ And who knows,” said Brenhilda, “since this is a land of enchantment, 
 but what some person, who is languishing in a foreign shape, may have 
 their enchantment unexpectedly dissolved by a stroke of the good weapon ?” 
 
 “Say no more, father!” exclaimed the Count. “We will attend this 
 Princess, since such she is, were her whole escort bent to oppose our pas¬ 
 sage, instead of being by her command to be our guard. For know, all 
 who hear me, thus much of the nature of the Franks, that when you tell 
 us of danger and difficulties, you give us the same desire to travel the road 
 where they lie, as other men have in seeking either pleasure or profit in 
 the paths in which such are to be found.” 
 
 As the Count pronounced these words, he struck his hand upon his Tran¬ 
 chefer, as an illustration of the manner in which he purposed upon occa¬ 
 sion to make good his way. The courtly circle startled somewhat at the 
 clash of steel, and the fiery look of the chivalrous Count Robert. The 
 Empress indulged her alarm by retreating into the inner apartment of the 
 pavilion. 
 
 With a grace, which was rarely deigned to any but those in close alliance 
 with the Imperial family, Anna Comnena took the arm of the noble Count. 
 “I see,” she said, “that the Imperial Mother has honoured the house of 
 the learned Agelastes, by leading the way; therefore, to teach you Grecian 
 breeding must fall to my share.” Saying this she conducted him to the 
 inner apartment. 
 
 “ Fear not for your wife,” she said, as she noticed the Frank look round ; 
 “ our husband, like ourselves, has pleasure in showing attention to the 
 stranger, and will lead the Countess to our board. It is not the custom of 
 the Imperial family to eat in company with strangers ; but we thank Heaven 
 for having instructed us in that civility, which can know no degradation in 
 dispensing with ordinary rules to do honour to strangers of such merit as 
 yours. I know it will be my mother’s request, that you will take your 
 places without ceremony; and also, although the grace be somewhat par¬ 
 ticular, I am sure that it will have my Imperial father’s approbation. 
 
 “ Be it as your ladyship lists,” said Count Robert. “ There are few men 
 to whom I would yield place at the board, if they had not gone before 
 me in the battle-field. To a lady, especially so fair a one, I willingly 
 yield my place, and bend my knee, whenever I have the good hap to meet 
 her.” ■ ^ 
 
 The Princess Anna, instead of feeling herself awkward in the discharge 
 of the extraordinary, and, as she might have thought it, degrading office of 
 ushering a barbarian chief to the banquet, felt, on the contrary, flattered, 
 at having bent to her purpose a heart so obstinate as that of Count Robert, 
 and elated, perhaps, with a certain degree of satisfied pride while under 
 his momentary protection. 
 
 The Empress Irene had already seated herself at the head of the table. 
 She looked with some astonishment, when her daughter and son-in-law, 
 taking their seats at her right and left hand, invited the Count and Countess 
 of Paris, the former to recline, the latter to sit at the board, in the places 
 next to themselves; but she had received the strictest orders from her hus¬ 
 band to be deferential in every respect to the strangers, and did not think 
 it right, therefore, to interpose any ceremonious scruples. 
 
 The Countess took her seat, as indicated, beside the Caesar; and the Count, 
 instead of reclining in the mode of the Grecian men, also seated himself in 
 the European fashion by the Princess. 
 
 “I will not lie prostrate,” said he, laughing, “except in consideration of 
 a blow weighty enough to compel me to do so ; nor then either, if I am able 
 to start up and return it.” 
 
 The service of the table then began, and, to say truth, it appeared to be 
 VoL. XII. —8 is:2 
 
114 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 an important part of the business of the day. The officers who attended to 
 perform their several duties of deckers of the table, sewers of the banquet, 
 removers and tasters to the Imperial family, thronged into the banqueting 
 room, and seemed to vie with each other in calling upon Agelastes for 
 spices, condiments, sauces, and wines of various kinds, the variety and 
 multiplicity of their demands being apparently devised ex preposito, for 
 stirring the patience of the philosopher. But Agelastes, who had antici¬ 
 pated most of their requests, however unusual, supplied them completely, 
 or in the greatest part, by the ready agency of his active slave Diogenes, to 
 whom, at the same time, he contrived to transfer all blame for the absence 
 of such articles as he was unable to provide. 
 
 “ Be Homer my witness, the accomplished Virgil, and the curious felicity 
 of Horace, that, trifling and unworthy as this banquet was, my note of 
 directions to this thrice unhappy slave gave the instructions to procure 
 every ingredient necessary to convey to each dish its proper gusto. — Ill- 
 omened carrion that thou art, wherefore placedst thou the pickled cucumber 
 so far apart from the boar’s head ? and why are these superb congers un¬ 
 provided with a requisite quantity of fennel? The divorce betwixt the 
 shell-fish and the Chian wine, in a presence like this, is worthy of the divorce 
 of thine own soul from thy body; or, to say the least, of a lifelong resi¬ 
 dence in the Pistrinum.” While thus the philosopher proceeded with 
 threats, curses, and menaces against his slave, the stranger might have an 
 opportunity of comparing the little torrent of his domestic eloquence, which 
 the manners of the times did not consider as ill-bred, with the louder and 
 deeper share of adulation towards his guests. They mingled like the oil 
 with the vinegar and pickles which Diogenes mixed for the sauce. Thus 
 the Count and Countess had an opportunity to estimate the happiness and 
 the felicity reserved for those slaves, whom the Omnipotent Jupiter, in the 
 plenitude of compassion for their state, and in guerdon of their good 
 morals, had dedicated to the service of a philosopher. The share they them¬ 
 selves took in the banquet, was finished with a degree of speed which gave 
 surprise not only to their host, but also to the Imperial guests. 
 
 The Count helped himself carelessly out of a dish which stood near him, 
 and partaking of a draught of wine, without enquiring whether it was of 
 the vintage which the Greeks held it matter of conscience to mingle with 
 that species of food, he declared himself satisfied; nor could the obliging 
 entreaties of his neighbour, Anna Comnena, induce him to partake of other 
 messes represented as being either delicacies or curiosities. His spouse ate 
 still more moderately of the food which seemed most simply cooked, and 
 stood nearest her at the board, and partook of a cup of crystal water, which 
 she slightly tinged with wine, at the persevering entreaty of the Caesar. 
 They then relinquished the farther business of the banquet, and leaning 
 back upon their seats, occupied themselves in watching the liberal credit 
 done to the feast by the rest of the guests present. 
 
 A modern synod of gourmands would hardly have equalled the Imperial 
 family of Greece seated at a philosophical banquet, whether in the critical 
 knowledge displayed of the science of eating in all its branches, or in the 
 practical cost and patience with which they exercised it. The ladies, indeed, 
 did nut eat much of any one dish, but they tasted of almost all that were 
 presented to them, and their name was Legion. Yet, after a short time, in 
 Homeric phrase, the rage of thirst and hunger was assuaged, or, more pro¬ 
 bably, the Princess Anna Comnena was tired of being an object of some 
 inattention to the guest who sat next her, and who, joining his high mili¬ 
 tary character to his very handsome presence, was a person by whom few 
 ladies would willingly be neglected. There is no new guise, says our father 
 Chaucer, but what resembles an old one : and the address of Anna Comnena 
 to the Frankish Count might resemble that of a modern lady of fashion, in 
 her attempts to engage in conversation the exquisite, who sits by her side in 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 115 
 
 an apparently absent fit. “We have piped unto you/'said the Princess, 
 “ and you have not danced! We have sung to you the jovial chorus of 
 Evoe, evoe, and you v\dll neither worship Comus nor Bacchus ! Are we then 
 to judge you a follower of the Muses, in whose service, as well as in that 
 of Phoebus, we ourselves pretend to be enlisted ?" 
 
 “Fair lady," replied the Frank, “be not ofiended at my stating once for 
 all, in plain terms, that I am a Christian man, spitting at, and bidding 
 defiance to Apollo, Bacchus, Comus, and all other heathen deities wliatso- 
 ever." 
 
 “ 0 1 cruel interpretation of my unwary words 1" said the Princess ; “ I 
 did but mention the gods of music, poetry, and eloquence, worshipped by 
 our divine philosophers, and whose names are still used to distinguish the 
 arts and sciences over which they presided — and the Count interprets it 
 seriously into a breach of the second commandment 1 Our Lady preserve 
 me, we must take care how we speak, when our words are so sharply inter¬ 
 preted." 
 
 The Count laughed as the Princess spoke. “ I had no offensive meaning, 
 madam," he said, “ nor would I wish to interpret your words otherwise 
 than as being most innocent and praiseworthy. I shall suppose that your 
 speech contained all that was fair and blameless. You are, I have under¬ 
 stood, one of those who, like our worthy host, express in composition the 
 history and feats of the w^arlike time in which you live, and give to the 
 yjosterity w'hich shall succeed us, the knowledge of the brave deeds wdiich 
 have been achieved in our day. I respect the task to w^hich you have dedi¬ 
 cated yourself, and know not how a lady could lay after ages under an obli¬ 
 gation to her in the same degree, unless, like my wife, Brenhilda, she were 
 herself to be the actress of deeds wdiich she recorded. And, by the w'ay, 
 she now looks towards her neighbour at the table, as if she were about to 
 rise and leave him ; her inclinations are towards Constantinople, and, wdth 
 your ladyship’s permission, I cannot allow her to go thither alone." 
 
 “That you shall neither of you do," said Anna Comnena; “since we all 
 go to the capital directly, and for the purpose of seeing those w'onders of 
 nature, of which numerous examples have been collected by the splendour 
 of my Imperial father.—If my husband seems to have given offence to the 
 Countess, do not suppose that it was intentionally dealt to her; on the con¬ 
 trary, you wdll find the good man, when you are better acquainted wdth him, 
 to be one of those simple persons wLo manage so unhappily what they mean 
 for civilties, that those to wdiom they are addressed receive them frequently 
 iu another sense." 
 
 The Countess of Paris, however, refused again to sit down to the table 
 from which she had risen, so that Agelastes and his Imperial guests saw 
 themselves under the necessity either to permit the strangers to depart, 
 wdiich they seemed uuwdlling to do, or to detain them by force, to attempt 
 wdiich might not perhaps have been either safe or pleasant; or, lastly, to 
 have w’aived the etiquette of rank and set out along with them, at the same 
 time managing their dignity, so as to take the initiatory step, though the 
 departure took place upon the motion of their wilful guests. Much tumult 
 there was—bustling, disputing, and shouting—among the troops and officers 
 wdio were thus moved from their repast, two hours at least sooner than had 
 been experienced upon similar occasions in the memory of the oldest among 
 them. A different arrangement of the Imperial party likewise seemed to 
 take place by mutual consent. 
 
 Nicephorus Briennius ascended the seat upon the elephant, and remained 
 there placed beside his august mother-in-law. Agelastes, on a sober-minded 
 palfrey, which permitted him to prolong his philosophical harangues at his 
 own pleasure, rode beside the Countess Brenhilda, w'hom he made the prin¬ 
 cipal object of his oratory. The fair historian, though she usually travelled 
 iu a litter, preferred upon this occasion a spirited horse, which enabled her 
 
116 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 to keep pace with Count Robert of Paris, on whose imagination, if not his 
 feelings, she seemed to have it in view to work a marked impression. The 
 con^^ersation of the Empress with her son-in-law requires no special detail. 
 It was a tissue of criticisms upon the manners and behaviour of the Franks, 
 and a hearty wish that they might be soon transported from the realms of 
 Greece, never more to return. Such was at least the tone of the Empress, 
 nor did the Caesar find it convenient to express any more tolerant opinion 
 of the strangers. On the other hand, Agelastes made a long circuit ere he 
 ventured to approach the subject which he wished to introduce. He spoke 
 of the menagerie of the Emperor as a most superb collection of natural 
 history ; he extolled difierent persons at court for having encouraged Alex¬ 
 ius Comnenus in this wise and philosophical amusement. But, finally, the 
 praise of all others was abandoned that the philosopher might dwell upon 
 that of Nicephorus Briennius, to whom the cabinet or collection of Constan¬ 
 tinople was indebted, he said, for the principal treasures it contained. 
 
 “ I am glad it is so,’^ said the haughty Countess, without lowering her 
 voice or affecting any change of manner; “I am glad that he understands 
 some things better worth understanding than whispering with stranger 
 young women. Credit me, if he gives much license to his tongue among 
 such women of my country as these stirring times may bring hither, 
 some one or other of them will fling him into the cataract which dashes 
 below.'^ 
 
 “ Pardon me, fair lady,^^ said Agelastes ; “ no female heart could meditate 
 an action so atrocious against so fine a form as that of the Caesar Nicephorus 
 Briennius.'' 
 
 “ Put it not on that issue, father,” said the offended Countess ; “ for, by 
 iny patroness Saint, our Lady of the Broken Lances, had it not been for 
 regard to these two ladies, who seemed to intend some respect to my hus¬ 
 band and myself, that same Nicephorus should have been as perfectly a 
 Lord of the Broken Bones as any Caesar who has borne the title since the 
 great Julius!” 
 
 The philosopher, upon this explicit information, began to entertain some 
 personal fear for himself, and hastened, by diverting the conversation, 
 which he did with great dexterity, to the story of Hero and Leander, to put 
 the affront received out of the head of this unscrupulous Amazon. 
 
 Meantime, Count Robert of Paris was engrossed, as it may be termed, 
 by the fair Anna Comnena. She spoke on all subjects, on some better, 
 doubtless, others worse, but on none did she suspect herself of any defi¬ 
 ciency ; while the good Count wished heartily within himself that his com¬ 
 panion had been safely in bed with the enchanted Princess of Zulichium. 
 She performed, right or wrong, the part of a panegyrist of the Normans, 
 until at length the Count, tired of hearing her prate of she knew not exactly 
 what, broke in as follows :— 
 
 “ Lady,” he said, “ notwithstanding I and my followers are sometimes so 
 named, yet we are not Normans, who come hither as a numerous and sepa¬ 
 rate body of pilgrims, under the command of their Duke Robert, a valiant, 
 though extravagant, thoughtless, and weak man. I say nothing against the 
 fame of these Normans. They conquered, in our fathers’ days, a kingdom 
 far stronger than their own, which men call England; I see that you enter¬ 
 tain some of the natives of which country in your pay, under the name of 
 Varangians. Although defeated, as I said, by the Normans, they are, 
 nevertheless, a brave race ; nor would we think ourselves much dishonoured 
 by mixing in battle with them. Still we are the valiant Franks, who had 
 their dwelling on the eastern banks of the Rhine and of the Saale, who 
 were converted to the Christian faith by the celebrated Clovis, and are suffi¬ 
 cient, by our numbers and courage, to re-conquer the Holy Land, should 
 all Europe besides stand neutral in the contest.” 
 
 There are few things more painful to the vanity of a person like the Prin 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 117 
 
 cess, than the being detected in an egregious error, at the moment she is 
 taking credit to herself for being peculiarly accurately informed. 
 
 “ A false slave, who knew not what he was saying, I suppose,” said the 
 Princess, “ imposed upon me the belief that the Varangians were the 
 natural enemies of the Normans. I see him marching there by the side of 
 Achilles Tatius, the leader of his corps. — Call him hither, you officers!—■ 
 Yonder tall man, I mean, with the battle-axe upon his shoulder.” 
 
 Ilereward, distinguished by his post at the head of the squadron, was 
 summoned from thence to the presence of the Princess, where he made his 
 military obeisance with a cast of sternness in his aspect, as his glance 
 liglited upon the proud look of the Frenchman \vho rode beside Anna 
 Comnena. 
 
 “ Did I not understand thee, fellow,” said Anna Comnena, “ to have 
 informed me, nearly a month ago, that the Normans and the Franks were 
 the same people, and enemies to the race from which you spring ?” 
 
 “ The Normans are our mortal enemies. Lady,” answered Ilereward, “ by 
 wdiorn we were driven from our native land. The Franks are subjects of 
 the same Lord-Paramount with the Normans, and therefore they neither 
 love the Varangians, nor are beloved by them.” 
 
 “Good fellow,” said the French Count, “you do the Franks wrong, and 
 ascribe to the Varangians, although not unnaturally, an undue degree of 
 importance, when you suppose that a race which has ceased to exist as an 
 independent nation for more than a generation, can be either an object of 
 interest or resentment to such as we are.” 
 
 “ I am no stranger,” said the Varangian, “ to the pride of your heart, or 
 the precedence which you assume over those who have been less fortunate 
 in w’ar than yourselves. It is God who casteth down and who buildeth up, 
 nor is there in the w'orld a prospect to Avhich the Varangians would look 
 forward with more pleasure than that a hundred of their number should 
 meet in a fair field, either with the oppressive Normans, or their modern 
 compatriots, the vain Frenchmen, and let God be the judge w'hich is most 
 wmrthy of victory.” 
 
 “ You take an insolent advantage of the chance,” said the Count of Paris, 
 “ which gives you an unlooked-for opportunity to brave a nobleman.” 
 
 “ It is my sorrow and shame,” said the Varangian, “ that that opportunity 
 is not complete ; and that there is a chain around me wdiicfi forbids me to 
 say. Slay me, or Pll kill thee before we part from this spot!” 
 
 “Why, thou foolish and hot-brained churl,” replied the Count, “what 
 right hast thou to the honour of dying by my blade ? Thou art mad, or 
 hast drained the ale-cup so deeply that thou knowest not what thou thinkest 
 or sayest.” 
 
 “Thou liest,” said the Varangian; “though such a reproach be the 
 utmost scandal of thy race.” 
 
 The Frenchman motioned his hand quicker than light to his sword, but 
 instantly withdrew it, and said with dignity, “thou canst not offend me.” 
 
 “But thou,” said the exile, “hast offended me in a matter wdiich can 
 only be atoned by thy manhood.” 
 
 “Where and how?” answered the Count; “although it is needless to ask 
 the question, which thou canst not answer rationally.” 
 
 “Thou hast this day,” answered the Varangian, “put a mortal affront 
 upon a great prince, whom thy master calls his ally, and by whom thou 
 hast been received with every rite of hospitality. Him thou hast affronted 
 as one peasant at a merry-making would do shame to another, and this dis¬ 
 honour thou hast done to him in the very face of his own chiefs and princes, 
 and the nobles from every court of Europe.” 
 
 “ It was thy master’s part to resent my conduct,” said the Frenchman, 
 “ if in reality he so much felt it as an affront.” 
 
 “But that,” said Ilereward, “did not consist with the manners of his 
 
118 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 country to do. Besides that, we trusty Varangians esteem ourselves bound 
 by our oath as much to defend our Emperor, while the service lasts, on every 
 inch of his honour as on every foot of his territory; I therefore tell thee, 
 Sir Knight, Sir Count, or whatever thou callest thyself, there is mortal 
 quarrel between thee and the Varangian guard, ever and until thou hast 
 fought it out in fair and manly battle, body to body, with one of the said 
 Imperial Varangians, when duty and opportunity shall permit: — and so 
 God schaw the right V* 
 
 As this passed in the French language, the meaning escaped the under¬ 
 standing of such Imperialists as were within hearing at the time ; and the 
 Princess, who waited with some astonishment till the Crusader and the Va¬ 
 rangian had finished their conference, when it was over, said to him with 
 interest, “ I trust you feel that poor man’s situation to be too much at a 
 distance from your own, to admit of your meeting him in what is termed 
 knightly battle ?” 
 
 “ On such a question,” said the knight, “ I have but one answer to any 
 lady who does not, like my Brenhilda, cover herself with a shield, and bear 
 a sword by her side, and the heart of a knight in her bosom.” 
 
 “And suppose for once,” said the Princess Anna Comnena, “that I pos¬ 
 sessed such titles to your confidence, what would your answer be to me ?” 
 
 “ There can be little reason for concealing it,” said the Count. “ The 
 Varangian is a brave man, and a strong one; it is contrary to my vow to 
 shun his challenge, and perhaps I shall derogate from my rank by accepting 
 it; but the world is wide, and he is yet to be born who has seen Robert of 
 Paris shun the face of mortal man. By means of some gallant officer among 
 the Emperor’s guards, this poor fellow, who nourishes so strange an ambi¬ 
 tion, shall learn that he shall have his wish gratified.” 
 
 “ And then ?”-said Anna Comnena. 
 
 “ Why, then,” said the Count, “ in the poor man’s own language, God 
 schaw the right!” 
 
 “Which is to say,” said the Princess, “that if my father has an officer 
 of his guards honourable enough to forward so pious and reasonable a pur¬ 
 pose, the Emperor must lose an ally, in whose faith he puts confidence, or a 
 most trusty and faithful soldier of his personal guard, who has distin¬ 
 guished himself upon many occasions?” 
 
 “I am happy to hear,” said the Count, “that the man bears such a cha¬ 
 racter. In truth, his ambition ought to have some foundation. The more 
 I think of it, the rather am I of opinion that there is something generous, 
 rather than derogatory, in giving to the the poor exile, whose thoughts are 
 so high and noble, those privileges of a man of rank, which some who were 
 born in such lofty station are too cowardly to avail themselves of. Yet 
 despond not, noble Princess; the challenge is not yet accepted of, and if it 
 was, the issue is in the hand of God. As for me, whose trade is war, the 
 sense that I have something so serious to transact with this resolute man, 
 will keep me from other less honourable quarrels, in which a lack of occu¬ 
 pation might be apt to involve me.” 
 
 The Princess made no farther observation, being resolved, by private 
 remonstrance to Achilles Tatius, to engage him to prevent a meeting which 
 might be fatal to the one or the other of two brave men. The town now 
 darkened before them, sparkling, at the same time, through its obscurity, 
 by the many lights which illuminated the houses of the citizens. The royal 
 cavalcade held their way to the Golden Gate, where the trusty centurion put 
 his guard under arms to receive them. 
 
 “We must now break off, fair ladies,” said the Count, as the party, 
 having now dismounted, werh standing together at the private gate of the 
 Blacquernal Palace, “ and find as we can, the lodgings which we occupied 
 last night.” 
 
 “ Under your favour, no,” said the Empress. “ You must be content to 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 119 
 
 take your supper and repose in quarters more fitting your rank ; and/’ 
 added Irene, “ with no worse quartermaster than one of the Imperial family 
 who has been your travelling companion.” 
 
 This the Count heard, Avith considerable inclination to accept the hospi¬ 
 tality which Avas so readily offered. Although as devoted as a man could 
 well be to the charms of his Brenhilda, the very idea never having entered 
 his head of preferring another’s beauty to hers, yet, nevertheless, he had 
 naturally felt himself flattered by the attentions of a Avoman of eminent 
 beauty and very high rank; and the praises with Avhich the Princess had 
 loaded him, had not entirely fallen to the ground. He Avas no longer in the 
 humour in Avhich the morning had found him, disposed to outrage the feel¬ 
 ings of the Emperor, and to insult his dignity; but, flattered by the adroit 
 sycophancy which the old philosopher had learned from the schools, and 
 the beautiful Princess had been gifted with by nature, he assented to the 
 Empress’s proposal; the more readily, perhaps, that the darkness did not 
 permit him to see that there Avas distinctly a shade of displeasure on the 
 brow of Brenhilda. Whatever the cause, she cared not to express it, and 
 the married pair had just entered that labyrinth of passages through Avhich 
 IlereAvard had formerly wandered, when a chamberlain, and a female 
 attendant, richly dressed, bent the knee before them, and offered them tho 
 means and place to adjust their attire, ere they entered the Imperial pre¬ 
 sence. Brenhilda looked upon her apparel and arms, spotted with the blood 
 of the insolent Scythian, and, Amazon as she was, felt the shame of being 
 carelessly and improperly dressed. The arms of the knight were also 
 bloody, and in disarrangement. 
 
 “ Tell my female squire, Agatha, to give her attendance,” said the 
 Countess. ” She alone is in the habit of assisting to unarm and to attij-e 
 me.” 
 
 “ Now, God be praised,” thought the Grecian lady of the bed-chamber, 
 “ that I am not called to a toilet Avhere smiths’ hammers and tongs are like 
 to be the instruments most in request!” 
 
 ‘‘Tell Marcian, my armourer,” said the Count, “to attend with the silver 
 and blue suit of plate and mail Avhich I won in a wager from the Count of 
 Thoulouse.” * 
 
 “Might I not haA^e the honour of adjusting your armour,” said a splen¬ 
 didly drest courtier, with some marks of the armourer’s profession, “ since 
 1 have put on that of the Emperor himself? — may his name be sacred 1” 
 
 “ And how many rivets hast thou clenched upon the occasion Avith this 
 hand,” said the Count, catching hold of it, “ which looks as if it had never 
 been washed, save with milk of roses,—and Avith this childish toy?” point¬ 
 ing to a hammer with iA^ory haft and silver head, Avhich, stuck into a milk- 
 white kidskin apron, the official AA^ore as badges of his duty. The armourer 
 fell back in some confusion. “ His grasp,” he said to another domestic, 
 “ is like the seizure of a vice 1” 
 
 While this little scene passed apart, the Empress Irene, her daughter, and 
 her son-in-laAV, left the company, under pretence of making a necessary 
 change in their apparel. Immediately after, Agelastes was required to 
 attend the Emperor, and the strangers were conducted to two adjacent 
 chambers of retirement, splendidly fitted up, and placed for the present at 
 their disposal, and that of their attendants. There Ave shall for a time leave 
 them, assuming, Avith the assistance of their OAvn attendants, a dress which 
 their ideas regarded as most fit for a great occasion ; those of the Grecian 
 court Avillingly keeping apart from a task Avhich they held nearly as formi¬ 
 dable as assisting at the lair of a royal tiger or his bride. 
 
 * Ruymond Count of Thonlonse. and St. Giles, Duke of Carbonne, and Marquis of Provence, an aered war¬ 
 rior who had won hiph distinction in the contests against the Saracens in Spain, was the chief leader of the 
 Crusaders from the south of France. His title of St. Giles is corrupted by Anna Comnena into Sanyks, by 
 which name she constantly mentions him in the Alexiad. 
 
120 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 Ajrelastes found the Emperor sedulously arranging his most splendid 
 court-dress; for, as in the court of Pekin, the change of ceremonial attire 
 was a great part of the ritual observed at Constantinople, 
 
 “ Thou hast done well, wise Agelastes,^^ said Alexius to the_ philosopher, 
 as he approached with abundance of prostrations and genuflexions—“ Thou 
 hast done well, and we are content with thee. Less than thy wit and 
 address must have failed in separating from their company this tameless 
 bull, and unyoked heifer, over whom, if we obtain influence, we shall com¬ 
 mand, by every account, no small interest among those who esteem them 
 the bravest in the host.’^ 
 
 “ My humble understanding,^' said Agelastes, “ had been infinitely infe¬ 
 rior to the management of so prudent and sagacious a scheme, had it not 
 been shaped forth and suggested by the inimitable wisdom of your most 
 sacred Imperial Highness." 
 
 “We are aware," said Alexius, “that we had the merit of blocking forth 
 the scheme of detaining these persons, either by their choice as allies, or 
 by main force as hostages. Their friends, ere yet they have missed them, 
 will be engaged in war with the Turks, and at no liberty, if the devil should 
 suggest such an undertaking, to take arms against the sacred empire. Thus, 
 Agelastes, we shall obtain hostages at least as important and as valuable as 
 that Count of Vermandois, whose liberty the tremendous Godfrey of Bouillon 
 extorted from us by threats of instant war." 
 
 “ Pardon," said Agelastes, “ if I add another reason to those which of 
 themselves so heavily support your august resolution. It is possible that 
 we may, by observing the greatest caution and courtesy towards these 
 strangers, win them in good earnest to our side." 
 
 “I conceive you, I conceive you/' — said the Emperor; “and this very 
 night I will exhibit myself to this Count and his lady in the royal presence 
 chamber, in the richest robes Mdiich our wardrobe can furnish. The lions 
 of Solomon shall roar, the golden tree of Comnenus shall display its won¬ 
 ders, and the feeble eyes of these Franks shall be altogether dazzled by the 
 splendour of the empire. These spectacles cannot but sink into their minds, 
 and dispose them to become the allies and servants of a nation so much 
 more powerful, skilful, and wealthy than their own — Thou hast something 
 to say, Agelastes. Years and long study have made thee wise; though we 
 have given our opinion, thou mayst speak thine own, and live." 
 
 Thrice three times did Agelastes press his brow against the hem of the 
 Emperor’s garment, and great seemed his anxiety to find such words as 
 might intimate his dissent from his sovereign, yet save him from the infor¬ 
 mality of contradicting him expressly. 
 
 “ These sacred words, in which your sacred Highness has uttered your 
 most just and accurate opinions, are undeniable, and incapable of contra¬ 
 diction, were any vain enough to attempt to impugn them. Nevertheless, 
 be it lawful to say, that men show the wisest arguments in vain to those 
 who do not understand reason, just as you would in vain exhibit a curious 
 piece of limning to the blind, or endeavour to bribe, as scripture saith, a 
 sow by the offer of a precious stone. The fault is not, in such case, in the 
 accuracy of your sacred reasoning, but in the obtuseness and perverseness 
 of the barbarians to whom it is applied." 
 
 “ Speak more plainly," said the Emperor; “ how often must we tell thee, 
 that in cases in which we really want counsel, we know we must be con¬ 
 tented to sacrifice ceremon^ ?" 
 
 “ Then in plain words," said Agelastes, “ these European barbarians are 
 like no others under the cope of the universe, either on the things on which 
 they look with desire, or on those which they consider as discouraging. The 
 treasures of this noble empire, so far as they affected their wishes, would 
 merely inspire them with the desire to go to -war with a nation possessed of 
 (SO much wealth, and who, in their self-conceited estimation, were less able 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 121 
 
 to defend, than they themselves are powerful to assail. Of such a descrip¬ 
 tion, for instance, is Bohemond of Tarentura, — and such a one is many a 
 crusader less able and sagacious than he;—for I think I need not tell your 
 Imperial Divinity, that he holds his own self-interest to be the devoted guide 
 of his whole conduct through this extraordinary war; and that, therefore, 
 you can justly calculate his course, when once you are aware from which 
 point of the compass the wind of avarice and self-interest breathes with 
 respect to him. But there are spirits among the Franks of a very different 
 nature, and who must be acted upon by very different motives, if we would 
 make ourselves masters of their actions, and the principles by which they 
 are governed. If it were lawful to do so, I would request your Majesty to 
 look at the manner by which an artful juggler of your court achieves his 
 imposition upon the eyes of spectators, yet heedfully disguises the moans 
 by which he attains his object. This people—I mean the more lofty-minded 
 of these crusaders, who act up to the pretences of the doctrines which they 
 call chivalry—despise the thirst of gold, and gold itself, unless to hilt their 
 swords, or to furnish forth some necessary expenses, as alike useless and 
 contemptible. The man who can be moved by the thirst of gain, they con¬ 
 temn, scorn, and despise, and liken him, in the meanness of his objects, to 
 the most paltry serf that ever followed the plough, or wielded the spade. 
 On the other hand, if it happens that they actually need gold, they are suf¬ 
 ficiently unceremonious in taking it where they can most easily find it. 
 Thus, they are neither easily to be bribed by giving them gums of gold, nor 
 to be starved into compliance by withholding what chance may render 
 necessary for them. In the one case, they set no value upon the gift of a 
 little paltry yellow dross; in the other, they are accustomed to take what 
 they want.^’ 
 
 “ Yellow dross interrupted Alexius. “ Do they call that noble metal, 
 equally respected by Roman and barbarian, by rich and poor, by great and 
 mean, by churchmen and laymen, which all mankind are fighting for, plot¬ 
 ting for, planning for, intriguing for, and damning themselves for, both soul 
 and body — by the opprobrious name of yellow dross? They are mad, 
 Agelastes, utterly mad. Perils and dangers, penalties and scourges, are 
 the arguments to which men who are above the universal influence which 
 moves all others, can possibly be accessible.” 
 
 “ Nor are they,” said Agelastes, “ more accessible to fear than they are 
 to self-interest. They are indeed, from their boyhood, brought up to scorn 
 those passions which influence ordinary minds, whether by means of avarice 
 to impel, or of fear to hold back. So much is this the case, that what is 
 enticing to other men, must, to interest them, have the piquant sauce of 
 extreme danger. I told, for instance, to this very hero, a legend of a 
 Princess of Zulichiura, who lay on an enchanted couch, beautiful as an 
 angel, awaiting the chosen knight who should, by dispelling her enchanted 
 slumbers, become master oT her person, of her kingdom of Zulichium, and 
 of her countless treasures; and, would your Imperial Majesty believe me, 
 I could scarce get the gallant to attend to my legend or take any interest in 
 the adventure, till I assured him he would have to encounter a winged 
 dragon, compared to which the largest of those in the Frank romances was 
 but like a mere dragon-fly ?” 
 
 And did this move the gallant ?” said the Emperor. 
 
 So much so,” replied the philosopher, “ that had I not unfortunately, 
 by the earnestness of my description, awakened the jealousy of his Pen- 
 thesilea of a Countess, he had forgotten the crusade and all belonging to 
 it, to go in quest of Zulichium and its slumbering sovereign.” 
 
 “Nav, then,” said the Emperor, “we have in our empire (make us sen¬ 
 sible of^ the advantage!) innumerable tale-tellers who are not possessed in 
 the slightest degree of that noble scorn of gold which is proper to tho 
 Vranks, but shall, for a brace of besants, lie with the devil, and beat him 
 
 L 
 
122 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 to boot, if in that manner we can gain, as mariners say, the weathergago 
 of the Franks/' 
 
 “Discretion," said Agelastcs, “is in the highest degree necessary. Simply 
 to lie is no very great matter ; it is merely a departure from the truth, which 
 is little dilferent from missing a mark at archery, where the whole horizon, 
 one point alone excepted, will alike serve the shooter’s purpose; but to 
 move the Frank as is desired, requires a perfect knowledge of his temper 
 and disposition, great caution and presence of mind, and the most versatile 
 readiness in changing from one subject to another. Had I not myself been 
 somewhat alert, I might have paid the penalty of a false step in your 
 Majesty’s service, by being flung into my own cascade by the virago whom 
 I offended.’’ 
 
 “A perfect Thalestris!’’ said the Emperor; “I shall take care what 
 offence I give her.’’ 
 
 “If I might speak and live,’’ said Agelastes, “the Caesar Nicephorus 
 Briennius had best adopt the same precaution.’’ 
 
 “ Nicephorus,’’ said the Emperor, “ must settle that with our daughter. 
 I have ever told her that she gives him too much of that history, of which a 
 page or two is sufficiently refreshing; but by our own self we must swear 
 it, Agelastes, that, night after night, hearing nothing else, would subdue the 
 patience of a saint! — Forget, good Agelastes, that thou hast heard me say 
 such a thing — more especially, remember it not when thou art in presence 
 of our Imperial wife and daughter.’’ 
 
 “Nor were the freedoms taken by the Caesar beyond the bounds of an 
 innocent gallantry,’’ said Agelastes ; “ but the Countess, I must needs say, 
 is dangerous. She killed this day the Scythian Toxartis, by what seemed 
 a mere fillip on the head.’’ 
 
 “ Hah !’’ said the Emperor; “ I knew that Toxartis, and he was like 
 enough to deserve his death, being a bold unscrupulous marauder. Take 
 notes, however, how it happened, the names of witnesses, &c., that, if neces¬ 
 sary, we may exhibit the fact as a deed of aggression on the part of the 
 Count and Countess of Paris, to the assembly of the crusaders.’’ 
 
 “I trust,’’ said Agelastes, “your Imperial Majesty will not easily resign 
 the golden opportunity of gaining to your standard persons whose character 
 stands so very high in chivalry. It would cost you but little to bestow upon 
 them a Grecian island, worth a hundred of their own paltry lordship of 
 Paris; and if it were given under the condition of their expelling the in¬ 
 fidels or the disaffected who may have obtained the temporary possession, it 
 would be so much the more likely to be an acceptable offer. I need not say 
 that the whole knowledge, wisdom, and skill of the poor Agelastes is at 
 your Imperial Majesty’s disposal.’’ 
 
 The Emperor paused for a moment, and then said, as if on full considera¬ 
 tion, “Worthy Agelastes, I dare trust thee in this difficult and somewhat 
 dangerous matter; but I will keep my purpose of exhibiting to them the 
 lions of Solomon, and the golden tree of our Imperial house.’’ 
 
 “To that there can be no objection,’’ returned the philosopher; “only re¬ 
 member to exhibit few guards, for these Franks are like a fiery horse; when 
 in temper he may be ridden with a silk thread, but when he has taken um¬ 
 brage or suspicion, as they would likely do if they saw many armed men, a 
 steel bridle would not restrain him.’’ 
 
 “ I will be cautious,’’ said the Emperor, “ in that particular, as well as 
 others. — Sound the silver bell, Agelastes, that the officers of our wardrobe 
 may attend.’’ 
 
 “ One single word, while your Highness is alone,’’ said Agelastes. “ Will 
 your Imperial Majesty transfer to me the direction of your menagerie, or 
 collection of extraordinary creatures?’’ 
 
 “ You make me wonder,’’ said the Emperor, taking a signet, bearing 
 upon it a lion, with the legend, Ticit Leo ex tribu Jud<v. “ This,’’ he said, 
 
 r 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 123 
 
 “ will give thee the command of our dens. And now, be candid for once 
 with thy master—for deception is thy nature even with me—By what charm 
 wilt thou subdue these untamed savages 
 
 “ By the power of falsehood,’^ replied Agelastes, with deep reverence. 
 
 “ I believe thee an adept in it,’' said the Emperor. “ And to which of 
 their foibles wilt thou address it?" 
 
 “ To their love of fame," said the philosopher; and retreated backwards 
 out of the royal apartment, as the officers of the wardrobe entered to com¬ 
 plete the investment of the Emperor in his Imperial habiliments. 
 
 •(C|ia)ittt tliE /Durtiintlj. 
 
 I will ox)nverse with iron-witted fools. 
 
 And unrespentive boys; none are for me, 
 
 That look into me with considerate eyes; — 
 
 High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
 
 Kichard III. 
 
 As they parted from each other, the Emperor and philosopher had each 
 their own anxious thoughts on the interview which had passed between 
 them; thoughts which they expressed in broken sentences and ejaculations, 
 though for the better understanding of the degree of estimation in which 
 they held each other, we will give them a more •regular and intelligible 
 form. 
 
 “Thus, then," half muttered half said Alexius, but so low as to hide his 
 meaning from the officers of the wardrobe, who entered to do their office,— 
 “ thus, then, this bookworm—this remnant of old heathen philosophy, who 
 hardly believes, so God save me, the truth of the Christian creed, has topp’d 
 his part so well that he forces his Emperor to dissemble in his presence. 
 Beginning by being the buffoon of the court, he has wormed himself into 
 all its secrets, made himself master of all its intrigues, conspired with my 
 own son-in-law against me, debauched my guards, — indeed so woven his 
 W'eb of deceit, that my life is safe no longer, than he believes me the impe¬ 
 rial dolt which I have affected to seem, in order to deceive him; fortunate 
 that even so can I escape his cautionary anticipation of my displeasure, by 
 avoiding to precipitate his measures of violence. But were this sudden 
 storm of the crusade fairly passed over, the ungrateful Caesar, the boastful 
 coward Achilles Tatius, and the bosom serpent Agelastes, shall know 
 whether Alexius Comnenus has been born their dupe. When Greek meets 
 Greek, comes the strife of subtlety, as well as the tug of war." Thus say¬ 
 ing, he resigned himself to the officers of his wardrobe, who proceeded to 
 ornament him as the solemnity required. 
 
 “ I trust him not," said Agelastes, the meaning of whose gestures and 
 exclamations, we, in like manner, render into a connected meaning. “ I 
 cannot, and do not trust him — he somewhat overacts his part, lie has 
 borne himself upon other occasions with the shrewd wit of his family the 
 Comneni; yet he now trusts to the effect of his trumpery lions upon such a 
 shrewd people as the Franks and Normans, and seems to rely upon me for 
 the character of men with whom he has been engaged in peace and war for 
 many years. This can be but to gain my confidence ; for there were imper¬ 
 fect looks, and broken sentences, which seemed to say, ‘Agelastes, the Em¬ 
 peror knows thee and confides not in thee.’ Yet the plot is successful and 
 undiscovered, as far as can be judged ; and were I to attempt to recede now, 
 J were lost for ever. A little time to carry on this intrigue with the Frank, 
 
124 
 
 TVAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Avlien possibly, by the assistance of this gallant, Alexius shall exchange the 
 crown for a cloister, or a still narrower abode; and then, Agelastes, thou 
 dcservest to be blotted from the roll of philosophers, if thou canst not push 
 out of the throne the conceited and luxurious Caesar, and reign in his stead, 
 a second Marcus Antoninus, when the wisdom of thy rule, long unfelt in a 
 wmrld which has been guided by tyrants and voluptuaries, shall soon 
 obliterate recollection of the manner in which thy power was acquired. 
 To work then — be active, and be cautious. The time requires it, and the 
 prize deserves it.'^ 
 
 While these thoughts passed through his mind, he arrayed himself, by 
 the assistance of Diogenes, in a clean suit of that simple apparel in which 
 he always frequented the court; a garb as unlike that of a candidate for 
 royalty, as it was a contrast to the magnificent robes with which Alexius 
 was now investing himself. 
 
 In their separate apartments, or dressing-rooms, the Count of Paris and 
 his lady put on the best apparel which they had prepared to meet such a 
 chance upon their journey. Even in France, Robert was seldom seen in 
 the peaceful cap and sweeping mantle, whose high plumes and flowing folds 
 were the garb of knights in times of peace. He was now arrayed in a 
 splendid suit of armour, all except the head, which was bare otherwise than 
 as covered by his curled locks. The rest of his person was sheathed in the 
 complete mail of the time, richly inlaid with silver, which contrasted with 
 the azure in which the steel was damasked. His spurs were upon his 
 heels — his sword was by his side, and his triangular shield was suspended 
 round his neck, bearing, painted upon it, a number of jieures-de-lis semees, 
 as it is called, upon the field, being the origin of those lily flowers which 
 after times reduced to three only; and which were the terror of Europe, 
 until they suflered so many reverses in our own time. 
 
 The extreme height of Count Robert’s person adapted^him for a garb, 
 which had a tendency to make persons of a lower stature appear rather 
 dwarfish and thick when arrayed cap-d-pie. The features, with their self- 
 collected composure, and noble contempt of whatever could have astounded 
 or shaken an ordinary mind, formed a well-fitted capital to the excellently 
 proportioned and vigorous frame which they terminated. The Countess 
 was in more peaceful attire; but her robes were short and succinct, like 
 those of one who might be called to hasty exercise. The upper part of her 
 dress consisted of more than one tunic, sitting close to the body, while a 
 skirt, descending from the girdle, and reaching to the ankles, embroidered 
 elegantly but richly, completed an attire which a lady might have worn in 
 much more modern 'times. Her tresses were covered with a light steel 
 head-piece, though some of them, escaping, played round her face, and 
 gave relief to those handsome features which might otherwise have seemed 
 too formal, if closed entirely within the verge of steel. Over these under¬ 
 garments was flung a rich velvet cloak of a deep green colour, descending 
 from the head, where a species of hood was loosely adjusted over the helmet, 
 deeply laced upon its verges and seams, and so long as to sweep the ground 
 behind. A dagger of rich materials ornamented a girdle of curious gold¬ 
 smith’s work, and was the only offensive weapon which, notwithstanding 
 her military occupation, she bore upon this occasion. 
 
 The toilet—as modern times would say—of the Countess, was not nearly 
 so soon ended as that of Count Robert, who occupied his time, as husbands 
 of every period are apt to do, in little sub-acid complaints between jest and 
 earnest, upon the dilatory nature of ladies, and the time which they lose in 
 doffing and donning their garments. But when the Countess Brenhilda 
 came forth in the pride of loveliness, from the inner chamber where she 
 had attired herself, her husband, who was still her lover, clasped her to his 
 breast and expressed his privilege by the kiss which he took as of right 
 from a creature so beautiful. Chiding him for his folly, yet almost return- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARTS. 125 
 
 ing the kiss which she received, Brenhilda began now to wonder how they 
 were to find their way to the presence of the Emperor. 
 
 The query was soon solved, for a gentle knock at the door announced 
 Agelastes, to whom, as best acquainted with the Frankish manners, had 
 been committed, by the Emperor, the charge of introducing the noble 
 strangers. A distant sound, like that of the roaring of a lion, or not un- 
 similar to a large and deep gong of modern times, intimated the commence¬ 
 ment of the ceremonial. The black slaves upon guard, who, as hath been 
 observed, were in small numbers, stood ranged in their state dresses of 
 white and gold, bearing in one hand a naked sabre, and in the other a 
 torch of white wax, which served to guide the Count and Countess through 
 the passages that led to the interior of the palace, and to the most secret 
 hall of audience. 
 
 The door of this sanctum sanctorum was lower than usual, a simple 
 stratagem devised by some superstitious ofl&cer of the Imperial household, 
 to compel the lofty-crested Frank to lower his body, as he presented him¬ 
 self in the Imperial presence. Robert, when the door flew open, and he 
 discovered in the background the Emperor seated upon his throne amidst a 
 glare of light, which was broken and reflected in ten thousand folds by the 
 jewels with which his vestments were covered, stopt short, and demanded 
 the meaning of introducing him through so low an arch ? Agelastes pointed 
 to the Emperor by way of shifting from himself a question which he could 
 not have answered. The mute, to apologize for his silence, yawned, and 
 showed the loss of his tongue. 
 
 “ Holy Virgin V’ said the Countess, “ what can these unhappy Africans 
 have done, to have deserved a condemnation which involves so cruel a 
 fate 
 
 “ The hour of retribution is perhaps come,’^ said the Count, in a displeased 
 tone, while Agelastes, with such hurry as time and place permitted, entered, 
 making his prostrations and genuflexions, little doubting that the Frank 
 must follow him, and to do so must lower his body to the Emperor. The 
 Count, however, in the height of displeasure at the trick which he conceived 
 had been intended him, turned himself round, and entered the presence- 
 chamber with his back purposely turned to the sovereign, and did not face 
 Alexius until he reached the middle of the apartment, whei\ he was joined 
 by the Countess, who had made her approach in a more seemly manner. 
 The Emperor, who had prepared to acknowledge the Count’s expected 
 homage in the most gracious manner, found himself now even more unplea¬ 
 santly circumstanced than when this uncompromising Frank had usurped 
 the royal throne in the course of the day. 
 
 The officers and nobles who stood around, though a very select number, 
 were more numerous than usual, as the meeting was not held for counsel, 
 but merely for state. These assumed such an appearance of mingled dis¬ 
 pleasure and confusion as might best suit with the perplexity of Alexius, 
 while the wily features of the Norman-Italian, Bohemond of Tarentum, who 
 was also present, had a singular mixture of fantastical glee and derision. 
 It is the misfortune of the weaker on such occasions, or at least the more 
 timid, to be obliged to take the petty part of winking hard, as if not able 
 to see what they cannot avenge. 
 
 Alexius made the signal that the ceremonial of the grand reception should 
 immediately commence. Instantly the lions of Solomon, which had been 
 newly furbished, raised their heads, erected their manes, brandished their 
 tails, until they excited the imagination of Count Robert, who, being already 
 on fire at the circumstances of his reception, conceived the bellowing of 
 these automata to be the actual annunciation of immediate assault. Whe¬ 
 ther the lions, whose forms he beheld, were actually lords of the forest,— 
 whether they were mortals who had suffered transformation,—whether they 
 w’ere productions of the skill of an artful juggler or profound naturalist, the 
 
 l2 
 
126 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Count neither knew nor cared. All that he thought of the danger was, that 
 ic was worthy of his courage; nor did his heart permit him a moment's 
 irresolution. He strode to the nearest lion, which seemed in the act of 
 springing up, and said, in a tone loud and formidable as its own, “ How 
 now, dog!" At the same time he struck the figure with his clenched fist 
 and steel gauntlet with so much force, that its head burst, and the steps 
 and carpet of the throne were covered with wheels, springs, and other 
 machinery, which had been the means of producing its mimic terrors. 
 
 On this display of the real nature of the cause of his anger. Count 
 Robert could not but feci a little ashamed of having given way to passion 
 on such an occasion. He was still more confused when Bohemond, de¬ 
 scending from his station near the Emperor, addressed him in the Frank 
 language ;—“ You have done a gallant deed, truly. Count Robert, in freeing 
 the court of Byzantium from an object of fear which has long been used to 
 frighten peevish children and unruly barbarians!" 
 
 Enthusiasm has no greater enemy than ridicule. “Why, then," said 
 Count Robert, blushing deeply at the same time, “did they exhibit its fan¬ 
 tastic terrors to me ? I am neither child nor barbarian." 
 
 “ Address yourself to the Emperor, then, as an intelligent man," answered 
 Bohemond. “ Say something to him in excuse of your conduct, and show 
 that our bravery has not entirely run away with our common sense. And 
 hark you also, while I have a moment's speech of you, — do you and your 
 wife iieedfully follow my example at supper!" These words were spoken 
 with a significant tone and corresponding look. 
 
 The opinion of Bohemond, from his long intercourse, both in peace and 
 war, with the Grecian Emperor, gave him great influence with the other 
 crusaders, and Count Robert yielded to his advice. He turned towards the 
 Emperor with something liker an obeisance than he had hitherto paid. “I 
 (jrave your pardon," he said, “for breaking that gilded piece of pageantry; 
 but, in sooth, the wonders of sorcery, and the portents of accomplished and 
 skilful jugglers, are so numerous in this country, that one does not clearly 
 distinguish what is true from what is false, or what is real from what is 
 illusory." 
 
 The Emperor, notwithstanding the presence of mind for which he was 
 remarkable, and the courage in which he was not held by his countrymen 
 to be deficient, received this apology somewhat awkwardly. Perhaps the 
 rueful complaisance with which he accepted the Count's apology, might be 
 best compared to that of a lady of the present day when an awkward guest 
 has broken a valuable piece of china. He muttered something about the 
 machines having been long preserved in the Imperial family, as being 
 made on the model of those which guarded the throne of the wise King of 
 Israel; to which the blunt plain-spoken Count expressed his doubt in 
 reply, whether the wisest prince in the world ever condescended to frighten 
 his subjects or guests by the mimic roarings of a wooden lion. “If," said 
 he, “ I too hastily took it for a living creature, I have had the worst, by 
 damaging my excellent gauntlet in dashing to pieces its timber skull." 
 
 The Emperor, after a little more had been said, chiefly on the same sub¬ 
 ject, proposed that they should pass to the banquet-room. Marshalled, 
 accordingly, by the grand sewer of the Imperial table, and attended by all 
 present, excepting the Emperor and the immediate members of his family, 
 the Frankish guests were guided through a labyrinth of apartments, each 
 of which was filled with wonders of nature and art, calculated to enhance 
 their opinion of the wealth and grandeur which had assembled together so 
 much that was wonderful. Their passage being necessarily slow and inter¬ 
 rupted, gave the Emperor time to change his dress, according to the ritual 
 of his court, which did not permit his appearing twice in the same vesture 
 before the same spectators. He took the opportunity to summon Agelastes 
 into his presence, and, that their conference might be secret, ho used, in 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 1‘27 
 
 assisting his toilet, the agency of some of the mutes destined for the service 
 of the interior. 
 
 The temper of Alexius Comnenus was considerably moved, although it 
 was one of the peculiarities of his situation to be ever under the necessity 
 of disguising the emotions of his mind, and of affecting, in presence of his 
 subjects, a superiority to human passion, which he was far from feeling. 
 It was therefore with gravity, and even reprehension, that he asked, “ By 
 whose error it was that the wily Bohemond, half-Italian, and half-Norman, 
 was present at this interview? Surely, if there be one in the crusading 
 army likely to conduct that foolish youth and his wife behind the scenes 
 of the exhibition by which we hoped to impose upon them, the Count of 
 Tarentum, as he entitles himself, is that person.’^ 
 
 “It was that old man," said Agelastes, “(if I may reply and live,) 
 Michael Cantacuzene, who deemed that his presence was peculiarly desired; 
 but he returns to the camp this very night." 
 
 “ Yes," said Alexius, “ to inform Godfrey, and the rest of the crusaders, 
 that one of the boldest and most highly esteemed of their number is left, 
 with his wife, a hostage in our Imperial city, and to bring back, perhaps, an 
 alternative of instant war, unless they are delivered up!" 
 
 “ If it is your Imperial Highness’s will to think so," said Agelastes, “you 
 can suffer Count Kobert and his wife to return to the camp with the Italian- 
 Norman." 
 
 “ What?" answered the Emperor, “ and so lose all the fruits af an enter¬ 
 prise, the preparations for which have already cost us so much in actual 
 expense; and, were our heart made of the same stuff with that of ordinary 
 mortals, would have cost us so much more in vexation and anxiety? No, 
 no ; issue warning to the crusaders, who are still on the hither side, that 
 farther rendering of homage is dispensed with, and that they repair to the 
 quays on the banks of the Bosphorus, by peep of light to-morrow. Let our 
 admiral, as he values his head, pass every man of them over to the farther 
 side before noon. Let there be largesses, a princely banquet on the farther 
 bank — all that may increase their anxiety to pass. Then, Agelastes, we 
 will trust to ourselves to meet this additional danger, either by bribing the 
 venality of Bohemond, or by bidding defiance to the crusaders. Their 
 forces are scattered, and the chief of them, with the leaders themselves, are 
 all now—or by far the greater part — on the east side of the Bosphorus.— 
 And now to the banquet! seeing that the change of dress has been made 
 sufficient to answer the statutes of the household ; since our ancestors chose 
 to make rules for exhibiting us to our subjects, as priests exhibit their 
 images at their shrines !" 
 
 “ Under grant of life," said Agelastes, “it was not done inconsiderately, 
 but in order that the Emperor, ruled ever by the same laws from father to 
 son, might ever be regarded as something beyond the common laws of hu¬ 
 manity—the divine image of a saint, therefore, rather than a human being." 
 
 “We know it, good Agelastes," answered the Emperor, with a smile, 
 “ and we are also aware, that many of our subjects, like the worshippers 
 of Bel in holy writ, treat us so far as an image, as to assist us in devouring 
 the revenues of our provinces, which are gathered in our name, and for our 
 use. These things we now only touch lightly, the time not suiting them." 
 
 Alexius left the secret council accordingly, after the order for the passage 
 of the crusaders had been written out and subscribed in due form, and in 
 the sacred ink of the Imperial chancery. 
 
 Meantime, the rest of the company had arrived in a hall, which, like the 
 other apartments in the palace, was most tastefully as well as gorgeously 
 fitted up, except that a table, which presented a princely banquet, might 
 have been deemed faulty in this respect, that the dishes, which were most 
 splendid, both in the materials of which they were composed, and in the 
 viands which they held, \A*ere elevated by means of feet, so as to be upon a 
 
128 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 level witli female guests as they sat, and with men as they lay recumbent at 
 the banquet which it offered. 
 
 Around stood a number of black slaves richly attired, while the grand 
 sewer, Michael Cantazucene, arranged the strangers with his golden wand, 
 and conveyed orders to them, by signs, that all should remain standing 
 around the table, until a signal should be given. • 
 
 The upper end of the board, thus furnished, and thus surrounded, was 
 hidden by a curtain of muslin and silver, which fell from the top of the 
 arch under which the upper part seemed to pass. On this curtain the sewer 
 kept a wary eye; and when he observed it slightly shake, he waved his 
 wand of office, and all expected the result. 
 
 As if self-moved, the mystic curtain arose, and discovered behind it a 
 throne eight steps higher than the end of the table, decorated in the most 
 magnificent manner, and having placed before it a small table of ivory inlaid 
 with silver, behind which was seated Alexius Comnenus, in a dress entirely 
 different from what he had worn in the course of the day, and so much more 
 gorgeous than his former vestments, that it seemed not unnatural that his 
 subjects should prostrate themselves before a figure so splendid. His wife, 
 his daughter, and his son-in-law the Caesar, stood behind him with faces 
 bent to the ground, and it was with deep humility, that, descending from 
 the throne at the Emperor’s command, they mingled with the guests of the 
 lower table, and, exalted as they were, proceeded to the festive board at 
 the signal of the grand sewer. So that they could not be said to partake 
 of the repast with the Emperor, nor to be placed at the Imperial table, al¬ 
 though they supped in his presence, and were encouraged by his repeated 
 request to them to make good cheer. No dishes presented at the lower table 
 were offered at the higher; but wines, and more delicate sorts of food, which 
 arose before the Emperor as if by magic, and seemed designed for his own 
 proper use, were repeatedly sent, by his special directions, to one or other 
 of the guests whom Alexius delighted to honour — among these the Franks 
 being particularly distinguished. 
 
 The behaviour of Bohemond was on this occasion particularly remark¬ 
 able. 
 
 Count Robert, who kept an eye upon him, both from his recent words, 
 and owing to an expressive look which he once or twice darted towards him, 
 observed, that in no liquors or food, not even those sent from the Emperor’s 
 own table, did this astucious prince choose to indulge. A piece of bread, 
 taken from the canister at random, and a glass of pure water, was the only 
 refreshment of which he was pleased to partake. His alleged excuse was, 
 the veneration due to the Holy Festival of the Advent, which chanced to 
 occur that very night, and which both the Greek and Latin rule agree to 
 hold sacred. 
 
 “ I had not expected this of you. Sir Bohemond,” said the Emperor, “ that 
 you should have refused my personal hospitality at my own board, on the 
 very day on which you honoured me by entering into my service as vassal 
 for the principality of Antioch.” 
 
 “ Antioch is not yet conquered,” said Sir Bohemond ; “ and conscience, 
 dread sovereign, must always have its exceptions, in whatever temporal con¬ 
 tracts we may engage.” 
 
 “ Come, gentle Count,” said the Emperor, who obviously regarded Bohe- 
 mond’s inhospitable humour as something arising more from suspicion than 
 devotion, “ we invite, though it is not our custom, our children, our noble 
 guests, and our principal officers here present, to a general carouse. Fill 
 the cups called the Nine Muses! let them be brimful of the wine which is 
 said to be sacred to the Imperial lips!” 
 
 At the Emperor’s command the cups were filled ; they were of pure gold, 
 and there was richly engraved upon each the effigy of the Muse to whom 
 it was dedicated. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF P A RI 8 . 
 
 129 
 
 “You at least,” said the Emperor, “my gentle Count Robert, you and 
 your lovely lady, ■will not have any scruple to pledge your Imperial host?” 
 
 “ If that scruple is to imply suspicion of the provisions with which we 
 are here served, I disdain to nourish such,” said Count Robert. “ If it is 
 a sin which I commit by tasting wine to-night, it is a venial one; nor shall 
 I greatly augment my load by carrying it, with the rest of my trespasses, 
 to the next confessional.” 
 
 “ Will you then. Prince Bohemond, not be ruled by the conduct of your 
 friend ?” said the Emperor. 
 
 “ Methinks,” replied the Norman-Italian, “ my friend might have done 
 better to have been ruled by mine; but be it as his wisdom pleases. The 
 flavour of such exquisite wine is sufficient for me.” 
 
 “ So saying, he emptied the wine into another goblet, and seemed alter¬ 
 nately to admire the carving of the cup, and the flavour of what it had 
 lately contained. 
 
 “You are right. Sir Bohemond,” said the Emperor; “the fabric of that 
 cup is beautiful; it was done by one of the ancient gravers of Greece. The 
 boasted cup of Nestor, which Ilomer has handed down to us, was a good 
 deal larger perhaps, but neither equalled these in the value of the material, 
 nor the exquisite beauty of the workmanship. Let each one, therefore, of 
 my stranger guests, accept of the cup which he either has or might have 
 drunk out of, as a recollection of me; and may the expedition against the 
 infidels be as propitious as their confidence and courage deserve!” 
 
 “ If I accept your gift, mighty Emperor,” said Bohemond, “ it is only to 
 atone for the apparent discourtesy, when my devotion compels me to decline 
 your Imperial pledge, and to show you that we part on the most intimate 
 terms of friendship.” 
 
 So saying, he bowed deeply to the Emperor, wLo answered him with a 
 smile, into which was thrown a considerable portion of sarcastic expression. 
 
 “ And I,” said the Count of Paris, “ having taken upon my conscience 
 the fault of meeting your Imperial pledge, may stand excused from in¬ 
 curring the blame of aiding to dismantle your table of these curious drink¬ 
 ing cups. We empty them to your health, and we cannot in any other 
 respect profit by them.” 
 
 “ But Prince Bohemond can,” said the Emperor; “ to whose quarters 
 they shall be carried, sanctioned by your generous use. And we have still 
 a set for you, and for your lovely Countess, equal to that of the Graces, 
 though no longer matching in number the nymphs of Parnassus.—The eve¬ 
 ning bell rings, and calls us to remember the hour of rest, that we may be 
 ready to meet the labours of to-morrow.” 
 
 The party then broke up for the evening. Bohemond left the palace that 
 night, not forgetting the Muses, of whom he was not in general a devotee. 
 The result was, as the wily Greek had intended, that he had established be¬ 
 tween Bohemond and the Count, not indeed a quarrel, but a kind of dif¬ 
 ference of opinion; Bohemond feeling that the fiery Count of Paris must 
 think his conduct sordid and avaricious, while Count Robert was far less 
 inclined than before to rely on him as a counsellor. 
 
 Yol. XII. —9 
 
130 
 
 W AVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 (Cjinptn /iftniitjj. 
 
 The Count of Paris and his lady were that night lodged in the Imperial 
 Palace of the Blacquernal. Their apartments were contiguous, but the 
 communication between them was cut off for the night by the mutual door 
 being locked and barred. They marvelled somewhat at this precaution. 
 The observance, however, of the festival of the Church, was pleaded as an 
 admissible, and not unnatural excuse for this extraordinary circumstance. 
 Neither the Count nor his lady entertained, it may be believed, the slightest 
 personal fear for any thing which could happen to them. Their attendants, 
 Marcian and Agatha, having assisted their master and mistress in the per¬ 
 formance of their usual offices, left them, in order to seek the places of 
 repose assigned to them among persons of their degree. 
 
 The preceding day had been one of excitation, and of much bustle and 
 interest; perhaps, also, the wine, sacred to the Imperial lips, of which Count 
 Robert had taken a single, indeed, but a deep draught, was more potent 
 than the delicate and high-flavoured juice of the Gascogne grape, to which 
 he was accustomed; at any rate, it seemed to him that, from the time he 
 felt that he had slept, daylight ought to have been broad in his chamber 
 when he awaked, and yet it was still darkness almost palpable. Somewhat 
 surprised, he gazed eagerly around, but could discern nothing, except two 
 balls of red light which shone from among the darkness with a self-emitted 
 brilliancy, like the eyes of a wild animal while it glares upon its prey. 
 The Count started from bed to put on his armour, a necessary precaution if 
 what he saw should really be a wild creature and at liberty ; but the instant 
 he stirred, a deep growl was uttered, such as the Count had never heard, 
 but which might be compared to the sound of a thousand monsters at once; 
 and, as the symphony, was heard the clash of iron chains, and the springing 
 of a monstrous creature towards the bedside, which appeared, however, to 
 be withheld by some fastening from attaining the end of its bound. The 
 roars which it uttered now ran thick on each other. They were most tre¬ 
 mendous, and must have been heard throughout the Mffiole palace. The 
 creature seemed to gather itself many yards nearer to the bed than by its 
 glaring eyeballs it appeared at first to be stationed, and how much nearer, 
 or what degree of motion, might place him within the monster's reach, the 
 Count was totally uncertain. Its breathing was even heard, and Count 
 Robert thought he felt the heat of its respiration, while his defenceless limbs 
 might not be two yards distant from the fangs which he heard grinding 
 against each other, and the claws which tore up fragments of wood from the 
 oaken floor. The Count of Paris was one of the bravest men who lived in 
 a time when bravery was the universal property of all who claimed a drop 
 of noble blood, and the knight was a descendant of Charlemagne. lie 
 was, however, a man, and therefore cannot be said to have endured unap¬ 
 palled a sense of danger so unexpected and so extraordinary. But his was 
 not a sudden alarm or panic, it was a calm sense of extreme peril, qualified 
 by a resolution to exert his faculties to the uttermost, to save his life if it 
 were possible. He withdrew himself within the bed, no longer a place of 
 rest, being thus a few feet further from the two glaring eyeballs which 
 remained so closely fixed upon him, that, in spite of his courage, nature 
 painfully suggested the bitter imagination of his limbs being mangled, torn, 
 and churned with their life-blood, in the jaws of some monstrous beast of 
 prey. One saving thought alone presented itself—this might be a trial, an 
 experiment of the philosopher Agelastes, or of the Emperor his master, for 
 the purpose of proving the courage of which the Cnristians vaunted so 
 highly, and punishing the thoughtless insult which the Count had been 
 unadvised enough to put upon the Emperor the preceding day. 
 
COUNT K U U K K T OF PARIS. 1 I 
 
 “Well is it said/’ he reflected in his agony, “beard not the lion in his 
 den ! Perhaps even now some base slave deliberates whether I have yet 
 tasted enough of the preliminary agonies of death, and whether he shall 
 yet slip the chain which keeps the savage from doing his work. But come 
 death when it will, it shall never be said that Count Robert was heard to 
 receive it with prayers for compassion, or with cries of pain or terror,” lie 
 turned his face to the wall, and waited, with a strong mental exertion, the 
 death which he conceived to be fast approaching. 
 
 llis first feelings had been unavoidably of a selfish nature. The danger 
 was too instant, and of a description too horrible, to admit of any which 
 involved a more comprehensive view of his calamity; and other reflections 
 of a more distant kind, were at first swallowed up in the all-engrossing 
 thought of immediate death. But as his ideas became clearer, the safety 
 of his Countess rushed upon his mind — what might she now be sufiering! 
 and, while he was subjected to a trial so extraordinary, for what were her 
 weaker frame and female courage reserved? Was she still within a few 
 yards of him, as when he lay down the last night? or had the barbarians, 
 who had devised for him a scene so cruel, availed themselves of his and his 
 lady’s incautious confidence to inflict upon her some villany of the same 
 kind, or even yet more perfidious? Did she sleep or wake, or could she 
 sleep within the close hearing of that horrible cry, which shook all around? 
 lie resolved to utter her name, warning her, if possible, to be upon her 
 guard, and to answer without venturing rashly into the apartment which 
 contained a guest so horribly perilous. 
 
 He uttered, therefore, his wife’s name, but in trembling accents, as if he 
 liad been afraid of the savage beast overhearing him. 
 
 “Brenhilda! Brenhilda!—there is danger—awake, and speak to me, but 
 do not arise.” There was no answer. — “What am I become,” he said to 
 himself, “ that I call upon Brenhilda of Aspramonte, like a child on its 
 sleeping nurse, and all because there is a wild-cat in the same room with 
 me? Shame on thee. Count of Paris! Let thy arms be rent, and thy spurs 
 be hacked from thy heels! —What ho!” he cried aloud, but still with a 
 tremulous voice, “Brenhilda, we are beset, the foe are upon us!—Answer 
 me, but stir not.” 
 
 A deep growl from the monster which garrisoned his apartment was the 
 only answer. The sound seemed to say, “ Thou hast no hope !” and it ran 
 to the knight’s bosom as the genuine expression of despair. 
 
 “ Perhaps, however, I am still too cold in making my misery known. 
 
 ' What ho ! my love ! Brenhilda!” 
 
 A voice, hollow and disconsolate as that which might have served an 
 inhabitant of the grave, answered as if from a distance. “ What discon¬ 
 solate wretch art thou, who expectest that the living can answer thee from 
 the habitations of the dead?” 
 
 “I am a Christian man, a free noble of the kingdom of France,” an¬ 
 swered the Count. “ Yesterday the captain of five hundred men, the bravest 
 in France — the bravest, that is, who breathe mortal air — and I am here 
 without a glimpse of light, to direct me how to avoid the corner in which 
 lies a wild tiger-cat, prompt to spring upon and to devour me.” 
 
 “ Thou art an example,” replied the voice, “ and wilt not long be the 
 last, of the changes of fortune. I, who am now sufiering in my third year, 
 was that mighty Ursel, who rivalled Alexius Comnenus for the Crown of 
 Greece, was betrayed by my confederates, and being deprived of that eye¬ 
 sight which is the chief blessing of humanity, I inhabit these vaults, no 
 distant neighbour of the wild animals by whom they are sometimes occupied, 
 and whose cries of joy I hear when unfortunate victims like thyself are 
 delivered up to their fury.” 
 
 “ Didst thou not then hear,” said Count Robert, in return, “ a warlike 
 guest and his bride conducted hither last night, with sounds as it might 
 
132 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 seem of bridal music?—0, Brenhilda! hast thou, so young—so beautiful— 
 been so treacherously done to death by means so unutterably horrible 
 
 “ Think not,’^ answered Ursel, as the voice had called its owner, “ that 
 the Greeks pamper their wild beasts on such lordly fare. For their enemies, 
 which term includes not only all that are really such, but all those whom 
 they fear or hate, they have dungeons whose locks never revolve ; hot 
 instruments of steel, to sear the eyeballs in the head ; lions and tigers, when 
 it pleases them to make a speedy end of their captives—but these are only 
 for the male prisoners. While for the women—if they be young and beau¬ 
 tiful, the princes of the land have places in their bed and bower; nor are 
 they employed like the captives of Agamemnon’s host, to draw water from 
 an Argive spring, but are admired and adored by those whom fate has made 
 the lords of their destiny.” 
 
 “ Such shall never be the doom of Brenhilda!” exclaimed Count Robert; 
 
 “ her husband still lives to assist her, and should he die, she knows well 
 how to follow him without leaving a blot in the epitaph of either.” 
 
 The captive did not immediately reply, and a short pause ensued, which 
 was broken by UrseFs voice. “ Stranger,” he said, “ what noise is that I 
 hear ?” 
 
 “ Nay, I hear nothing,” said Count Robert. 
 
 “ But I do,” said Ursel. “ The cruel deprivation of my eyesight renders 
 my other senses more acute.” 
 
 “ Disquiet not thyself about the matter, fellow-prisoner,” answered the 
 Count, “ but wait the event in silence.” 
 
 Suddenly a light arose in the apartment, lurid, red, and smoky. The 
 knight had bethought him of a flint and match which he usually carried 
 about him, and with as little noise as possible had lighted the torch by the 
 bedside; this he instantly applied to the curtains of the bed, which, being 
 of thin muslin, were in a moment in flames. The knight sprung, at the 
 same instant, from his bed. The tiger, for such it was, terrified at the flame, 
 leaped backwards as far as his chain would permit, heedless of any thing 
 save this new object of terror. Count Robert upon this seized on a massive 
 wooden stool, which was the only offensive weapon on which he could lay 
 his hand, and, marking at those eyes which now reflected the blaze of fire, 
 and which had recently seemed so appalling, he discharged against them 
 this fragment of ponderous oak, with a force which less resembled human 
 strength than the impetus with which an engine hurls a stone. lie had 
 employed his instant of time so well, and his aim was so true, that the 
 missile went right to the mark and Avith incredible force. The skull of the 
 tiger, which might be, perhaps, somewhat exaggerated if described as being 
 of the very largest size, was fractured by the blow, and with the assistance 
 of his dagger, which had fortunately been left with him, the French Count 
 despatched the monster, and had the satisfliction to see him grin his last, 
 and roll, in the agony of death, those eyes which were lately so formidable. 
 
 Looking around him, he discovered, by the light of the fire which he had 
 raised, that the apartment in which he now lay was different from that in 
 which he had gone to bed overnight; nor could there be a stronger contrast 
 between the furniture of both, than the flickering half-burnt remains of 
 the thin muslin curtains, and the strong, bare, dungeon-looking walls of the 
 room itself, or the very serviceable wooden stool, of which he had made 
 such good use. 
 
 The knight had no leisure to form conclusions upon such a subject. lie • 
 liastily extinguished the fire, which had, indeed, nothing that it could lay 
 hold of, and proceeded, by the light of the flambeau, to examine the apart¬ 
 ment, and its means of entrance. It is scarce necessary to say, that he saw 
 no communication with the room of Brenhilda, which convinced him that 
 they had been separated the evening before under pretence of devotional 
 scruples, in order to accomplish some most villanous design upon one or 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 133 
 
 both of them. Ilis own part of the night's adventure we have already seen, 
 and success, so far, over so formidable a danger, gave him a trembling hope 
 that Brenhilda, by her own worth and valour, would be able to defend her¬ 
 self against all attacks of fraud or force, until he could find his way to her 
 rescue. “I should have paid more regard,'* he said, “to Boheinond’s 
 caution last night, who, I think, intimated to me as plainly as if he had 
 spoke it in direct terms, that that same cup of wine was a drugged potion. 
 But then, fie upon him for an avaricious hound ! how was it possible I should 
 think he suspecb-d any sucli thing, when he spoke not out like a man, but, 
 for sheer coldness of heart, or base self-interest, suffered me to run the risk 
 of being poisoned by the wily despot?" 
 
 Here he heard a voice from the same quarter as before. “ IIo, there! Ho, 
 stranger! Do you live, or have you been murdered? What means this 
 stifling smell of smoke ? For God’s sake, answer him who can receive no 
 information from eyes, closed, alas, for ever!" 
 
 “ I am at liberty," said the Count, “ and the monster destined to devour 
 me has groaned its last. I would, my friend Ursel, since such is thy name, 
 thou hadst the advantage of thine eyes, to have borne witness to yonder 
 combat; it had been worth thy while, though thou shouldst have lost them 
 a minute afterwards, and it would have greatly advantaged whoever shall 
 have the task of compiling my history." 
 
 While he gave a thought to that vanity which strongly ruled him, he lost 
 no time in seeking some mode of escape from the dungeon, for by that means 
 only might he hope to recover his Countess. At Last he found an entrance 
 in the wall, but it was strongly locked and bolted. “ I have found the pas¬ 
 sage," he called out; “and its direction is the same in which thy voice is 
 heard — But how shall I undo the door ?" 
 
 “I’ll teach thee that secret," said Ursel. “I would I could as easily un¬ 
 lock each bolt that withholds us from the open air; but, as for thy seclu¬ 
 sion within the dungeon, heave up the door by main strength, and thou 
 shalt lift the locks to a place where, pushing then the door from thee, the 
 fiistenings will find a grooved passage in the wall, and the door itself will 
 open. Would that I could indeed see thee, not only because, being a gal¬ 
 lant man, thou must be a goodly sight, but also because I should thereby 
 know that I was not caverned in darkness for ever." 
 
 While he spoke thus, the Count made a bundle of his armour, from which 
 he missed nothing except his sword, Tranchefer, and then proceeded to try 
 what efforts he could make, according to the blind man’s instructions, to 
 open the door of his prison-house. Pushing in a direct line was, he soon 
 found, attended with no effect; but when he applied his gigantic strength, 
 and raised the door as high as it would go, he had the satisfaction to find 
 that the bolts yielded, though reluctantly. A space had been cut so as to 
 allow them to move out of the socket into which they had been forced; and 
 without the turn of a key, but by a powerful thrust forwards, a small pas¬ 
 sage was left open. The knight entered, bearing his armour in his hand. 
 
 “I hear thee," said Ursel, “0 stranger! and am aware thou art come 
 into my place of captivity. For three years have I been employed in cut¬ 
 ting these grooves, corresponding to the sockets which hold these iron bolts, 
 and preserving the knowledge of the secret from the prison-keepers. Twenty 
 such bolts, perhaps, must be sawn through, ere my steps shall approach 
 the upper air. What prospect is there that I shall have strength of mind 
 sufficient to continue the task? Yet, credit me, noble stranger, I rejoice in 
 having been thus far aiding to thy deliverance; for if Heaven blesses not, 
 in any farther degree, our aspirations after freedom, we may still be a com¬ 
 fort to each other, while tyranny permits our mutual life." 
 
 Count Robert looked around, and shuddered that a human being should 
 talk of any thing approaching to comfort, connected with his residence in 
 what seemed a living tomb. Ursel’s dungeon was not above twelve feet 
 
 II 
 
134 
 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 square, vaulted in the roof, and strongly built in the walls by stones which 
 the chisel had morticed closely together. A bed, a coarse footstool, like 
 that which Robert had just launched at the head of the tiger, and a table 
 of equally massive materials, were its only articles of furniture. On a long 
 stone, above the bed, were these few, but terrible words : — Zedekias Ursel, 
 
 imprisoned here on the Ides^of March, a.d. -. Died and interred on the 
 
 spot^' — A blank was left for filling up the period. The figure of the cap¬ 
 tive could hardly be discerned amid the wildness of his dress and dishabille. 
 The hair of his head, uncut and uncombed, descended in elf-locks, and 
 mingled with a beard of extravagant length. 
 
 “ Look on me,'^ said the captive, “ and rejoice that thou canst yet see the 
 wretched condition to which iron-hearted tyranny can reduce a fellow- 
 creature, both in mortal existence and in future hope.” 
 
 “Was it thou,” said Count Robert, whose blood ran cold in his veins, 
 “ that hadst the heart to spend thy time in sawing through the blocks of 
 stone by which these bolts are secured ?” 
 
 “ Alas !” said Ursel, “ what could a blind man do ? Busy I must be, if 
 I would preserve my senses. Great as the labour was, it was to me the task 
 of three years; nor can you wonder that I should have devoted to it my 
 whole time, when I had no other means of occupying it. Perhaps, and 
 most likely, my dungeon does not admit the distinction of day and night; 
 but a distant cathedral clock told me how hour after hour fled away, and 
 found me expending them in rubbing one stone against another. But when 
 the door gave way, I found I had only cut an access into a prison more 
 strong than that which held me. I rejoice, nevertheless, since it has brought 
 us together, given thee an entrance to my dungeon, and me a companion in 
 my misery.” 
 
 “Think better than that,” said Count Robert, “think of liberty — think 
 of revenge! I cannot believe such unjust treachery will end successfully, 
 else needs must I say, the heavens are less just than priests tell us of. 
 How art thou supplied with food in this dungeon of thine ?” 
 
 “ A warder,” said Ursel, “ and who, I think, understands not the Greek 
 language—at least he never either answers or addresses me—brings a loaf 
 and a pitcher of water, enough to supply my miserable life till two days 
 are past. I must, therefore, pray that you will retire for a space into the 
 next prison, so that the warder may have no means of knowing that we 
 can hold correspondence together.” 
 
 “ I see not,” said Count Robert, “ by what access the barbarian, if he is 
 one, can enter my dungeon without passing through yours ; but no matter, 
 I will retire into the inner or outer room, whichever it happens to be, and 
 be thou then well aware that the warder will have some one to grapple 
 with ere he leaves his prison-work to-day. Meanwhile, think thyself dumb 
 as thou art blind, and be assured that the offer of freedom itself would not 
 induce me to desert the cause of a companion in adversity.” 
 
 “ Alas,” said the old man, “ I listen to thy promises as I should to those 
 of the morning gale, which tells me that the sun is about to rise, although 
 I know that I at least shall never behold it. Thou art one of those wild and 
 undespairing knights, whom for so many years the west of Europe hath 
 sent forth to attempt impossibilities, and from thee, therefore, I can only 
 hope for such a fabric of relief as an idle boy would blow out of soap 
 bubbles.” 
 
 “ Think better of us, old man,” said Count Robert, retiring; “ at least 
 let me die with my blood warm, and believing it possible for me to be once 
 more united to my beloved Brenjiilda.” 
 
 So saying, he retired into his own cell, and replaced the door, so that the 
 operations of Ursel, which indeed were only such as three years’ solitude 
 could have achieved, should escape observation when again visited by the 
 warder. “ It is ill luck,” said he, when once more within his own prison— 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 135 
 
 for that in which the tiger had been secured, he instinctively concluded to 
 be destined for him —“ It is ill luck that I had not found a young and able 
 fellow-captive, instead of one decrepit by imprisonment, blind, and broken 
 down past exertion. But God’s will be done! I will not leave behind mo 
 the poor wretch whom I have found in such a* condition, though he is per¬ 
 fectly unable to assist me in accomplishing my escape, and is rather more 
 likely to retard it. Meantime, before we put out the torch, let us see, if, 
 by close examination, we can discover any door in the wall save that to the 
 blind man’s dungeon. If not, I much suspect that my descent has been 
 made through the roof. That cup of wine — that Muse, as they called it, 
 had a taste more like medicine than merry companions’ pledge.” 
 
 He began accordingly a strict survey of the walls, which he resolved to 
 conclude by extinguishing the torch, that he might take the person who 
 should enter his dungeon darkling and by surprise. For a similar reason, 
 he dragged into the darkest corner the carcass of the tiger, and covered it 
 with the remains of the bed-clothes, swearing at the same time, that a half 
 tiger should be his crest in future, if he had the fortune, which his bold 
 heart would not suffer him to doubt, of getting through the present danger. 
 “ But,” he added, “ if these necromantic vassals of hell shall raise the 
 devil upon me, what shall I do then ? And so great is the chance, that 
 methinks I would fain dispense with extinguishing the flambeau. Yet it is 
 childish for one dubbed in the chapel of Our Lady of the Broken Lances, 
 to make much difference between a light room and a dark one. Let them 
 come, as many fiends as the cell can hold, and^we shall see if we receive 
 them not as becomes a Christian knight; and surely. Our Lady, to whom 
 I was ever a true votary, will hold it an acceptable sacrifice that I tore 
 myself from my Brenhilda, even for a single moment, in honour of her 
 advent, and thus led the way for our woful separation. Fiends! I defy ye 
 in the body as in the spirit, and I retain the remains of this flambeau until 
 some more convenient opportunity.” He dashed it against the wall as he 
 spoke, and then quietly sat down in a corner, to watch what should next 
 happen. 
 
 Thought after thought chased each other through his mind. His confi¬ 
 dence in his wife’s fidelity, and his trust in her uncommon strength and 
 activity, were the greatest comforts which he had; nor could her danger 
 present itself to him in any shape so terrible, but that he found consolation 
 in these reflections: “ She is pure,” he said, “ as the dew of heaven, and 
 heaven will not abandon its own.” 
 
 Cjiaptir tjjB liitEEntti. 
 
 strange ape of man! who loathes thee while he scorns thee. 
 
 Half a reproach to us and half a jest. 
 
 What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure 
 In viewing our own form, onr pride and passions, 
 
 Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine! 
 
 Anontmous, 
 
 Count Robert of Paris having ensconced himself behind the ruins of 
 the bed, so that he could not well be observed, unless a strong light was at 
 once flung upon the place of his retreat, waited with anxiety how and in 
 what manner the warder of the dungeon, charged with the task of bringing 
 food to the prisoners, should make himself visible*, nor was it long ere 
 symptoms of his approach began to be heard and observed. 
 
136 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 A light was partially seen, as from a trap-door opening in the roof, and 
 a voice was heard to utter these words in Anglo-Saxon, “ Leap, sirrah; 
 come, no delay; leap, my good Sylvan, show your honour's activity." A 
 strange chuckling hoarse voice, in a language totally unintelligible to 
 Count Robert, was heard to respond, as if disputing the orders which were 
 received. 
 
 “ What, sir," said his companion, “ you must contest the point, must you? 
 Nay, if thou art so lazy, I must give your honour a ladder, and perhaps a 
 kick to hasten your journey." Something then, of very great size, in the 
 form of a human being, jumped down from the trap-door, though the height 
 might be above fourteen feet. This figure was gigantic, being upwards of 
 seven feet high. In its left hand it held a torch, and in its right a skein of 
 fine silk, which unwinding itself as it descended, remained unbroken, 
 though it was easy to conceive it could not have afforded a creature so 
 large any support in his descent from the roof. He alighted with perfect 
 safety and activity upon his feet, and, as if rebounding from the floor, he 
 sprung upwards again, so as almost to touch the roof. In this last gambaud 
 the torch which he bore was extinguished ; but this extraordinary warder 
 whirled it round his head with infinite velocity, so that it again ignited. 
 The bearer, who appeared to intend the accomplishment of this object, 
 endeavoured to satisfy himself that it was really attained by approaching, 
 as if cautiously, its left hand to the flame of the torch. This practical 
 experiment seemed attended with consequences which the creature had not 
 expected, for it howled with pain, shaking the burnt hand, and chattering 
 as if bemoaning itself. 
 
 “Take heed there, Sylvanus!" said the same voice in Anglo-Saxon, and 
 in a tone of rebuke. “ Ho, there! mind thy duty. Sylvan ! Carry food to- 
 the blind man, and stand not there to play thyself, lest I trust thee not 
 again alone on such an errand!" 
 
 The creature — for it would have been rash to have termed it a man — 
 turning its eye upwards to the place from whence the voice came, answered 
 with a dreadful grin and shaking of its fist, yet presently began to undo a 
 parcel, and rummage in the pockets of a sort of jerkin and pantaloons 
 which it wore, seeking, it appeared, a bunch of keys, which at length it 
 produced, while it took from the pocket a loaf of bread. Heating the stone 
 of the wall, it affixed the torch to it by a piece of wax, and then cautiously 
 looked out for the entrance to the old man's dungeon, which it opened with 
 a key selected from the bunch. Within the passage it seemed to look for 
 and discover the handle of a pump, at which it filled a pitcher that it bore, 
 and bringing back the fragments of the former loaf, and remains of the 
 pitcher of water, it ate a little, as if it were in sport, and very soon making 
 a frightful grimace, flung the fragments away. The Count of Paris, in the 
 meanwhile, watched anxiously the proceedings of this unknown animal. 
 His first thought was, that the creature, whose limbs were so much larger 
 than humanity, whose grimaces were so frightful, and whose activity seemed 
 supernatural, could be no other than the Devil himself, or some of his imps, 
 whose situation and office in those gloomy regions seemed by no means hard 
 to conjecture. The human voice, however, which he had heard, was less 
 that of a necromancer conjuring a fiend than that of a person giving com¬ 
 mands to a wild animal, over w-hom he had, by training, obtained a great 
 superiority. 
 
 “A shame on it," said the Count, “if I suffer a common jackanapes,— 
 for such I take this devil-seeming beast to be, although twice as large as 
 any of its fellows whom I have ever seen,—to throw an obstacle in the way 
 of my obtaining daylight and freedom ! Let us but watch, and the chance 
 is that we make that furry gentleman our guide to the upper regions." 
 
 Meantime the creature, which rummaged about everywhere, at length 
 discovered the body of the tiger, — touched it, stirred it, with many strange 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF P7\RIS. 
 
 137 
 
 motions, and seemed to lament and wonder at its death. At once it seemed 
 struck with the idea that some one must have slain it, and Count Robert 
 had the mortification to see it once more select the key, and spring towards 
 the door of Ursel’s prison with such alacrity, that had its intention been to 
 strangle him, it would have accomplished its purpose before the interference 
 of Count Robert could have prevented its revenge taking place. Appa¬ 
 rently, however, it reflected, that for reasons which seemed satisfactory, 
 the death of the tiger could not be caused by the unfortunate Ursel, but 
 had been accomplished by some one concealed within the outer prison. 
 
 Slowly grumbling, therefore, and chattering to itself, and peeping anx¬ 
 iously into every corner, the tremendous creature, so like yet so very unlike 
 to the human form, came stealing along the walls, moving -whatever he 
 thought could seclude a man from his observation. Its extended legs and 
 arms were protruded forward with great strides, and its sharp eyes, on the 
 ■vN’atch to discover the object of its search, kept prying, with the assistance 
 of the torch, into every corner. 
 
 Considering the vicinity of Alexius's collection of animals, the reader, by 
 this time, can have little doubt that the creature in question, whose appear¬ 
 ance seemed to the Count of Paris so very problematical, was a specimen 
 of that gigantic species of ape—if it is not indeed some animal more nearly 
 allied to ourselves — to which, I believe, naturalists have given the name of 
 the Ourang Outang. This creature differs from the rest of its fraternity, in 
 being comparatively more docile and serviceable: and though possessing 
 the power of imitation which is common to the whole race, yet making use 
 of it less in mere mockery, than in the desire of improvement and instruc¬ 
 tion perfectly unknown to his brethren. The aptitude which it possesses 
 of acquiring information, is surprisingly great, and probably, if placed in 
 a favourable situation, it might admit of being domesticated in a con¬ 
 siderable degree ; but such advantages the ardour of scientific curiosity has 
 never afforded this creature. The last we have heard of was seen, we 
 believe, in the Island of Sumatra — it was of great size and strength, and 
 upwards of seven feet high. It died defending desperately its innocent life 
 against a party of Europeans, who, we cannot help thinking, might have 
 better employed the superiority which their knowledge gave them over the 
 poor native of the forest. It was probably this creature, seldom seen, but 
 when once seen never forgotten, which occasioned the ancient belief in the 
 god Pan, with his syIvans and satyrs. Nay, but for the gift of speech, 
 which we cannot suppose any of the family to have attained, we should 
 have believed the satyr seen by St. Anthony in the desert to have belonged 
 to this tribe. 
 
 We can, therefore, the more easily credit the annals which attest that 
 the collection of natural history belonging to Alexius Comnenus, preserved 
 an animal of this kind, which had been domesticated and reclaimed to a 
 surprising extent, and showed a degree of intelligence never perhaps to be 
 attained in any other case. These explanations being premised, we return 
 to the thread of our story. 
 
 The animal advanced with long noiseless steps; its shadow on the wall, 
 when it held the torch so as to make it visible to the Frank, forming another 
 fiend-resembling mimicry of its own large figure and extravagant-looking 
 members. Count Robert remained in his lurking hole, in no hurry to begin 
 a strife, of which it was impossible to foretell the end. In the meantime, 
 the man of the woods came nigh, and every step by which he approached, 
 caused the Count’s heart to vibrate almost audibly, at the idea of meeting 
 danger of a nature so strange and new. At length the creature approached 
 the bed—his hideous eyes were fixed on those of the Count; and, as much 
 surprised at seeing him as Robert was at the meeting, he skipped about 
 fifteen paces backwards at one spring, with a cry of instinctive terror, and 
 then advanced on tiptoe, holding his torch as far forward as he could, be- 
 
 m2 
 
188 
 
 WAVERLEY 'NOVELS. 
 
 tween him and the object of his fears, as if to examine him at the safest 
 possible distance. Count Robert caught up a fragment of the bedstead, 
 large enough to form a sort of club, with -vsliich he menaced the native of 
 the wilds. 
 
 Apparently this poor creature's education, like education of most kinds, 
 had not been acquired without blows, of which the recollection was as fresh 
 as that of the lessons which they enforced. Sir Robert of Paris was a man 
 at once to discover and to avail himself of the advantage obtained by finding 
 that he possessed a degree of ascendancy over his enemy, which he had not 
 suspected. He erected his warlike figure, assumed a step as if triumphant 
 in the lists, and advanced threatening his enemy with his club, as he would 
 have menaced his antagonist with the redoutable Tranchefer. The man of 
 the woods, on the other hand, obviously gave way, and converted his cautious 
 advance into a retreat no less cautious. Yet apparently the creature had 
 not renounced some plan of resistance ; he chattered in an angry and hostile 
 tone, held out his torch in opposition, and seemed about to strike the cru¬ 
 sader with it. Count Robert, however, determined to take his opponent at 
 advantage, while his fears influenced him, and for this purpose resolved, if 
 possible, to deprive him of his natural superiority in strength and agility, 
 which his singular form showed he could not but possess over the human 
 species. A master of his weapon, therefore, the Count menaced his savage 
 antagonist with a stroke on the right side of his head, but suddenly avert¬ 
 ing the blow, struck him with his whole force on the left temple, and in an 
 instant was kneeling above him, when, drawing his dagger, he was about 
 to deprive him of life. 
 
 The Ourang Outang, ignorant of the nature of this new weapon with 
 which he was threatened, attempted at one and the same moment, to rise 
 from the ground, overthrow his antagonist, and wrench the dagger from 
 his grasp. In the first attempt, he would probably have succeeded; and 
 as it was, he gained his knees, and seemed likely to prevail in the struggle, 
 when he became sensible that the knight, drawing his poniard sharply 
 through his grasp, had cut his paw severely, and seeing him aim the 
 trenchant weapon at his throat, became probably aware that his enemy had 
 his life at command. He suffered himself to be borne backwards without 
 further resistance, with a deep wailing and melancholy cry, having in it 
 something human, which excited compassion. He covered his eyes with 
 the unwounded hand, as if he would have hid from his own sight the death 
 which seemed approaching him. 
 
 Count Robert, notwithstanding his military frenzy, was, in ordinary 
 matters, a calm-tempered and mild man, and particularly benevolent to the 
 lower classes of creation. The thought rushed through his mind, “ Why 
 take from this unfortunate monster the breath which is in its nostrils, after 
 which it cannot know another existence? And then, may it not be some 
 prince or knight changed to this grotesque shape, that it may help to guard 
 these vaults, and the wonderful adventures that attach to them ? Should I 
 not, then, be guilty of a crime by slaying him, when he has rendered him-' 
 self, rescue or no rescue, which he has done as completely as his trans¬ 
 formed figure permits ; and if he be actually a bestial creature, may he not 
 have some touch of gratitude ? I have heard the minstrels sing the lay of 
 Androcles and the Lion. I will be on my guard with him." 
 
 So saying, he rose from above the man of the woods, and permitted him 
 also to arise. The creature seemed sensible of the clemency, for he muttered 
 in a low and supplicating tone, which seemed at once to crave for mercy, 
 and to return thanks for what he had already experienced. He wept too, 
 as he saw the blood dropping from his wound, and with an anxious counte¬ 
 nance, which had more of the human now that it was composed into an 
 expression of pain and melancholy, seemed to await in terror the doom of 
 a being more powerful than himself. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 180 
 
 The pocket which the kniglit wore under his armour, capable of contain¬ 
 ing but few things, had, however, some vulnerary balsam, for which its 
 owner had often occasion, a little lint, and a small roll of linen ; these the 
 knight took out, and motioned to the animal to hold forth his wounded 
 hand. The man of the woods obeyed Avith hesitation and reluctance, and 
 Count Robert applied the balsam and the dressings, acquainting his patient, 
 at the same time, in a severe tone of voice, that perhaps he did Avrong in 
 putting to his use a balsam compounded for the service of the noblest 
 knights ; but that, if he saw the least sign of his making an ungrateful 
 use of the benefit he had conferred, he would bury the dagger, of which he 
 had felt the efficacy, to the very handle, in his body. 
 
 The Syh'an looked fixedly upon Count Robert, almost as if he understood 
 the language used to him, and, making one of its native murmurs, it 
 stooped to the earth, kissed the feet of the knight, and embracing his knees, 
 seemed to swear to him eternal gratitude and fidelity. Accordingly, when 
 the Count retired to the bed and assumed his armour, to await the re-open¬ 
 ing of the trap-door, the animal sat down by his side, directing its eyes in 
 the line with his, and seemed quietly to Avait till the door should open. 
 
 After Avaiting about an hour, a slight noise was'heard in the upper 
 chamber, and the wild man plucked the Frank by the cloak, as if to call 
 his attention to what Avas about to happen. The same voice Avhich had 
 before spoken, was, after a whistle or two, heard to call, “ Sylvan, Sylvan! 
 Avhere loiterest thou? Come instantly, or, by the rood, thou shalt abyc thy 
 sloth 
 
 The poor monster, as Trinculo might have called him, seemed perfectly 
 aware of the meaning of this threat, and shoAved his sense of it by pressing 
 close to the side of Count Robert, making at the same time a kind of 
 Avhining, entreating, it would seem, the knight’s protection. Forgetting 
 the great improbability there was, even in his OAvn opinion, that the creature 
 could understand him. Count Robert said, “Why, my friend, thou hast 
 already learned the principal court prayer of this country, by which men 
 entreat permission to speak and live. Fear nothing, poor creature — I am 
 thy protector.” 
 
 “ Sylvan ! Avhat, ho!” said the voice again ; “ whom hast thou got for a 
 companion ?—some of the fiends, or ghosts of murdered men, who they say 
 are frequent in these dungeons? or dost thou converse with the old blind 
 rebel Grecian ?—or, finally, is it true wdiat men say of thee, that thou canst 
 talk intelligibly when thou Avilt, and only gibberest and chatterest for fear 
 thou art sent to work? Come, thou lazy rascal! thou shalt have the advan¬ 
 tage of the ladder to ascend by, though thou needest it no more than a daAV 
 to ascend the steeple*bf the Cathedral of St. Sophia.* Come along then,” 
 he said, putting a ladder down the trap-door, “ and put me not to the trouble 
 of descending to fetch thee, else, by St. Swithin, it shall be the worse for 
 thee. Come along, therefore, like a good felloAv, and for once I shall spare 
 the whip.” 
 
 The animal, apparently, was moved by this rhetoric, for, Avith a doleful 
 look, Avhich Count Robe-rt saAv by means of the nearly extinguished torch, 
 he seemed to bid him farewell, and to creep away toAvards the ladder with 
 the same excellent good-will wherewith a condemned criminal performs the 
 like evolution. But no sooner did the Count look angry, and shake the 
 formidable dagger, than the intelligent animal seemed at once to take his 
 resolution, and clenching his hands firmly together in the fashion of one 
 who has made up his mind, he returned from the ladder’s foot, and drew up 
 behind Count Robert,—with the air, however, of a deserter, who feels him¬ 
 self but little at home when called into the field against his ancient com¬ 
 mander. 
 
 * Now the chief mosque of the Ottoman capital. 
 
140 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 In a short time the warder’s patience was exhausted, and despairing of 
 the S3dvan’s voluntary return, he resolved to descend in quest of him. 
 Down the ladder he came, a bundle of keys in one hand, the other assisting 
 his descent, and a sort of dark lantern, whose bottom was so fashioned that 
 he could wear it upon his head like a hat. He had scarce stept on the floor, 
 when he was surrounded by the nervous arms of the Count of Paris. At 
 first the warder’s idea was, that he was seized by the recusant Sylvan. 
 
 “ How now, villain V’ he said ; “ let me go, or thou shalt die the death. 
 
 “ Thou diest thyself,” said the Count, who, between the surprise and his 
 own skill in wrestling, felt fully his advantage in the struggle. 
 
 “ Treason ! treason!” cried the warder, hearing bj" the voice that a 
 stranger had mingled in the contest; “ help, ho ! above there ! help, Here- 
 ward—Varangian !—Anglo-Saxon, or whatever accursed name thou callest 
 thyself!” 
 
 While he spoke thus, the irresistible grasp of Count Robert seized his 
 throat, and choked his utterance. They fell heavily, the jailor undermost, 
 upon the floor of the dungeon, and Robert of Paris, the necessity of w'hose 
 case excused the action, plunged his dagger in the throat of the unfortunate. 
 Just as he did so, a noise of armour was heard, and, rattling down the 
 ladder, our acquaintance Hereward stood on the floor of the dungeon. The 
 light, which had rolled from the head of the warder, continued to show him 
 streaming with blood, and in the death-grasp of a stranger. Hereward 
 hesitated not to fly to his assistance, and, seizing upon the' Count of Paris 
 at the same advantage which that knight had gained over his own adversary 
 a moment before, held him forcibly down with his face to the earth. 
 
 Count Robert was one of the strongest men of that military age; but 
 then so was the Varangian; and save that the latter had obtained a decided 
 advantage by having his antagonist beneath him, it could not certainly have 
 been conjectured which way the combat was to go. 
 
 “Yield, as your own jargon goes, rescue or no rescue,” said the Varan¬ 
 gian, “ or die on the point of my dagger!” 
 
 “A French Count never yields,” answered Robert, who began to con¬ 
 jecture with what sort of person he was engaged, “above all to a vagabond 
 slave like thee!” With this he made an efibrt to rise, so sudden, so strong, 
 so powerful, that he had almost freed himself from the Varangian’s grasp, 
 had not Hereward, by a violent exertion of his great strength, preserved 
 the advantage he had gained, and raised his poniard to end the strife for 
 ever; but a loud chuckling laugh of an unearthly sound was at this instant 
 heard. The Varangian’s extended arm was seized with vigour, while a 
 rough arm embracing his throat, turned him over on his back, and gave the 
 French Count an opportunity of springing up. 
 
 “Death to thee, wretch!” said the Varangian, scarce knowing whom he 
 threatened ; but the man of the woods apparently had an awful recollection 
 of the prowess of human beings. He fled, therefore, swiftly up the ladder, 
 and left Hereward and his deliverer to fight it out with what success chance 
 might determine between them. 
 
 The circumstances seemed to argue a desperate combat; both were tall, 
 strong, and courageous, both had defensive armour, and the fatal and 
 desperate poniard was their only offensive weapon. They paused facing 
 each other, and examined eagerly into their respective means of defence 
 before hazarding a blow, which, if it missed, its attaint would certainly be 
 fatally requited. During this deadly pause, a gleam shone from the trap¬ 
 door above, as the wild and alarmed visage of the man of the woods was 
 seen peering down by the light of a newly kindled torch w^hich he held as 
 low into the dungeon as he well could. 
 
 “ Fight bravely, comrade,” said Count Robert of Paris, “ for we no longer 
 battle in private; this respectable person having chosen to constitute him¬ 
 self judge of the field.” 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 141 
 
 Hazardous as his situation was, the Varangian looked up, and was so 
 struck with the wild and terrified expression which the creature had 
 assumed, and the strife between curiosity and terror which its grotesque 
 features exhibited, that he could not help bursting into a fit of laughter. 
 
 “ Sylvan is among those,'^ said llereward, “ who would rather hold the 
 candle to a dance so formidable than join in it himself.^' 
 
 “ Is there then,'’ said Count Robert, “ any absolute necessity that thou 
 and I perform this dance at all?” 
 
 “ None but our own pleasure,” answered llereward ; “ for I suspect there 
 is not between us any legitimate cause of quarrel demanding to be fought 
 out in such a place, and before such a spectator. Thou art, if I mistake 
 not, the bold Frank, who was yesternight imprisoned in this place with a 
 tiger, chained within no distant spring of his bed?” 
 
 “ I am,” answered the Count. 
 
 “ And where is the animal who was opposed to thee ?” 
 
 “ lie lies yonder,” answered the Count, “ never again to be the object of 
 more terror than the deer whom he may have preyed on in his day.” He 
 pointed to the body of the tiger, which llereward examined by the light of 
 the dark lantern already mentioned. 
 
 “ And this, then, was thy handiwork ?” said the wondering Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 “ Sooth to say it was,” answered the Count, with indifierence. 
 
 “And thou hast slain my comrade of this strange watch?” said the Va¬ 
 rangian. 
 
 “ Mortally wounded him at the least,” said Count Robert. 
 
 “With your patience, I will be beholden to you for a moment's truce, 
 while I examine his wound,” said llereward. 
 
 “ Assuredly,” answered the Count; “ blighted be the arm which strikes 
 a foul blow at an open antagonist!” 
 
 AFithout demanding further security, the Varangian quitted his posture 
 of defence and precaution, and set himself, by the assistance of the dark 
 lantern, to examine the wound of the first warder who appeared on the field, 
 who seemed, by his Roman military dress, to be a soldier of the bands 
 called Immortals. He found him in the death-agony, but still able to speak. 
 
 “ So, Varangian, thou art come at last,—and is it to thy sloth or treachery 
 that I am to impute my fate?—Nay, answer me not!—The stranger struck 
 me over the collar-bone — had we lived long together, or met often, I had 
 done the like by thee, to wipe out the memory of certain transactions at the 
 Golden Gate. — I know the use of the knife too well to doubt the effect of a 
 blow aimed over the collar-bone by so strong a hand—I feel it coming. The 
 Immortal, so called, becomes now, if priests say true, an immortal indeed, 
 and Sebastcs of Mytilene's bow is broken ere his quiver is half emptied.” 
 
 The robber Greek sunk back in Ilereward’s arms, and closed his life with 
 a groan, which was the last sound he uttered. The Varangian laid the body 
 at length on the dungeon floor. 
 
 “ This is a perplexed matter,”—he said ; “ I am certainly not called upon 
 to put to death a brave man, although my national enemy, because he hath 
 killed a miscreant who was privately meditating my own murder. Neither 
 is this a place or a light by which to fight as becomes the champions of 
 two nations. Let that quarrel be still for the present.—How say you then, 
 noble sir, if we adjourn the present dispute till we effect your deliverance 
 from the dungeons of the Blacquernal, and your restoration to your own 
 friends and followers? If a poor Varangian should be of service to you in 
 this matter, would you, when it was settled, refuse to meet him in fair fight, 
 with your national w'eapons or his own ?” 
 
 “ If,” said Count Robert, “ whether friend or enemy, thou wilt extend 
 thy assistance to my wife, who is also imprisoned somewhere in this inhos¬ 
 pitable palace, be assured, that whatever be thy rank, whatever be thy coun¬ 
 try, whatever be thy condition, Robert of Paris will, at thy choice, proffer 
 
142 
 
 WAVE 11 LEY NOVEL.S. 
 
 thee his right hand in friendship, or raise it against thee in fair and manly 
 battle — a strife not of hatred, but of honour and esteem ; and this I vow 
 by the soul of Charlemagne, my ancestor, and by the shrine of my patroness, 
 Our Lady of the Broken Lances.’^ ' 
 
 “Enough said,’^ replied Hereward. “I am as much bound to the assist¬ 
 ance of your Lady Countess, being a poor exile, as if I were the first in 
 the ranks of chivalry; for if any thing can make the cause of worth and 
 bravery yet more obligatory, it must be its being united with that of a help¬ 
 less and suffering female/^ 
 
 “ I ought,’’ said Count Robert, “to be here silent, without loading thy 
 generosity with farther requests; yet thou art a man, whom, if fortune has 
 not smiled at thy birth, by ordaining thee to be born within the ranks of 
 noblesse and knighthood, yet Providence hath done thee more justice by 
 giving thee a more gallant heart than is always possessed, I fear, by those 
 who are inwoven in the gayest wreath of chivalry. There lingers here in 
 these dungeons, for I cannot say he lives — a blind old man, to whom for 
 three years every thing beyond his prison has been a universal blot. His 
 food is bread and water, his intercourse limited to the conversation of a 
 sullen warder, and if death can ever come as a deliverer, it must be to this 
 dark old man. What sayst thou ? Shall he, so unutterably miserable, not 
 profit by perhaps the only opportunity of freedom that may ever occur to 
 him ?” 
 
 “By St. Dunstan,” answered the Varangian, “thou keepest over truly 
 the oath thou hast taken as a redresser of wrongs ! Thine own case is well- 
 nigh desperate, and thou art willing to make it utterly so by uniting with it 
 that of every unhappy person whom fate throws in thy way !” 
 
 “ The more of human misery we attempt to relieve,” said Robert of Paris, 
 “ the more we shall carry with us the blessing of our merciful saints, and 
 Our Lady of the Broken Lances, who views with so much pain every species 
 of human suffering or misfortune, save that which occurs within the en¬ 
 closure of the lists. But come, valiant Anglo-Saxon, resolve me on my 
 request as speedily as thou canst. There is something in thy face of can¬ 
 dour as well as sense, and it is with no small confidence that I desire to see 
 us set forth in quest of my beloved Countess, who, when her deliverance is 
 once achieved, will be a powerful aid to us in recovering that of others.” 
 
 “ So be it, then,” said the Varangian; “ we will proceed in quest of the 
 Countess Brenhilda; and if, on recovering her, we find ourselves strong 
 enough to procure the freedom of the dark old man, my cowardice, or want 
 of compassion, shall never stop the attempt.” 
 
 CjiaptBr tjiE liDEntEintli. 
 
 ’Tis strangle that, in the dark sulphureous mine, 
 
 Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 
 Of slumberiiii? thunder, Love will interpose 
 His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 
 To burst, when the deviser’s least aware. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 About noon of the same day, Agelastes met with Achilles Tatius, the 
 commander of the Varangian guard, in those ruins*of the Egyptian temple 
 in which we formerly mentioned Hereward having had an interview with 
 the philosopher. They met, as it seemed, in a very different humour. 
 Tatius was gloomy, melancholy, and downcast; while the philosopher main- 
 
 / 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 143 
 
 tained the calm indifference which procured for him, and in some sort 
 deserved, the title of the Elephant. “ Thou blenchest, Achilles Tatiiis,’^ 
 said the philosopher, “now tliat thou hast frankly opposed thyself to all 
 the dangers which stood between thee and greatness. Thou art like the 
 idle boy who turned the mill-stream upon the machine, and that done, 
 instead of making a proper use of it, was terrified at seeing it in motion. 
 
 “ Thou dost me wrong, Agelastes,’' answered the Acolyte, “ foul wrong; 
 I am but like the mariner, who although determined upon his vo3^age, yet 
 cannot forbear a sorrowing glance at the shore, before he parts with it, it 
 may be, for ever.^’ 
 
 “ It may have been right to think of this, but pardon me, valiant Tatius, 
 when I tell you the account should have been made up before; and the 
 grandson of Alguric the Ilun ought to have computed chances and conse¬ 
 quences ere he stretched his hand to his master’s diadem.” 
 
 “ Hush ! for Heaven’s sake,” said Tatius, looking round ; “ that, thou 
 knowest, is a secret between our two selves; for if Nicephorus, the Caesar, 
 should learn it, where were we and our conspiracy ?” 
 
 “ Our bodies on the gibbet, probably,” answered Agelastes, “ and our 
 souls divorced from them, and in the way of discovering the secrets which 
 thou hast hitherto taken upon trust.” 
 
 “Well,” said Achilles, “and should not the consciousness of the possi¬ 
 bility of this fate render us cautious ?’^ 
 
 “ Cautious men, if j'ou will,” answered Agelastes, “ but not timid 
 children.” 
 
 “ Stone walls can hear,”—said the Follower, lowering his voice. “ Diony¬ 
 sius the tyrant, I have read, had an ear which conveyed to him the secrets 
 spoken within his state-prison at Syracuse.” 
 
 “ And that Ear is still stationary at Syracuse,” said the philosopher. 
 “ Tell me, my most simple friend, art thou afraid it has been transported 
 hither in one night, as the Latins believe of Our Lady’s house of Loretto?” 
 
 “ No,” answered Achilles, “ but in an affair so important too much caution 
 cannot be used.” 
 
 “Well, thou most cautious of candidates for empire, and most cold of 
 military leaders, know that the Caesar, deeming, I think, that there is no 
 chance of the empire falling to any one but himself, hath taken in his head 
 to consider his succession to Alexius as a matter of course, whenever the 
 election takes place. In consequence, as matters of course are usually 
 matters of indifference, he has left all thoughts of securing his interest upon 
 this material occasion to thee and to me, while the foolish voluptuary hath 
 himself run mad—for what think you ? Something between man and woman 
 —female in her lineaments, her limbs, and a part at least of her garments ; 
 but, so help me St. George, most masculine in the rest of her attire, in her 
 propensities, and in her exercises.” 
 
 “ The Amazonian wife, thou meanest,” said Achilles, “ of that iron-handed 
 Frank, who dashed to pieces last night the golden lion of Solomon with a 
 blow of his fist ? By St. George, the least which can come of such an amour 
 is broken bones.” 
 
 “That,” said Agelastes, “is not quite so improbable as that Dionysius’s 
 Ear should fly hither from S^’racuse in a single night; but he is presump¬ 
 tuous in respect of the influence which his supposed good looks have gained 
 Jiim among the Grecian dames.” 
 
 “ He was too presumptuous, I suppose,” said Achilles Tatius, “ to make a 
 proper allowance for his situation as Caesar, and the prospect of his being 
 Emperor.” 
 
 “ Meantime,” said Agelastes, “I have promised him an interview with 
 his Bradamante, who may perhaps reward his tender epithets of Zoe kai 
 jnii/che,* by divorcing his amorous soul from his unrivalled person.” 
 
 • “ Life and Soul.*’ 
 
144 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 “ Meantime,” said the Follower, “thou obtainest, I conclude, such orders 
 and warrants as the Caesar can give for the furtherance of our plot?” 
 
 “ Assuredly,” said Agelastes, “ it is an opportunity not to be lost. This 
 lov’e fit, or mad fit, has blinded him; and without exciting too much atten¬ 
 tion to the progress of the plot, we can thus in safety conduct matters our 
 own way, without causing malevolent remarks; and though I am conscious 
 that, in doing so, I act somewhat at variance with my age and character, yet 
 the end being to convert a worthy Follower into an Imperial Leader, I shame 
 me not in procuring that interview with the lady, of which the Csesar, as 
 they term him, is so desirous.—What progress, meanwhile, hast thou made 
 with the Varangians, who are, in respect of execution, the very arm of our 
 design ?” 
 
 “ Scarce so good as I could wish,” said Achilles Tatius ; “ yet I have made 
 sure of some two or three score of those whom I found most accessible; nor 
 have I any doubt, that when the Caesar is set aside, their cry will be for 
 Achilles Tatius.” 
 
 “ And what of the gallant who assisted at our prelections?” said Agelas¬ 
 tes ; “ your Edward, as Alexius termed him ?” 
 
 “ I have made no impression upon him,” said the Follower; “and I am 
 sorry for it, for he is one whom his comrades think well of, and would gladly 
 follow. Meantime I have placed him as an additional sentinel upon the 
 iron-witted Count of Paris, whom, both having an inveterate love of battle, 
 he is very likely to put to death ; and if it is afterwards challenged by the 
 crusaders as a cause of war, it is only delivering up the Varangian, whose 
 personal hatred will needs be represented as having occasioned the catas¬ 
 trophe. All this being prepared beforehand, how and when shall we deal 
 with the Emperor?” 
 
 “ For that,” said Agelastes, “ we must consult the Caesar, who, although 
 his expected happiness of to-day is not more certain than the state prefer¬ 
 ment that he expects to-morrow, and although his ideas are much more 
 anxiously fixed upon his success with this said Countess than his succession 
 to the empire, will, nevertheless, expect to be treated as the head of the 
 enterprise for accelerating the latter. But, to speak my opinion, valiant 
 Tatius, to-morrow will be the last da}" that Alexius shall hold the reins of 
 empire.” 
 
 “ Let me know for certain,” said the Follower, “ as soon as thou canst, 
 that I may warn our brethren, who are to have in readiness the insurgent 
 citizens, and those of the Immortals who are combined with us, in the neigh¬ 
 bourhood of the court, and in readiness to act — And, above al), that I may 
 disperse upon distant guards such Varangians as I cannot trust.” 
 
 “ Kely upon me,” said Agelastes, “ for the most accurate information 
 and instructions, so soon as I have seen Nicephorus Briennius. One 
 word permit me to ask — in what manner is the wife of the Csesar to be 
 disposed of?” 
 
 “Somewhere,” said the Follower, “where I can never be compelled to 
 hear more of her history. Were it not for that nightly pest of her lectures, 
 I could be good-natured enough to take care of her destiny myself, and 
 teach her the difference betwixt a real emperor and this Briennius, who 
 thinks so much of himself.” So saying, they separated ; the Follower 
 elated in look and manner considerably above what he had been when 
 tliey met. 
 
 Agelastes looked after his companion with a scornful laugh. “ There,” 
 he said, “ goes a fool, whose lack of sense prevents his eyes from being 
 dazzled by the torch which cannot fail to consume them. A half-bred, half- 
 acting, half-thinking, half-daring caitiff, whose poorest thoughts—and those 
 which deserve that name must be poor indeed — are not the produce of his 
 own understanding. lie expects to circumvent the fiery, haughty, and 
 proud Nicephorus Briennius ! If he does so, it will not be by his own policy, 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 145 
 
 and still less by Ins valour. Nor shall Anna Comnena, the soul of wit and 
 genius, be chained to such an unimaginative log as yonder half-barbarian. 
 No — she shall have a husband of pure Grecian extraction, and well stored 
 with that learning which was studied when Kome was great, and Greece 
 illustrious. Nor will it be the least charm of the Imperial throne, that it is 
 partaken by a partner whose personal studies have taught her to esteem and 
 value those of the Emperor.^^ He took a step or two with conscious eleva¬ 
 tion, and then, as conscience-checked, he added, in a suppressed voice, 
 “ But then, if Anna were destined for Empress, it follows of course that 
 Alexius must die — no consent could be trusted. — And what then ? — the 
 death of an ordinary man is indifferent, when it plants on the throne a 
 philosopher and a historian ; and at what time were possessors of the empire 
 curious to enquire when or by whose agency their predecessors died? — 
 Diogenes! IIo, Diogenes The slave did not immediately come, so that 
 Agelastes, wrapt in the anticipation of his greatness, had time to add a few 
 more words—“ Tush—I must reckon with Heaven, say the priests, for many 
 things, so I will throw this also into the account. The death of the Emperor 
 may be twenty ways achieved without my having the blame of it. The 
 blood which we have shed may spot our hand, if closely regarded, but it 
 shall scarce stain our forehead.^' Diogenes here entered—“Has the Frank 
 lady been removed said the philosopher. 
 
 The slave signitied his assent. 
 
 “ How did she bear her removal?’^ 
 
 “ As authorised by your lordship, indifferently well. She had resented 
 her separation from her husband, and her being detained in the palace, and 
 committed some violence upon the slaves of the Household, several of whom 
 were said to be slain, although we perhaps ought only to read sorely fright¬ 
 ened. She recognised me at once, and when I told her that I came to offer 
 her a day’s retirement in your own lodgings, until it should be in your power 
 to achieve the liberation of her husband, she at once consented, and I 
 deposited her in the secret Cytherean garden-house.” 
 
 “ Admirably done, my faithful Diogenes,” said the philosopher; “ thou 
 art like the genii who attended on the Eastern talisman; I have but to in¬ 
 timate my will to thee, and it is accomplished.” 
 
 Diogenes bowed deeply, and withdrew. 
 
 “ Yet remember, slave!” said Agelastes, speaking to himself; “there is 
 danger in knowing too much — and should my character ever become 
 questioned, too many of my secrets are in the power of Diogenes.” 
 
 At this moment a blow thrice repeated, and struck upon one of the images 
 without, which had been so framed as to return a tingling sound, and in so 
 ffir deserved the praise of being vocal, interrupted his soliloquy. 
 
 “ There knocks,” said he, “ one of our allies; who can it be that conies 
 so late?” He touched the figure of Iris with his staff, and the Caesar Nice- 
 phorus Briennius entered in the full Grecian habit, and that graceful dress 
 anxiously arranged to the best advantage. “ Let me hope, my Lord,” said 
 Agelastes, receiving the Caesar with an apparently grave and reserved face, 
 “ your Highness comes to tell me that your sentiments are changed on 
 reflection, and that whatever you had to confer about with this Frankish 
 lady, may be at least deferred until the principal part of our conspiracy has 
 been successfully executed.” 
 
 “ Philosopher,” answered the Caesar, “ no. My resolution, once taken, 
 is not the sport of circumstances. Believe me, that I have not finished so 
 many labours without being ready to undertake others. The favour of 
 Venus is the reward of the labours of Mars, nor would I think it worth 
 while to worship the god armipotent with the toil and risk attending his 
 service, unless 1 had previously attained some decided proofs that I was 
 wreathed with the myrtle, intimating the favour of his beautiful mistress.” 
 
 “ I beg pardon for my boldness,” said Agelastes; “ but has your Imperial 
 
 Yol. XII, —10 N 
 
146 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 Highness reflected, that you were wagering, with the wildest rashness, an 
 empire, including thine own life, mine, and all who are joined with us, in a 
 hardy scheme? And against what were they waged? Against the very 
 precarious favour of a woman, who is altogether divided betwixt fiend and 
 female, and in either capacity is most likely to be fatal to our present 
 scheme, either by her good will, or by the offence which she may take. If 
 she prove such as you wish, she will desire to keep her lover by her side, 
 and to spare him the danger of engaging in a perilous conspiracy ; and if 
 she remains, as the world believe her, constant to her husband, and to the 
 sentiments she vowed to him at the altar, you may guess what cause of 
 offence you are likely to give, by urging a suit which she has already received 
 so very ill.^^ 
 
 “ Pshb,w, old man! Thou turnest a dotard, and in the great knowledge 
 thou possessest of other things, hast forgotten the knowledge best worth 
 knowing — that of the beautiful part of the creation. Think of the im¬ 
 pression likely to be made by a gallant neither ignoble in situation, nor 
 unacceptable in presence, upon a lady wdio must fear the consequences of 
 refusal! Come, Agelastes, let me have no more of thy croaking, auguring 
 bad fortune like the raven from the blasted oak on the left hand ; but de¬ 
 claim, as well thou canst, how faint heart never won fair lady, and how those 
 best deserve empire who can wreathe the myrtles of Venus with the laurels 
 of Mars. Come, man, undo me the secret entrance which combines these 
 magical ruins with groves that are fashioned rather like those of Cytheros 
 or Naxos.^^ 
 
 “ It must be as you will said the philosopher, with a deep and somewhat 
 affected sigh. 
 
 “ Here, Diogenes \” called aloud the Caesar; “ when thou art summoned, 
 mischief is not far distant. Come, undo the secret entran^^. Mischief, 
 my trusty negro, is not so distant but she will answer the first clatter of 
 the stones.^^ 
 
 The negro looked at his master, who returned him a glance acquiescing 
 in the Caesar’s proposal. Diogenes then went to a part of the ruined w^all 
 which was covered by some climbing shrubs, all of which he carefully 
 removed. This showed a little postern door, closed irregularly, and filled 
 up, from the threshold to the top, with large square stones, all of which the 
 slave took out and piled aside, as if for the purpose of replacing them. “ I 
 leave thee,” said Agelastes to the negro, “ to guard this door, and let no 
 one enter, except he has the sign, upon the peril of thy life. It were dan¬ 
 gerous it should be left open at this period of the day.” 
 
 The obsequious Diogenes put his hand to his sabre and to his head, as if 
 to signify the usual promise of fidelity or death, by which those in his con¬ 
 dition generally expressed their answer to their master’s commands. Dio¬ 
 genes then lighted a small lantern, and pulling out a key, opened an inner! 
 door of wood, and prepared to step forward. * 
 
 “ Hold, friend Diogenes,” said the Coesar; “ thou wantest not my lantern 
 to discern an honest man, whom, if thou didst seek, I must needs say thou 
 hast come to the wrong place to find one. Nail thou up these creeping 
 shrubs before the entrance of the place, and abide thou there as already 
 directed, till our return, to parry the curiosity of any who may be attracted 
 by the sight of the private passage.” 
 
 The black slave drew back as he gave the lamp to the Caesar, and Age¬ 
 lastes followed the light through a long, but narrow, arched passage, well 
 supplied with air from space to space, and not neglected in the inside to the 
 degree which its exterior w'ould have implied. 
 
 “ I will not enter wdth you into the Gardens,” said Agelastes, “ or to the 
 bower of Cytherea, where I am too old to be a worshipper. Thou thyself,^ I 
 think. Imperial Caesar, art well aware of the road, having travelled it divers 
 times I and, if I mistake not, for the fairest reasons.” 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 147 
 
 “ The more thanks,” said the Caesar, “ are due to mine excellent friend 
 Agelastes, who forgets his own age to accommodate the youth of his 
 friends.” 
 
 Cliapttr tijj igigljtttntli. 
 
 "We must now return to the dungeon of the Blacquernal, where circum¬ 
 stances had formed at least a temporary union between the stout Varangian 
 and Count Rnbert of Paris, who had a stronger resemblance to each other 
 in their dispositions than probably either of them would have been willing 
 to admit. The virtues of the Varangian were all of that natural and unre¬ 
 fined kind which Nature herself dictates to a gallant man, to whom a total 
 want of fear, and the most prompt alacrity to meet danger, had been attri¬ 
 butes of a life-long standing. The Count, on the other hand, had all that 
 bravery, generosity, and love of adventure, which was possessed by the 
 rude soldier, with the virtues, partly real, partly fantastic, which those of 
 his rank find country acquired from the spirit of chivalry. The one might 
 be compared to the diamond as it came from the mine, before it had yet 
 received the advantages of cutting and setting; the other was the orna¬ 
 mented gem, which, cut into facets and richly set, had lost perhaps a little 
 of its original substance, yet still, at the same time, to the eye of an in¬ 
 spector, had something more showy and splendid than when it was, accord¬ 
 ing to the phrase of lapidaries, en brut. In the one case, the value was 
 more artificial; in the other, it was the more natural and real of the two. 
 Chance, therefore, had made a temporary alliance between two men, the 
 foundation of whose characters bore such strong resemblance to each other, 
 that they were only separated by a course of education, which had left 
 rigid prejudices on both sides, and which prejudices were not unlikely to 
 run counter to each other. The Varangian commenced his conversation 
 with the Count in a tone of familiarity, approaching nearer to rudeness 
 than the speaker was aware of, and much of which, though most innocently 
 intended by llereward, might be taken amiss by his new brother in arms. 
 The most ojBfensive part of his deportment, however, was a blunt, bold dis¬ 
 regard to the title of those wdiom he addressed, adhering thereby to the 
 manners of the Saxons, from whom he drew his descent, and which was 
 likely to be at least unpleasing to the Franks as well as Normans, who had 
 already received and become very tenacious of the privileges of the feudal 
 system, the mummery of heraldry, and the warlike claims assumed by 
 knights, as belonging only to their own order. 
 
 llereward w’as apt, it must be owned, to think too little of these distinc¬ 
 tions ; while he had at least a sufficient tendency to think enough of the 
 power and wealth of the Greek empire wdiich he served, — of the dignity 
 inherent in Alexius Comnenus, and wdiich he was also disposed to grant to 
 the Grecian officers, who, under the Emperor, commanded his own corps, 
 and particularly to Achilles Tatius. This man llereward knew to be a 
 coward, and half-suspected to be a villain. Still, however, the Follower 
 was always the direct channel through w'hich the Imperial graces were 
 conferred on the Varangians in general, as well as upon llereward himself; 
 and he had always the policy to represent such favours as being more or 
 less indirectly the consequence of his own intercession. lie was supposed 
 vigorously to espouse the quarrel of the Varangians, in all the disputes be¬ 
 tween them and the other corps; he was liberal and open-handed; gave 
 every soldier his due; and, bating the trifling circumstance of valour, which 
 was not particularly his forte, it w^ould have been difficult for these strangers 
 
148 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 to have demanded a leader more to their wishes. Besides this, our friend 
 Iloreward was admitted by him into his society, attended him, as we have 
 seen, upon secret expeditions, and shared, therefore, deeply, in what may 
 be termed by an expressive, though vulgar phrase, the sneaking kindness 
 entertained for this new Achilles by the greater part of his myrmidons. 
 
 Their attachment might be explained, perhaps, as a liking to their com¬ 
 mander, as strong as could well exist with a marvellous lack of honour and 
 esteem. The scheme, therefore, formed by Hereward to effect the deliver¬ 
 ance of the Count of Paris, comprehended as much faith to the Emperor, 
 and his representative, the Acolyte or Follower, as was consistent with ren¬ 
 dering jusdce to the injured Frank. 
 
 In furtherance of this plan, he conducted Count Robert from the subter¬ 
 ranean vaults of the Blacquernal, of the intricacies of which he was master, 
 having been repeatedly, of late, stationed sentinel there, for the purpose of 
 acquiring that knowledge of which Tatius promised himself the advantage 
 in the ensuing conspiracy. When they were in the open air, and at some 
 distance from the gloomy towers of the Palace, he bluntly asked the Count 
 of Paris whether he knew Agelastes the Philosopher. The other answered 
 in the negative. 
 
 “Look you now. Sir Knight, you hurt yourself in attempting to impose 
 upon me,^^ said Hereward. “ You must know him; for I saw you dined 
 with him yesterday 
 
 “ 0 ! with that learned old man V’ said the Count. “ I know nothing of 
 him worth owning or disguising to thee or any one. A wily person he is, 
 half herald and half minstrel.’^ 
 
 “Half procurer and whole knave,’^ subjoined the Varangian. “With 
 the mask of apparent good-humour he conceals his pandering to the vices 
 of others; with the specious jargon of philosophy, he has argued himself 
 out of religious belief and moral principle; and, with the appearance of 
 the most devoted loyalty, he will, if he is not checked in time, either argue 
 ' his too confiding master out of life and empire, or, if he fails in this, reason 
 his simple associates into death and misery.^^ 
 
 “ And do you know all this,^^ said Count Robert, “ and permit this man 
 to go unimpeached 
 
 “0, content you, sir,^^ replied the Varangian ; “I cannot yet form any 
 plot which Agelastes may not countermine; but the time will come, nay it 
 is already approaching, when the Emperor’s attention shall be irresistibly 
 turned to the conduct of this man, and then let the philosopher sit fast, or 
 by St. Dunstan the barbarian overthrows him ! I would only fain, me- 
 thinks, save from his clutches a foolish friend, who has listed to his delu¬ 
 sions.” 
 
 “ But what have I to do,” said the Count, “ with this man, or with his 
 plots ?” 
 
 “ Much,” said Hereward, “ although you know it not. The main sup¬ 
 porter of this plot is no other than the Caesar, who ought to be the most 
 faithful of men; but ever since Alexius has named a Sebastocrator, an 
 oflicer that is higher in rank, and nearer to the throne than the Caesar him¬ 
 self, so long has Nicephorus Briennius been displeased and dissatisfied, 
 though for what length of time he has joined the schemes of the astucious 
 Agelastes it is more difficult to say. This I know, that for many months 
 he has fed liberally, as his riches enable him to do, the vices and prodigality 
 of the Caesar. He has encouraged him to show disrespect to his wife, al¬ 
 though the Emperor’s daughter; has put ill-will between him and the royal 
 family. And if Briennius bears no longer the fame of a rational man, and 
 the renown of a good leader, he is deprived of both by following the advice 
 of this artful sycophant.” 
 
 “And what is all this to me?” said the Frank. “Agelastes maybe a 
 true man or a time-serving slave; his master, Alexius Comnenus, is not 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 140 
 
 so much allied to me or mine that I should meddle in the intrigues of his 
 court.” 
 
 “ You may be mistaken in that,” said the blunt Varangian; if these 
 intrigues involve the happiness and virtue”—i— 
 
 ” Death of a thousand martyrs !” said the Frank, “ doth paltry intrigues 
 and quarrels of slaves involve a single thought of suspicion of the noble 
 Countess of Paris ? The oaths of thy whole generation were ineffectual to 
 prove but that one of her hairs had changed its colour to silver!” 
 
 “Well imagined, gallant knight,” said the Anglo-Saxon; “thou art a 
 husband fitted for the atmosphere of Constantinople, which calls for little 
 vigilance and a strong belief. Thou wilt find many followers and fellows in 
 this court of ours.” 
 
 “ Hark thee, friend,” replied the Frank, “let us have no more words, nor 
 walk farther together than just to the most solitary nook of this bewildered 
 city, and let us there set to that work which we left even now unfinished.” 
 
 “ If thou wert a Duke, Sir Count,” replied the Varangian, “thou couldst 
 not invite to a combat one who is more ready for it. Yet consider the odds 
 on which we fight. If I fall, my moan is soon made; but will my death 
 set thy wife at liberty if she is under restraint, or restore her honour if it 
 is tarnished?—Will it do any thing more than remove from the world the 
 only person who is willing to give thee aid, at his own risk and danger, 
 and who hopes to unite thee to thy wife, and replace thee at the head of thy 
 forces ?” 
 
 “ I was wrong,” said the Count of Paris ; “ I was entirely wrong; but ^ 
 beware, my good friend, how thou couplest the name of Brenhilda of 
 Aspramonte with the word of dishonour, and tell me, instead of this irri-' 
 tating discourse, whither go we now ?” 
 
 “ To the Cytherean gardens of Agelastes, from which we are not far 
 distant,” said the Anglo-Saxon; “ yet he hath a nearer way to it than that 
 by which w'e now travel, else I should be at a loss to account for the short 
 space in which he could exchange the charms of his garden for the gloomy 
 ruins of the Temple of Isis, and the Imperial palace of the Blacquernal.” 
 
 “ And wherefore, and how long,” said Count Robert, “ dost thou conclude 
 that my Countess is detained in these gardens ?” 
 
 “ Ever since yesterday,” replied Ilereward. “ When both I, and several 
 of my companions, at my request, kept close watch upon the Caesar and 
 your lady, we did plainly perceive passages of fiery admiration on his part, 
 and anger as it seemed on hers, which Agelastes, being Nicephorus’s friend, 
 was likely, as usual, to bring to an end, by a separation of you both from 
 the army of the crusaders, that your wife, like many a matron before, might 
 have the pleasure of taking up her residence in the gardens of that worthy 
 sage ; while you, my Lord, might take up your own permanently in the castle 
 of Blacquernal.” 
 
 “ Villain ! why didst thou not apprize me of this yesterday?” 
 
 “ A likely thing,” said Ilereward, “ that I should feel myself at liberty 
 to leave the ranks, and make such a communication to a man, whom, far 
 from a friend, I then considered in the light of a personal enemy! Me- 
 thinks, that instead of such language as this, you should be thankful that 
 so many chance circumstances have at length brought me to befriend and 
 assist you.” 
 
 Count Robert felt the truth of what was said, though at the same time 
 his fiery temper longed to avenge itself, according to its wont, upon the 
 party which was nearest at hand. 
 
 But now they arrived at what the citizens of Constantinople called tho 
 Philosopher’s Gardens. Here Ilereward hoped to obtain entrance, for he 
 had gained a knowledge of some part, at least, of the private signals of 
 Achilles and Agelastes, since he had been introduced to the last at the 
 ruins of the Temple of Isis. They had not indeed admitted him to their 
 
 i> 
 
150 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 entire secret; yet, confident in his connexion with the Follower, they had 
 no hesitation in communicating to him snatches of knowledge, such as, 
 committed to a man of shrewd natural sense like the Anglo-Saxon, could 
 scarce fail, in time and by degrees, to make him master of the whole. 
 Count Robert and his companion stood before an arched door, the only 
 opening in a high wall, and the Anglo-Saxon was about to knock, when, 
 as if the idea had suddenly struck him,— 
 
 “What if the wretch Diogenes opens the gate? We must kill him, ere 
 he can fly back and betray us. Well, it is a matter of necessity, and the 
 villain has deserved his death by a hundred horrid crimes. 
 
 “ Kill him then, thyself,retorted Count Robert; “ he is nearer thy 
 degree, and assuredly I will not defile the name of Charlemagne with the 
 blood of a black slave.^^ 
 
 “Nay, God-a-mercy answered the Anglo-Saxon, “but you must bestir 
 yourself in the action, supposing there come rescue, and that I be over¬ 
 borne by odds.'^ 
 
 “ Such odds,'^ said the knight, “ will render the action more like a meZee, 
 or general battle; and assure yourself, I will not be slack when I may, 
 with my honour, be active.^^ 
 
 “I doubt it not,^^ said the Varangian; “but the distinction seems a 
 strange one, that before permitting a man to defend himself, or annoy his 
 enemy, requires him to demand the pedigree of his ancestor.^^ 
 
 “ Fear you not, sir,^^ said Count Robert. “ The strict rule of chivalry 
 indeed bears what I tell thee, but when the question is. Fight or not ? there 
 is great allowance to be made for a decision in the affirmative.’^ 
 
 “ Let me give then the exerciser’s rap,” replied Hereward, “ and see 
 what fiend will appear.” 
 
 So saying, he knocked in a particular manner, and the door opened in¬ 
 wards; a dwarfish negress stood in the gap — her white hair contrasted 
 singularly with her dark complexion, and with the broad laughing look 
 peculiar to those slaves. She had something in her physiognomy which, 
 severely construed, might argue malice, and a delight in human misery. 
 
 “Is Agelastes”-said the Varangian ; but he had not completed the 
 
 sentence,’when she answered him, by pointing down a shadowed walk. 
 
 The Anglo-Saxon and Frank turned in that direction, when the hag 
 rather muttered, than said distinctly, “You are one of the initiated, 
 Varangian; take heed whom you take with you, when you may hardly, 
 peradventure, be welcomed even going alone.” 
 
 Hereward made a sign that he understood her, and they were instantly 
 out of her sight. The path winded beautifully through the shades of an 
 Eastern garden, where clumps of flowers and labyrinths of flowering 
 shrubs, and the tall boughs of the forest trees, rendered even the breath of 
 noon cool and acceptable. 
 
 “ Here we must use our utmost caution,” said Hereward, speaking in a 
 low tone of voice; “for here it is most likely the deer that we seek has 
 found its refuge. Better allow me to pass before, since you are too deeply 
 agitated to possess the coolness necessary for a scout. Keep concealed 
 beneath yon oak, and let no vain scruples of honour deter you from creeping 
 beneath the underwood, or beneath the earth itself, if you should hear a 
 footfall. If the lovers have agreed, Agelastes, it is probable, walks his 
 round, to prevent intrusion.” 
 
 “ Death and furies ! it cannot be !” exclaimed the fiery Frank. — “ Lady 
 of the Broken Lances, take thy votary’s life, ere thou torment him with 
 this agony!” 
 
 He saMq however, the necessity of keeping a strong force upon himself, 
 and permitted, without further remonstrance, the Varangian to pursue his 
 way, looking, however, earnestly after him. 
 
 By advancing forward a little, he could observe Hereward draw near to 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 151 
 
 a pavilion which arose at no great distance from the place where they had 
 parted. Here he observed him apply, first his eye, and then his ear, to 
 one of the casements, which were in a great measure grown over, and ex- 
 deluded from the light, by various flowering shrubs. lie almost thought 
 he saw a grave interest take place in the countenance of the Varangian, 
 and he longed to have his share of the information which he had doubtless 
 obtained. 
 
 He crept, therefore, with noiseless steps, through the same labyrinth of 
 foliage which had covered the approaches of Ilereward; and so silent were 
 his movements, that he touched the Anglo-Saxon, in order to make him 
 aware of his presence, before he observed his approach. 
 
 Ilereward, not aware at first by whom he was approached, turned on the 
 intruder with a countenance like a burning coal. Seeing, however, that it 
 was the Frank, he shrugged his shoulders, as if pitying the impatience 
 which could not be kept under prudent restraint, and drawing himself back 
 allowed the Count the privilege of a peeping place through plinths of the 
 casement, which could not be discerned by the sharpest eye from the inner 
 side. The sombre character of the light which penetrated into this abode 
 of pleasure, was suited to that species of thought to which a Temple of 
 Cytherea was supposed to be dedicated. Portraits and groups of statuary 
 were also to be seen, in the taste of those which they had beheld at the 
 Kiosk of the waterfall, yet something more free in the ideas wdiich they 
 conveyed than were to be found at their first resting-place. Shortly after, 
 the door of the pavilion opened, and the Countess entered, followed by her 
 attendant Agatha. The lady threw herself on a couch as she came in, while 
 her attendant, who was a young and very handsome woman, kept herself 
 modestly in the background, so much so as hardly to be distinguished. 
 
 “What dost thou think,” said the Countess, “of so suspicious a friend as 
 Agelastes? so gallant an enemy as the Caesar, as he is called?” 
 
 “ What should I think,” returned the damsel, “ except that what the old 
 man calls friendship is hatred, and what the Caesar terms a patriotic love 
 for his country, which will not permit him to set its enemies at liberty, is 
 in fact too strong an affection for his fair captive ?” 
 
 “ For such an affection,” said the Countess, “ he shall have the same 
 requital as if it were indeed the hostility of which he would give it the 
 colour. — My true and noble lord; hadst thou an idea of the calamities to 
 w’hich they have subjected me, how soon wouldst thou break through every 
 restraint to hasten to my relief!” 
 
 “Art thou a man,” said Count Robert to his companion; “and canst thou 
 advise me to remain still and hear this ?” 
 
 “I am one man,” said the Anglo-Saxon; “you, sir, are another; but all 
 our arithmetic will not make us more than two; and in this place, it is pro¬ 
 bable that a whistle from the Caesar, or a scream from Agelastes, would 
 bring a thousand to match us, if we w'ere as bold as Bevis of Hampton,— 
 Stand still and keep quiet. I counsel this, less as respecting my own life, 
 which, by embarking upon a wild-goose chase with so strange a partner, I 
 have shown I put at little value, than for thy safety, and that of the lady 
 thy Countess, who shows herself as virtuous as beautiful.” 
 
 “ I was imposed on at first,” said the Lady Brenhilda to her attendant. 
 “ Affectation of severe morals, of deep learning, and of rigid rectitude, 
 assumed by this wdeked old man, made me believe in part the character 
 which he pretended; but the gloss is rubbed off since he let me see into his 
 alliance with the unworthy Caesar, and the ugly picture remains in its native 
 loathsomeness. Nevertheless, if I can, by address or subtlety, deceive this 
 arch-deceiver, — as he has taken from me, in a great measure, every other 
 kind of assistance, — I will not refuse that of craft, which he may find per¬ 
 haps equal to his own ?” 
 
 “Hear you that?” said the Varangian to the Count of Paris. “Do not 
 
152 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 let your impatience mar the web of your lady’s prudence. I will weigh a 
 woman’s wit against a man’s valour where there is aught to do! Let us 
 not come in with our assistance until time shall show us that it is necessary 
 for her safety and our success.” 
 
 “ Amen,” said the Count of Paris; “ hut hope not, Sir Saxon, that thy 
 prudence shall persuade me to leave this garden without taking full ven¬ 
 geance on that unworthy Caesar, and the pretended philosopher, if indeed 
 he turns out to have assumed a character”-The Count was here begin¬ 
 
 ning to raise his voice, when the Saxon, without ceremony, placed his hand 
 on his mouth. “ Thou takest a liberty,” said Count Robert, lowering how¬ 
 ever his tones. 
 
 “ Ay, truly,” said Hereward; “ when the house is on fire, I do not stop 
 to ask whether the water which I pour on it be perfumed or no.” 
 
 This recalled the Frank to a sense of his situation ; and if not contented 
 with the Saxon’s mode of making an apology, he was at least silenced. A 
 distant noise was now heard — the Countess listened, and changed colour. 
 “Agatha,” she said, “we are like champions in the lists, and here comes 
 the adversary. Let us retreat into this side apartment, and so for a while 
 put oflf an encounter thus alarming.” So saying, the two females withdrew 
 into a sort of anteroom, which opened from the principal apartment behind 
 the seat which Brenhilda had occupied. 
 
 They had scarcely disappeared, when, as the stage direction has it, enter 
 from the other side the Caesar and Agelastes. They had perhaps heard the 
 last words of Brenhilda, for the Caesar repeated in a low tone— 
 
 “ Milital omnis amans, habet et sua castra Cupido. 
 
 “ What, has our fair opponent withdrawn her forces? No matter, it shows 
 she thinks of the warfare, though the enemy be not in sight. Well, thou 
 shalt not have to upbraid me this time, Agelastes, with precipitating my 
 amours, and depriving myself of the pleasure of pursuit. By Heavens, I 
 will be as regular in my progress as if in reality I bore on my shoulders 
 the whole load of years which make the difference between us ; for I 
 shrewdly suspect that with thee, old man, it is that envious churl Time 
 that hath plucked the wings of Cupid.” 
 
 “ Say not so, mighty Csesar,” said the old man ; “ it is the hand of Pru¬ 
 dence, which, depriving Cupid’s wing of some wild feathers, leaves him still 
 enough to fly with an equal and steady flight.” 
 
 “ Thy flight, however, was less measured, Agelastes, when thou didst 
 collect that armoury — that magazine of Cupid’s panoply, out of which thy 
 kindness permitted me but now to arm myself, or rather to repair my accou¬ 
 trements.” 
 
 So saying, he glanced his eye over his own person, blazing with gems, and 
 adorned with a chain of gold, bracelets, rings, and other ornaments, which, 
 with a new and splendid habit, assumed since his arrival at these Cytherean 
 gardens, tended to set off his very handsome figure. 
 
 “ I am glad,” said Agelastes, “ if you have found among toys, which I 
 now never wear, and seldom made use of even when life was young with 
 me, any thing which may set off your natural advantages. Remember only 
 this slight condition, that such of these trifles as have made part of your 
 wearing apparel on this distinguished day, cannot return to a meaner owner, 
 but must of necessity remain the property of that greatness of which they 
 had once formed the ornament.” 
 
 “ I cannot consent to this, my worthy friend,” said the Caesar; “ I know 
 thou valuest these jewels only in so far as a philosopher may value them ; 
 that is, for nothing save the remembrances which attach to them. This 
 large seal-ring, for instance, was — I have heard you say—the property of 
 Socrates ; if so, you cannot view it save with devout thankfulness, that your 
 own philosophy has never been tried with the exercise of a Xantippe. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 153 
 
 These clasps released, in older times, the lovely bosom of Phr^me; and tlmy 
 now belong to one who could do better homage to the beauties they con¬ 
 cealed or discovered than could the cynic Diogenes. These buckles, 
 too ” - 
 
 “ I will spare thy ingenuity, good youth,’’ said Agelastes, somewhat net¬ 
 tled ; “ or rather, noble Ca3sar. Keep thy wit—thou wilt have ample occa¬ 
 sion for it.” 
 
 “ Fear not me,” said the Ccesar. “ Let us proceed, since you will, to 
 exercise the gifts which we possess, such as they are, either natural or be¬ 
 queathed to us by our dear and respected friend. Ilah!” he said, the door 
 opening suddenly, and the Countess almost meeting him, “ our wishes are 
 here anticipated.” 
 
 lie bowed accordingly with the deepest deference to the Lady Brenhilda, 
 who, having made some alterations to enhance the splendour of her attire, 
 now moved forward from the withdrawing-room into which she had re¬ 
 treated. 
 
 “ Hail, noble lady,” said the Caesar, “ whom I have visited with the 
 intention of apologizing for detaining you, in some degree against your 
 will, in those strange regions in which you unexpectedly find yourself.” 
 
 “ Not in some degree,” answered the lady, “ but entirely contrary to my 
 inclinations, w^hich are, to bo with my husband, the Count of Paris, and 
 the followers who have taken the cross under his banner.” 
 
 “ Such, doubtless, were your thoughts when you left the land of the 
 west,” said Agelastes; “ but, fair Countess, have they experienced no 
 change? You have left a shore streaming with human blood when the 
 slightest provocation occurred, and thou hast come to one whose principal 
 maxim is to increase the sum of human happiness by every mode which 
 can be invented. In the west yonder, he or she is respected most who can 
 best exercise their tyrannical strength in making others miserable, while, 
 in these more placid realms, we reserve our garlands for the ingenious 
 youth, or lovely lady, w'ho can best make happy the person whose affection 
 IS fixed upon her.” 
 
 “ But, reverend philosopher,” said the Countess, “ who labourest so arti¬ 
 ficially in recommending the yoke of pleasure, know that you contradict 
 every notion which I have been taught from my infancy. In the land 
 where my nurture lay, so far are we from acknowledging your doctrines, 
 that we match not, except like the lion and the lioness, when the male has 
 compelled the female to acknowledge his superior worth and valour. Such 
 is our rule, that a damsel, even of mean degree, would think herself 
 heinously undermatched, if wedded to a gallant whose fame in arms was 
 yet unknown.” 
 
 “ But, noble lady,” said the Caesar, “ a dying man may then find room 
 for some faint hope. AVere there but a chance that distinction in arms 
 could gain those affections which have been stolen, rather than fairly con¬ 
 ferred, how many are there who would willingly enter into the competition 
 where the prize is so fair! AFhat is the enterprise too bold to be under¬ 
 taken on such a condition ! And where is the individual whose heart would 
 not feel, that in baring his sword for the prize, he made vow never to return 
 it to the scabbard without the proud boast, AVhat I have not yet won, I have 
 deserved!” 
 
 “ You see, lady,” said Agelastes, who, apprehending that the last speech 
 of the Coesar had made some.impression, hastened to follow it up with a 
 suitable observation—“ You see that the fire of chivalry burns as gallantly 
 in the bosom of the Grecians as in that of the western nations.” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Brenhilda, “ and I have heard of the celebrated siege 
 of Troy, on which occasion a dastardly coward carried off the wife of a 
 brave man, shunned every proffer of encounter with the husband whom he 
 had wronged, and finally caused the death of his numerous brothers, the 
 
154 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 destruction of his native city, with all the wealth which it contained, and 
 died himself the death of a pitiful poltroon, lamented only by his worthless 
 leman, to show bow well the rules of chivalry were understood by your 
 predecessors/’ 
 
 “ Lady, you mistake/’ said the Caesar; “ the offences of Paris were those 
 of a dissolute Asiatic; the courage which avenged them was that of the 
 Greek Empire.” 
 
 “ You are learned, sir,” said the lady; “ but think not that I will trust 
 your words until you produce before me a Grecian knight, gallant enough 
 to look upon the armed crest of my husband without quaking.” 
 
 “ That, methinks, were not extremely difficult,” returned the Caesar; “ if 
 they have not flattered me, I have myself been thought equal in battle to 
 more dangerous men than him who has been strangely mated with the Lady 
 Brenhilda.” 
 
 “ That is soon tried,” answered the Countess. “ You will hardly, I think, 
 deny, that my husband, separated from me by some unworthy trick, is still 
 at thy command, and could be produced at thy pleasure. I will ask no 
 armour for him save what he wears, no weapon but his good sword 
 Tranchefer; then place him in this chamber, or any other lists equally 
 narrow, and if he flinch, or cry craven, or remain dead under shield, let 
 Brenhilda be the prize of the conqueror. — Merciful Heaven!” she con¬ 
 cluded, as she sunk back upon her seat, “ forgive me for the crime of even 
 imagining such a termination, which is equal almost to doubting thine un¬ 
 erring judgment!” 
 
 “ Let me, however,” said the Caesar, “ catch up these precious words 
 before they fall to the ground.—Let me hope that he, to whom the heavens 
 shall give power and strength to conquer this highly-esteemed Count of 
 Paris, shall succeed him in the affections of Brenhilda; and believe me, the 
 sun plunges not through the sky to his resting-place, with the same celerity 
 that I shall hasten to the encounter.” 
 
 “ Now, by Heaven !” said Count Robert, in an anxious whisper to Here- 
 ward, “ it is too much to expect me to stand by and hear a contemptible 
 Greek, who durst not stand even the rattling farewell which Tranchefer 
 takes of his scabbard, brave me in my absence, and affect to make love to 
 my lady par amours I And she, too — methinks Brenhilda allows more 
 license than she is wont to do to yonder chattering popinjay. By the rood! 
 I will spring into the apartment, front them with my personal appearance, 
 and confute yonder braggart in a manner he is like to remember.” 
 
 “Under favour,” said the Varangian, who was the only auditor of this 
 violent speech, “ you shall be ruled by calm reason while I am with you. 
 When we are separated, let the devil of knight-errantry, which has such 
 possession of thee, take thee upon his shoulders, and carry thee full tilt 
 wheresoever he lists.” 
 
 “ Thou art a brute,” said the Count, looking at him with a contempt cor¬ 
 responding to the expression he made use of; “ not only without humanity, 
 but without the sense of natural honour or natural shame. The most 
 despicable of animals stands not by tamely and sees another assail his 
 mate. The bull offers his horns to a rival—the mastiff uses his jaws—and 
 even the timid stag becomes furious, and gores.” 
 
 “ Because they are beasts,” said the Varangian, “ and their mistresses 
 also creatures without shame or reason, who are not aware of the sanctity 
 of a choice. But thou, too. Count, canst thou not see the obvious purpose 
 of this poor lady, forsaken by all the world, to keep her faith towards thee, 
 by eluding the snares with which wicked men have beset her? By the 
 souls of my fathers! my heart is so much moved by her ingenuity, min¬ 
 gled as I see it is with the most perfect candour and faith, that I myself, in 
 fault of a better champion, would willingl}^ raise the axe in her behalf!” 
 
 “ 1 thank thee, my good friend,” said the Count; “ I thank thee as heart- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 155 
 
 ily as if it were possible thou shouldst be left to do that good office for 
 Brenhilda, the beloved of many a noble lord, the mistress of many a pow¬ 
 erful vassal; and, what is more, much more than thanks, I crave thy pardon 
 for the wrong I did thee but now.’^ 
 
 “My pardon you cannot need,” said the Varangian; “for I take no 
 offence that is not seriously meant. — Stay, they speak again.” 
 
 “ It is strange it should be so,” said the Caesar, as he paced the apart¬ 
 ment;^” but methinks, nay, I am almost certain, Agelastes, that I hear 
 voices in the vicinity of this apartment of thy privacy.” 
 
 “ It is impossible,” said Agelastes ; “ but I will go and see.” 
 
 Perceiving him to leave the pavilion, the Varangian made the Frank sen¬ 
 sible that they must crouch down among a little thicket of evergreens, 
 where they lay completely obscured. The philosopher made his rounds 
 with a heavy step, but a watchful eye; and the two listeners were obliged 
 to observe the strictest silence, without motion of any kind, until he had 
 completed an ineffectual search, and returned into the pavilion. 
 
 “ By my faith, brave man,” said the Count, “ ere we return to our skulk- 
 ing-place, I must tell thee in thine ear, that never, in my life, was tempta¬ 
 tion so strong upon me, as that which prompted me to beat out that old 
 hypocrite’s brains, provided I could have reconciled it with my honour; and 
 heartily do I wish that thou, whose honour no way withheld thee, had expe¬ 
 rienced and given way to some impulse of a similar nature.” 
 
 “ Such fancies have passed through my head,” said the Varangian ; “but 
 I will not follow them till they are consistent both with our own safety, and 
 more particularly with that of the Countess.” 
 
 “ I thank thee again for thy good-will to her,” said Count Robert; “ and, 
 by Heaven! if fight we must at length, as it seems likely, I will neither 
 grudge thee an honourable antagonist, nor fair quarter if the combat goes 
 against thee.” 
 
 “ Thou hast my thanks,” was the reply of Ilereward ; “ only, for Heaven’s 
 sake, be silent in this conjecture, and do what thou wilt afterwards.” 
 
 Before the Varangian and the Count had again resumed their posture of 
 listeners, the parties within the pavilion, conceiving themselves unwatched, 
 had resumed their conversation, speaking low, yet with considerable ani¬ 
 mation. 
 
 “ It is in vain you would persuade me,” said the Countess, “ that you 
 know not where my husband is, or that you have not the most absolute in¬ 
 fluence over his captivity. Who else could have an interest in banishing 
 or putting to death the husband, but he that affects to admire the wife?” 
 
 “ You do me wrong, beautiful lady,” answered the Caesar, “ and forget 
 that I can in no shape be termed the moving-spring of this empire; that 
 my father-in-law, Alexius, is the Emperor; and that the woman who terms 
 herself my wife, is jealous as a fiend can be of my slightest motion.—W’’ha.t 
 possibility was there that I should work the captivity of your husband and 
 your own? The open affront which the Count of Paris put upon the Em¬ 
 peror, was one which he was likely to avenge, either by secret guile or by 
 open force. Me it no way touched, save as the humble vassal of thy charms; 
 and it was by the wisdom and the art of the sage Agelastes, that I was able 
 to extricate thee from the gulf in which thou hadst else certainly perished. 
 Nay, weep not, lady, for as yet we know not the fate of Count Robert; but, 
 credit me, it is wisdom to choose a better protector, and consider him as no 
 more.” 
 
 “ A better than him,” said Brenhilda, “ I can never have, were I to choose 
 out of the knighthood of all the world!” 
 
 “ This hand,” said the Caesar, drawing himself into a martial attitude, 
 “ should decide that question, were the man of whom thou thinkest so much 
 yet moving on the face of this earth and at liberty.” 
 
 “ Thou art,” said Brenhilda, looking fixedly at him with the fire of in- 
 
156 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 di^nation flashing from every feature—“thou art—but it avails not telling 
 thee what is thy real name ; believe me, the world shall one day ring with 
 it, and be justly sensible of its value. Observe what I am about to say — 
 llobert of Paris is gone — or captive, I know not where. He cannot fight 
 the match of which thou seemest so desirous — but here stands Brenhilda, 
 born heiress of Aspramonte, by marriage the wedded wife of the good Count 
 of Paris. She was never matched in the lists by mortal man, except the 
 valiant Count, and since thou art so grieved that thou canst not meet her 
 husband in battle, thou canst not surely object, if she is willing tb meet 
 thee in his stead \” 
 
 “How, madamsaid the Caesar, astonished; “do you propose yourself 
 to hold the lists against me V’ 
 
 “ Against you \” said the Countess ; “ against all the Grecian Empire, if 
 they shall affirm that Robert of Paris is justly used and lawfully confined.’^ 
 
 “And are the conditions,^^ said the Caesar, “the same as if Count Robert 
 himself held the lists ? The vanquished must then be at the pleasure of 
 the conqueror for good or evil.’^ 
 
 “ It would seem so,’^ said the Countess, “ nor do I refuse the hazard ; 
 only, that if the other champion shall bite the dust, the noble Count Robert 
 shall be set at liberty, and permitted to depart with all suitable honours.’^ 
 
 “This I refuse not,’’ said the Caesar, “ provided it is in my power.” 
 
 A deep growling sound, like that of a modern gong, here interrupted the 
 conference. 
 
 (Pjlfl|ittr tilt HinttBtHtji. 
 
 The Varangian and Count Robert, at every risk of discovery, had remained 
 so near as fully to conjecture, though they could not expressly overhear, the 
 purport of the conversation. 
 
 “ He has accepted her challenge!” said the Count of Paris. 
 
 “And with apparent willingness,” said Hereward. 
 
 “0, doubtless, doubtless,” — answered the Crusader; “but he knows not 
 the skill in war which a woman may attain ; for my part, God knows I have 
 enough depending upon the issue of this contest, yet such is my confidence, 
 that I would to God I had more. I vow to our Lady of the Broken Lances, 
 that I desire every furrow of land I possess — every honour which I can 
 call my own, from the Countship of Paris, down to the leather that binds 
 my spur, were dependent and at issue upon this fair field, between your 
 CcCsar, as men term him, and Brenhilda of Aspramonte.” 
 
 “ It is a noble confidence,” said the Varangian, “ nor durst I say it is a 
 rash one; only I cannot but remember that the Caesar is a strong man, as 
 well as a handsome, expert in the use of arms, and, above all, less strictly 
 bound than you esteem yourself by the rules of honour. There are many 
 ways in which advantage may be given and taken, which will not, in the 
 Caesar’s estimation, alter the character of the field from an equal one, 
 although it might do so in the opinion of the chivalrous Count of Paris, or 
 even in that of the poor Varangian. But first let me conduct you to some 
 place of safety, for your escape must be soon, if it is not already, detected. 
 The sounds which we heard intimate that some of his confederate plotters 
 have visited the garden on other than love affairs. I will guide thee to 
 another avenue than that by which we entered. But you would hardly, I 
 suppose, be pleased to adopt the wisest alternative ?” 
 
 “ And what may that be?” said the Count. 
 
 “ To give thy purse, though it were thine all, to some poor ferryman to 
 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 157 
 
 waft thee over tlie Hellespont, then hasten to carry thy complaint to Godfrey 
 of Bouillon, and what friends thou mayst have among thy brethren crusaders, 
 and determine, as thou easily canst, on a sufficient number of them to come 
 back and menace the city with instant war, unless the Emperor should 
 deliver up thy lady, most unfairly made prisoner, and prevent, by his 
 authority, this absurd and unnatural combat/' 
 
 “And would you have me, then," said Count Robert, “ move the crusaders 
 to break a fairly appointed field of battle ? Do you think that Godfrey of 
 Bouillon would turn back upon his pilgrimage for such an unworthy pur¬ 
 pose ; or that the Countess of Paris would accept as a service, means of 
 safety which would stain her honour for ever, by breaking an appointment 
 solemnly made on her own challenge? — Never!" 
 
 “My judgment is then at fault," said the Varangian, “for I see I can 
 hammer out no expedient which is not, in some extravagant manner or 
 another, controlled by your foolish notions. Here is a man who has been 
 trapped into the power of his enemy, that he might not interfere to prevent 
 a base stratagem upon his lady, involving both her life and honour; yet he 
 thinks it a matter of necessity that he keeps faith as precisely with these 
 midnight poisoners, as he would had it been pledged to the most honour¬ 
 able men!" 
 
 “ Thou say'st a painful truth," said Count Robert; “ but my word is the 
 emblem of my faith ; and if it pass to a dishonourable or faithless foe, it is 
 imprudently done on my part; but if I break it, being once pledged, it is 
 a dishonourable action, and the disgrace can never be washed from my 
 shield." 
 
 “ Do you mean, then," said the Varangian, “ to suffer your wife's 
 honour to remain pledged as it at present is, on the event of an unequal 
 combat ?" 
 
 “ God and the saints pardon thee such -a thought!" said the Count of 
 Paris. “ I will go to see this combat with a heart as firm, if not as light, 
 as any time I ever saw spears splintered. If by the influence of any acci¬ 
 dent or treachery, — for fairly, and with such an antagonist, Brenhilda of 
 Aspramonte cannot be overthrown, — I step into the lists, proclaim the 
 Cmsar as he is — a villain — show the falsehood of his conduct from 
 beginning to end, — appeal to every noble heart that hears me, and then — 
 God show the right I" 
 
 llereward paused, and shook his head. “ All this," he said, “ might be 
 feasible enough provided the combat were to be fought in the presence of 
 your own countrymen, or even, by the mass! if the Varangians were to be 
 guards of the lists. But treachery of every kind is so familiar to the 
 Greeks, that I question if they would view the conduct of their Coesar as 
 any thing else than a pardonable and natural stratagem of Dan Cupid, to 
 be smiled at, rather than subjected to disgrace or punishment." 
 
 “A nation," said Count Robert, “who could smile at such a jest, may 
 heaven refuse them sympathy at their utmost need, when their sword is 
 broken in their hand, and their wives and daughters shrieking in the 
 relentless grasp of a barbarous enemy!" 
 
 llereward looked upon his companion, whose flushed cheeks dnd sparkling 
 eyes bore witness to his enthusiasm. 
 
 “ I see," he said, “ you are resolved, and I know that your resolution can 
 injustice be called by no other name than an act of heroic folly—What 
 then ? it is long since life has been bitter to the Varangian exile. Morn 
 has raised him from a joyless bed, which night has seen him lie down upon, 
 wearied with wielding a mercenary weapon in the wars of strangers. He 
 has longed to lay down his life in an honourable cause, and this is one in 
 which the extremity and very essence of honour is implicated. It tallies 
 also with my scheme of saving the Emperor, which will be greatlv fixcili- 
 tated by the downfall of his ungrateful son-in-law." Then addressing him- 
 
 o 
 
158 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 self to the Count, he continued, “Well, Sir Count, as thou art the person 
 principally concerned, I am willing to yield to thy reasoning in this affair ; 
 but I hope you will permit me to mingle with your resolution some advices 
 of a more everyday and less fantastic nature. For example, thy escape 
 from the dungeons of the Blacquernal must soon be generally known. In 
 prudence, indeed, I myself must be the first to communicate it, since other¬ 
 wise the suspicion will fall on me—Where do you think of concealing 
 yourself? for assuredly the search will be close and general.^^ 
 
 “ For that,^^ said the Count of Paris, “ I must be indebted to thy sugges¬ 
 tion, with thanks for every lie which thou findest thyself obliged to make, 
 to contrive, and produce in my behalf, entreating thee only to render them 
 as few as possible, they being a coin which I myself never fabricate. 
 
 “ Sir knight,^’ answered Ilereward, “ let me begin first by saying, that no 
 knight that ever belted sword is more a slave to truth, when truth is ob¬ 
 served towards him, than the poor soldier who talks to thee; but when the 
 game depends not upon fair play, but upon lulling men’s cautiousness 
 asleep by falsehood, and drugging their senses by opiate draughts, they who 
 would scruple at no means of deceiving me, can hardly expect that I, who 
 am paid in such base money, should pass nothing on my part but what is 
 lawful and genuine. For the present thou must remain concealed within 
 my poor apartment, in the barracks of the Varangians, which is the last 
 place where they will think of seeking for thee. Take this, my upper cloak, 
 and follow me; and now that we are about to leave these gardens, thou 
 mayst follow me unsuspected as a sentinel attending his ofiicer; for, take it 
 along with you, noble Count, that we Varangians are a sort of persons upon 
 whom the Greeks care not to look very long or fixedly.” 
 
 They now reached the gate where they had been admitted by the negress, 
 and Ilereward, who was intrusted with the power, it seems, of letting him¬ 
 self out of the philosopher’s premises, though not of entering without 
 assistance from the portress, took out a key which turned the lock on the 
 garden side, so that they soon found themselves at liberty. They then pro¬ 
 ceeded by by-paths through the city, Hereward leading the way, and the 
 Count following, without speech or remonstrance, until they stood before 
 the portal of the barracks of the Varangians. 
 
 “ Make haste,” said the sentinel who was on duty, “ dinner is already 
 begun.” The communication sounded joyfully in the ears of Ilereward, 
 who was much afraid that his companion might have been stopt and 
 examined. By a side passage he reached his own quarters, and introduced 
 the Count into a small room, the sleeping chamber of his squire, where he 
 apologized for leaving him for some time ; and, going out, locked the door, 
 for fear, as he said, of intrusion. 
 
 The demon of suspicion was not very likely to molest a mind so frankly 
 constituted as that of Count Bobert, and yet the last action of Hereward 
 did not fail to occasion some painful reflections. 
 
 “ This man,” he said, “ had needs be true, for I have reposed in him a 
 mighty trust, which few hirelings in his situation would honourably dis¬ 
 charge. Wfiat is to prevent him to report to the principal ofiicer of his 
 watch, that the Frank prisoner, Robert, Count of Paris, whose wife stands 
 engaged for so desperate a combat with the Caesar, has escaped, indeed, this 
 morning, from the prisons of the Blacquernal, but has sufiered himself to 
 be trepanned at noon, and is again a captive in the barracks of the Varan¬ 
 gian Guard? — what means of defence are mine, were I discovered to these 
 mercenaries ?—What man could do, by the favour of our Lady of the Broken • 
 Lances, I have not failed to achieve. I have slain a tiger in single combat 
 —I have killed one warder, and conquered the desperate and gigantic crea¬ 
 ture by whom he was supported. I have had terms enough at command to 
 bring over this Varangian to my side, in appearance at least; yet all this 
 does not encourage me to hope that I could long keep at bay ton or a dozen 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 159 
 
 Fucli men as these beef-fed knaves appear to be, led in upon me by a fellow 
 of thewes and sinews such as those of my late companion.—Yet for shame, 
 Robert! such thoughts are unworthy a descendant of Charlemagne. When 
 wert thou wont so curiously to count thine enemies, and when wert thou 
 wont to be suspicious, since he, whose bosom may truly boast itself inca¬ 
 pable of fraud, ought in honesty to be the last to expect it in another? 
 The Varangian's look is open, his coolness in danger is striking, his speech 
 is more frank and ready than ever was that of a traitor. If he is false, 
 there is no faith in the hand of nature, for truth, sincerity, and courage are 
 written upon his forehead." 
 
 While Count Robert was thus reflecting upon his condition, and com¬ 
 bating the thick-coming doubts and suspicions which its uncertainties gave 
 rise to, he began to be sensible that he had not eaten for many hours; and 
 amidst many doubts and fears of a more heroic nature, he half entertained 
 a lurking suspicion, that they meant to let hunger undermine his strength 
 before they adventured into the apartment to deal with him. 
 
 We shall best see how far these doubts were deserved bv Ilereward, or 
 how far they were unjust, by following his course after he left his barrack- 
 room. Snatching a morsel of dinner, which he ate with an afiectation of 
 great hunger, but, in fact, that his attention to his food might be a pretence 
 for dispensing with disagreeable questions, or with conversation of any kind, 
 he pleaded duty, and immediately leaving his comrades, directed his course 
 to the lodgings of Achilles Tatius, which were a part of the same building. 
 A Syrian slave, who opened the door, after a deep reverence to Ilereward, 
 whom he knew as a favourite attendant of the Acolyte, said to him that his 
 master was gone forth, but had desired him to say, that if he wished to see 
 him, he would find him at the Philosopher’s Gardens, so called, as belonging 
 to the sage Agelastes. 
 
 Ilereward turned about instantly, and availing himself of his knowledge 
 of Constantinople to thread its streets in the shortest time possible, at length 
 stood alone before the door in the garden-wall, at which he and the Count 
 of Paris had previously been admitted in the earlier part of the day. The 
 same negress appeared at the same private signal, and when he asked for 
 Achilles Tatius, she replied, with some sharpness, “ Since you were here 
 this morning, I marvel you did not meet him, or that, having business with 
 him, you did not stay till he arrived. Sure I am, that not long after you 
 entered the garden the Acolyte was enquiring for you." 
 
 “It skills not, old woman," said the Varangian ; “I communicate the 
 reason of my motions to my commander, but not to thee." He entered the 
 garden accordingly, and avoiding the twilight path that led to the Bower 
 of Love, — so was the pavilion named in which he had overheard the dia¬ 
 logue between the Caesar and the Countess of Paris, — he arrived before a 
 simple garden-house, w'hose humble and modest front seemed to announce 
 that it was the abode of philosophy and learning. Here, passing before the 
 windows, he made some little noise, expecting to attract the attention either 
 of Achilles Tatius, or his accomplice Agelastes, as chance should determine. 
 It was the first who heard, and who replied. The door opened; a lofty 
 plume stooped itself, that its owner might cross the threshold, and the stately 
 form of Achilles Tatius entered the gardens. “ What now," he said, “ our 
 trusty sentinel? what hast thou, at this time of day, come to report to us? 
 Thou art our good friend', and highly esteemed soldier, and well we wot 
 thine errand must be of importance, since thou hast brought it thyself, and 
 at an hour so unusual." 
 
 “ Pray Heaven," said Ilereward, “ that the news I have brought deserve 
 a welcome." 
 
 “ Speak them instantly," said the Acolyte, “ good or bad ; thou speakest 
 to a man to whom fear is unknown." But his eye, which quailed as he 
 looked on the soldier—his colour, which went and came—his hands, which 
 
160 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 busied tberaselves in an uncertain manner in adjusting the belt of his 
 sword,—all argued a state of mind very different from that which his tone 
 of defiance would fain have implied. “ Courage,’^ he said, “ my trusty 
 soldier! speak the news to me. I can bear the worst thou hast to tell.’^ 
 
 “In a word, then,’^ said the Varangian, “your Valour directed me this 
 morning to play the office of master of the rounds upon those dungeons of 
 the Blacquernal palace, where last night the boisterous Count Robert of 
 Paris was incarcerated”- 
 
 “ I remember well,” said Achilles Tatius.—“ What then ?” 
 
 “ As I reposed me,” said Hereward, “ in an apartment above the vaults, 
 I heard cries from beneath, of a kind which attracted my attention. I 
 hastened to examine, and my surprise was extreme, when looking down into 
 the dungeon, though I could see nothing distinctly, yet, by the wailing and 
 whimpering sounds, I conceived that the Man of the Forest, the animal 
 called Sylvan, whom our soldiers have so far indoctrinated in our Saxon 
 tongue as to make him useful in the wards of the prison, was bemoaning 
 himself on account of some violent injury. Descending with a torch, I found 
 the bed on which the prisoner had been let down burnt to cinders ; the tiger 
 which had been chained within a spring of it, with its skull broken to 
 pieces; the creature called Sylvan, prostrate, and writhing under great 
 pain and terror, and no prisoner whatever in the dungeon. There were 
 marks that all the fastenings had been withdrawn by a Mytilenian soldier, 
 companion of my watch, when he visited the dungeon at the usual hour; 
 and as, in my anxious search, I at length found his dead body, slain appa¬ 
 rently by a stab in the throat, I was obliged to believe that while I was 
 examining the cell, he, this Count Robert, with whose daring life the adven¬ 
 ture is well consistent, had escaped into the upper air, by means, doubtless, 
 of the ladder and trap-door by which I had descended.” 
 
 “ And wherefore didst thou not instantly call treason, and raise the hue 
 and cry ?” demanded the Acolyte. 
 
 “I dared not venture to do so,” replied the Varangian, “till I had in¬ 
 structions from your Valour. The alarming cry of treason, and the various 
 rumours likely at this moment to ensue, might have involved a search so 
 close, as perchance would have discovered matters in which the Acolyte 
 himself would have been rendered subject to suspicion.” 
 
 “ Thou art right,” said Achilles Tatius, in a whisper; “ and yet it will 
 be necessary that we do not pretend any longer to conceal the flight of this 
 important prisoner, if we would not pass for being his accomplices. Where 
 thinkest thou this unhappy fugitive can have taken refuge ?” 
 
 “ That I was in hopes of learning from your Valour’s greater wisdom,” 
 said Hereward. 
 
 “Thinkest thou not,” said Achilles, “that he may have crossed the 
 Hellespont, in order to rejoin his own countrymen and adherents ?” 
 
 “ It is much to be dreaded,” said Hereward. “ Undoubtedly, if the Count 
 listened to the advice of any one who knew the face of the country, such 
 would be the very counsel he would receive.” 
 
 “ The danger, then, of his return at the head of a vengeful body of 
 Franks,” said the Acolyte, “ is not so immediate as I apprehended at first, 
 for the Emperor gave positive orders that the boats and galleys which yes¬ 
 terday transported the crusaders to the shores of Asia should recross the 
 strait, and bring back no single one of them from the step upon their jour¬ 
 ney on which he had so far furthered them. — Besides, they all, — their 
 leaders, that is to say, — made their vows before crossing, that they would 
 not turn back so much as a foot’s pace, now that they had set actually forth 
 on the road to Palestine.” 
 
 “ So, therefore,” said Hereward, “one of the two propositions is unques¬ 
 tionable ; either Count Robert is on the eastern side of the strait, having no 
 means of returning with his brethren to avenge the usage he has received. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 161 
 
 find may therefore be securely set at defiance,—or else he lurks somewhere 
 in Constantinople, without a friend or ally to take his part, or encourage 
 him openly to state his supposed wrongs; in either case, there can, I think, 
 be no tact in conveying to the palace the news that he has freed himself, 
 since it would only alarm the court, and afford the Emperor ground for 
 many suspicions. — But it is not for an ignorant barbarian like me to pre¬ 
 scribe a course of conduct to your valour and wisdom, and methinks the 
 sage Agelastes were a fitter counsellor than such as I am.'' 
 
 “ No, no, no," said the Acolyte, in a hurried whisper; “ the philosopher 
 and I are right good friends, sworn good friends, very especially bound to¬ 
 gether ; but should it come to this, that one of us must needs throw before 
 the footstool of the Emperor the head of the other, I think thou wouldst not 
 advise that I, whose hairs have not a trace of silver, should be the last in 
 making the offering; therefore we will say nothing of this mishap, but give 
 thee full power, and the highest charge to seek for Count Robert of Paris, 
 be he dead or alive, to secure him within the dungeons set apart for the 
 discipline of our own corps, and when thou hast done so, to bring me notice. 
 I may make him my friend in many ways, by extricating his wife from 
 danger by the axes of my Varangians. What is there in this metropolis that 
 they have to oppose them ?" 
 
 “When raised in a just cause," answered Ilereward, “nothing." 
 
 “Ilah! — say'st thou?" said the Acolyte ; “ how meanest thou by that? 
 —but I know—Thou art scrupulous about having the just and lawful com¬ 
 mand of thy ofiicer in every action in which thou art engaged, and, thinking 
 in that dutiful and soldierlike manner, it is my duty as thine Acolyte to see 
 thy scruples satisfied. A warrant shalt thou have, with full powers, to seek 
 for and imprison this foreign Count of whom we have been speaking—And, 
 hark thee, my excellent friend," he continued, with some hesitation, “I think 
 thou hadst better begone, and begin, or rather continue thy search. It is 
 unnecessary to inform our friend Agelastes of what has happened, until his 
 advice be more needful than as yet it is on the occasion. Home—home to 
 the barracks ; I will account to him for thy appearance here, if he be curious 
 on the subject, which, as a suspicious old man, he is likely to be. Go to the 
 barracks, and act as if thou hadst a warrant in every respect full and ample. 
 I will provide thee with one when I come back to my quarters." 
 
 T'he Varangian turned hastily homewards. 
 
 “ Now, is it not," he said, “ a strange thing, and enough to make a man 
 a rogue for life — to observe how the devil encourages young beginners in 
 falsehood ! I have told a greater lie—at least I have suppressed more truth 
 — than on any occasion before in my whole life — and what is the conse¬ 
 quence? Why, my commander throws almost at my head a warrant suffi¬ 
 cient to guarantee and protect me in all I have done, or propose to do! If 
 the foul fiend were thus regular in protecting his votaries, methinks they 
 would have little reason to complain of him, or better men to be astonished 
 at their number. But a time comes, they say, when he seldom fails to 
 desert them. Therefore, get thee behind me, Satan! If I have seemed 
 to be thy servant for a short time, it is but with an honest and Christian 
 purpose." 
 
 As he entertained these thoughts, he looked back upon the path, and was 
 startled at an apparition of a creature of a much greater size, and a stranger 
 shape than human, covered, all but the fiice, with a reddish dun fur; his 
 expression an ugly, and yet a sad melancholy; a cloth was wrapped round one 
 hand, and an air of pain and languor bespoke suffering from a wound. So 
 much was Ilereward pre-occupied with his own reflections, that at first he 
 thought his imagination had actually raised the devil; but after a sudden 
 start of surprise, he recognised his acquaintance Sylvan. “ Ilah! old 
 friend," he said, “ I am happy thou hast made thy escape to a place where 
 VoL. XII.—11 o2 
 
162 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 thou wilt find plenty of fruit to support thee. Take my advice — keep out 
 of the way of discovery — Keep thy friend’s counsel.” 
 
 The Man of the Wood uttered a chattering noise in return to this ad¬ 
 dress. 
 
 “ I understand thee,” said Hereward, “ thou wilt tell no tales, thou say- 
 est; and faith, I will trust thee rather than the better part of my own two- 
 legged race, who are eternally circumventing or murdering each other.” 
 
 A minute after the creature was out of sight, Hereward heard the shriek 
 of a female, and a voice which cried for help. The accents must have 
 been uncommonly interesting to the Varangian, since, forgetting his own 
 dangerous situation, he immediately turned and flew to the suppliant’s 
 assistance. 
 
 (Cljapttr tljB '(Kraintittli. 
 
 She comes! she comes! in all the charms of youth, 
 
 Unequall'd love, and unsuspected truth! 
 
 Hereward was not long in tracing the cry through the wooded walks, 
 when a female rushed into his arms ; alarmed, as it appeared, by Sylvan, 
 who was pursuing her closely. The figure of Hereward, with his axe 
 uplifted, put an instant stop to his career, and with a terrified note of his 
 native cries, he withdrew into the thickest of the adjoining foliage. 
 
 Relieved from his presence, Hereward had time to look at the female 
 whom he had succoured: She was arrayed in a dress which consisted of 
 several colours, that which predominated being a pale yellow; her tunic 
 was of this colour, and, like a modern gown, was closely fitted to the body, 
 which, in the present case, was that of a tall, but very well-formed person. 
 The mantle, or upper garment, in which the whole figure was wrapped, 
 was of fine cloth; and the kind of hood which was attached to it having 
 flown back with the rapidity of her motion, gave to view the hair beauti¬ 
 fully adorned and twisted into a natural head-dress. Beneath this natural 
 head-gear appeared a face pale as death, from a sense of the supposed 
 danger, but which preserved, even amidst its terrors, an exquisite degree 
 of beauty. 
 
 Hereward was thunderstruck at this apparition. The dress was neither 
 Grecian, Italian, nor of the costume of the Franks ; — it was Saxon! — con¬ 
 nected by a thousand tender remembrances with Hereward’s childhood and 
 youth. The circumstance was most extraordinary. Saxon women, indeed, 
 there were in Constantinople, who had united their fortunes with those of 
 the Varangians; and those often chose to wear their national dress in the 
 city, because the character and conduct of their husbands secured them a 
 degree of respect, which they might not have met with either as Grecian or 
 as stranger females of a similar rank. But almost all these were personally 
 known to Hereward. It was no time, however, for reverie—he was himself 
 in danger — the situation of the young female might be no safe one. In 
 every case, it was judicious to quit the more public part of the gardens; he 
 therefore lost not a moment in conveying the fainting Saxon to a retreat he 
 fortunately was acquainted with. A covered path, obscured by vegetation, 
 led through a species of labyrinth to an artificial cave, at the bottom of 
 which, half-paved with shells, moss, and spar, lay the gigantic and half- 
 recumbent statue of a river deity, with its usual attributes — that is, its 
 front crowned with water-lilies and sedges, and its ample hand half-resting 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 1G3 
 
 upon an empty urn. The attitude of the whole figure corresponded with 
 
 tlic motto,-“ I SLEEP—AWAKE ME NOT.” 
 
 “ Accursed relic of paganism,” said Ilercward, who was, in proportion to 
 his light, a zealous Ciiristian—“ brutish stock or stone that thou art! I will 
 wake thee with a vengeance.” So saying, he struck the head of the slum¬ 
 bering deity with his battle-axe, and deranged the play of the fountain so 
 much that the water began to pour into the basin. 
 
 “Thou art a good block, nevertheless,” said the Varangian, “to send 
 succour so needful to the aid of my poor countrywoman. Thou shalt give 
 her also, with thy leave, a portion of thy couch.” So saying he arranged 
 his fair burden, who was as yet insensible, upon the pedestal where the figure 
 of the River God reclined. In doing this, his attention was recalled to her 
 face, and again and again he was thrilled with an emotion of hope, but so 
 excessively like fear, that it could only be compared to the flickering of a 
 torch, uncertain whether it is to light up or be instantly extinguished. 
 With a sort of mechanical attention, he continued to make such efforts as 
 he could to recall the intellect of the beautiful creature before him. llis 
 feelings were those of the astronomical sage, to whom the rise of the moon 
 slowly restores the contemplation of that heaven, which is at once, as a 
 Ghristian, his hope of felicity, and, as a philosopher, the source of his knoAV- 
 ledge. The blood returned to her cheek, and reanimation, and even recol¬ 
 lection, took place in her earlier than in the astonished Varangian. 
 
 “ Blessed Mary !” she said, “ have I indeed tasted the last bitter cup, and 
 is it here where thou reunitest thy votaries after death !—Speak, Ilereward! 
 if thou art aught but an empty creature of the imagination! — speak, and 
 tell me, if I have but dreamed of that monstrous ogre 1” 
 
 “ Collect thyself, my beloved Bertha,” said the Anglo-Saxon, recalled by 
 the sound of her voice, “ and pre])are to endure what thou livest to witness, 
 and thy Ilereward survives to tell. That hideous thing exists—nay, do not 
 start, and look for a hiding-place—thy own gentle hand with a riding rod is 
 sufficient to tame its courage. And am I not here, Bertha? Wouldst thou 
 wish another safeguard ?” 
 
 “No — no,” exclaimed she, seizing on the arm of her recovered lover. 
 “ Do I not know you now?” 
 
 “ And is it but now you know me, Bertha?” said Ilereward. 
 
 “ I suspected before,” she said, casting down her eyes; “ but I knoAv with 
 certainty that mark of the boar’s tusk.” 
 
 Ilereward suffered her imagination to clear itself from the shock it had 
 received so suddenly, before he ventured to enter upon present events, in 
 which there Avas so much both to doubt and to fear. lie permitted her, 
 therefore, to recall to her memory all the circumstances of the rousing the 
 hideous animal, assisted by the tribes of both their fiithers. She mentioned 
 in broken Avords the flight of arroAA'S discharged against the boar by young 
 and old, male and female, and how her OAvn Avell aimed, but feeble shaft, 
 Avounded him sharply; she forgot not how, incensed at the pain, the crea¬ 
 ture rushed upon her as the cause, laid her palfrey dead upon the spot, and 
 would soon have slain her, had not IlereAvard, when every attempt failed to 
 bring his horse up to the monster, throAvn himself from his seat, and inter¬ 
 posed personally between the boar and Bertha. The battle was not decided 
 without a desperate struggle; the boar was slain, but Ilereward received 
 the deep gash upon his brow which she whom he had saved noAv recalled to 
 her memory. “ Alas 1” she said, “ what have we been to each other since 
 that period? and Avhat are we now, in this foreign land?” 
 
 “ Answer for thyself, my Bertha,” said the Varangian, “ if thou canst;— 
 and if thou canst Avith truth say that thou art the same Bertha Avho Avowed 
 affection to Ilereward, believe me, it were sinful to suppose that the saints 
 have brought us together with a view of our being afterwards separated.” 
 
 “ Ilereward,” said Bertha, “ you have not preserved the bird in your 
 
164 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 bosom safer than I have; at home or abroad, in servitude or in freedom, 
 amidst sorrow or joy, plenty or want, my thought was always on the troth 
 I had plighted to Ilereward at the stone of Odin/^ 
 
 “ Say no more of that,^^ said Hereward; “ it was an impious rite, and 
 good could not come of it/^ 
 
 “Was it then so impious?’^ she said, the unbidden tear rushing into her 
 large blue eyes. — “Alas! it was a pleasure to reflect that Hereward was 
 mine by that solemn engagement 
 
 “ Listen to me, my Bertha,’^ said Hereward, taking her hand ; “ We were 
 then almost children ; and though our vow was in itself innocent, yet it 
 was so far wrong, as being sworn in the presence of a dumb idol, represent¬ 
 ing one who was, while alive, a bloody and cruel magician. But we will, 
 the instant an opportunity offers itself, renew our vow before a shrine of 
 real sanctity, and promise suitable penance for our ignorant acknowledg¬ 
 ment of Odin, to propitiate the real Deity, who can bear us through those 
 storms of adversity which are like to surround us.’^ 
 
 Leaving them for the time to their love-discourse, of a nature pure, 
 simple, and interesting, we shall give, in a few words, all that the reader 
 needs to know of their separate history between the boar's hunt and the 
 time of their meeting in the gardens of Agelastes. 
 
 In that doubtful state experienced by outlaws, Waltheofif, the father of 
 Hereward, and Engelred, the parent of Bertha, used to assemble their 
 unsubdued tribes, sometimes in the fertile regions of Devonshire, sometimes 
 in the dark wooded solitudes of Hampshire, but as much as possible within 
 the call of the bugle of the famous Edric the Forester, so long leader of the 
 insurgent Saxons. The chiefs we have mentioned were among the last bold 
 men who asserted the independence of the Saxon race of England; and like 
 their captain Edric, they were generally known by the name of Foresters, 
 as men who lived by hunting, when their power of making excursions was 
 checked and repelled. Hence they made a step backwards in civilization, 
 and became more like to their remote ancestors of German descent, than 
 they were to their more immediate and civilized predecessors, who before 
 the battle of Hastings, had advanced considerably in the arts of civilized life. 
 
 Old superstitions had begun to revive among them, and hence the practice 
 of youths and maidens plighting their troth at the stone circles dedicated, 
 as it was supposed, to Odin, in whom, however, they had long ceased to 
 nourish any of the sincere belief which was entertained by their heathen 
 ancestors. 
 
 In another respect these outlaws were fast resuming a striking peculiarity 
 of the ancient Germans. Their circumstances naturally brought the youth 
 of both sexes much together, and by early marriage, or less permanent con¬ 
 nexions, the population would have increased far beyond the means which 
 the outlaws had to maintain, or even to protect themselves. The laws of 
 the Foresters, therefore, strictly enjoined that marriages should be pro¬ 
 hibited until the bridegroom was twenty-one years complete. Future 
 alliances were indeed often formed by the young people, nor was this dis¬ 
 countenanced by their parents, provided that the lovers waited until the 
 period when the majority of the bridegroom should permit them to marry. 
 Such youths as infringed this rule, incurred the dishonourable epithet of 
 niddering, or worthless, — an epithet of a nature so insulting, that men 
 were known to have slain themselves, rather than endure life under such 
 opprobrium. But the olfenders were very few amidst a race trained in 
 moderation and self-denial; and hence it was that woman, worshipped for 
 so many years like something sacred, was received, when she became the 
 head of a family, into the arms and heart of a husband who had so long 
 expected her, was treated as something more elevated than the mere idol of 
 the moment; and feeling the rate at which she was valued, endeavoured by 
 her actions to make her life correspond with it. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 1G5 
 
 It was by the whole population of these tribes, as well as their parents, 
 that after the adventure of the boar hunt, llereward and Bertha were con¬ 
 sidered as lovers whose alliance was pointed out by Heaven, and they were 
 encouraged to approximate as much as their mutual inclinations prompted 
 them. The youtlis of the tribe avoided asking MartlnUs hand at the dance, 
 and the maidens used no maidenly entreaty or artifice to detain llereward 
 beside them, if Bertha was present at the feast. They clasped each other’s 
 hands through the pei’forated stone, which they called the altar of Odin, 
 though later ages have ascribed it to the Druids, and they implored that if 
 they broke their faith to each other, their fiiult might be avenged by the 
 twelve swords wdiich were now drawn around them during the ceremony 
 by as many youths, and that their misfortunes might be so many as twelve 
 maidens, who stood around with their hair loosened, should be unable to 
 recount, either in prose or verse. 
 
 The torch of the Saxon Cupid shone for some years as brilliant as wdien 
 it w'as first lighted. The time, however, came when they were to be tried 
 by adversity, though undeserved by the perfidy of either. Years had gone 
 past, and llereward had to count with anxiety how many months and 
 weeks w'ere to separate him from the bride, who was beginning already by 
 degrees to shrink less shyly from the expressions and caresses of one who 
 was soon to term her all his own. William Rufus, however, had formed a 
 plan of totally extirpating the Foresters, wdiose implacable hatred, and rest¬ 
 less love of freedom, had so often disturbed the quiet of his kingdom, and 
 despised his forest laws. He assembled his Norman forces, and united to 
 them a body of Saxons who had submitted to his rule. He thus brought 
 an overpowering force upon the bands of Waltheoff and Engelred, who 
 found no resource but to throw the females of their tribe, and such as could 
 not bear arms, into a convent dedicated to St. Augustin, of which Kenelm 
 their relation was prior, and then turning to the battle, vindicated their 
 ancient valour by fighting it to the last. Both the unfortunate chiefs 
 remained dead on the field, and llereward and his brother had wellnigh 
 shared their fate; but some Saxon inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who 
 adventured on the field of battle, which the victors had left bare of every 
 thing save the booty of the kites and the ravens, found the bodies of the 
 youths still retaining life. As they were generally w'ell known and much 
 beloved by these people, llereward and his brother were taken care of till 
 their wmunds began to close, and their strength returned. Herew^ard then 
 heard the doleful news of the death of his father and Engelred. His next 
 enquiry was concerning his betrothed bride and her mother. The poor 
 inhabitants could give him little information. Some of the females wdio 
 had taken refuge in the convent, the Norman knights and nobles had seized 
 upon as their slaves, and the rest, with the monks w'ho had harboured them, 
 w'ere turned adrift, and their place of retreat w'as completely sacked and 
 burnt to the ground. 
 
 Half-dead himself at hearing these tidings, llereward sallied out, and at 
 every risk of death, for the Saxon Foresters were treated as outlaws, com¬ 
 menced enquiries after those so dear to him. He asked concerning the par¬ 
 ticular fate of Bertha and her mother, among the miserable creatures who 
 yet hovered about the neighbourhood of the convent, like a few half-scorched 
 bees about their smothered hive. But, in the magnitude of their own 
 terrors, none had retained eyes for their neighbours, and all that they could 
 say was, that the wdfe and daughter of Engelred were certainly lost; and 
 their imaginations suggested so many heart-rending details to this conclu¬ 
 sion, that llereward gave up all thoughts of further researches, likely to 
 terminate so uselessly and so horribly. 
 
 The young Saxon had been all his life bred up in a patriotic hatred to 
 the Normans, who did not, it was likely, become dearer to his thoughts in 
 consequence of this victory. He dreamed at first of crossing the strait, to 
 
166 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 make war against the hated enemy in their own country; but an idea so 
 extravagant did not long retain possession of his mind. Ilis fate was decided 
 by his encountering an aged palmer, who knew or pretended to have known, 
 his father, and to be a native of England. This man was a disguised Varan¬ 
 gian, selected for the purpose, possessed of art and dexterity, and well pro¬ 
 vided with money. He had little difficulty in persuading Hereward, in the 
 hopeless desolation of his condition, to join the Varangian Guard, at this 
 moment at war with the Normans, under which name it suited Hereward’s 
 prepossessions to represent the Emperor’s wars with Robert Guiscard, his 
 son Bohemond, and other adventurers, in Italy, Greece, or Sicily. A jour¬ 
 ney to the East also inferred a pilgrimage, and gave the unfortunate Ilere- 
 ward the chance of purchasing pardon for his sins by visiting the Holy 
 Land. In gaining Hereward, the recruiter also secured the services of his 
 elder brother, who had vowed not to separate from him. 
 
 The high character of both brothers for courage, induced this wily agent 
 to consider them as a great prize, and it was from the memoranda respect¬ 
 ing the history and character of those whom he recruited, in which the 
 elder had been unreservedly communicative, that Agelastes picked up the 
 information respecting Hereward’s family and circumstances, which, at 
 their first secret interview, he made use of to impress upon the Varangian 
 the idea of his supernatural knowledge. Several of his companions in arms 
 were thus gained over; for it will easily be guessed, that these memorials 
 were intrusted to the keeping of Achilles Tatius, and he, to further their 
 joint purposes, imparted them to Agelastes, who thus obtained a general 
 credit for supernatural knowledge among these ignorant men. But Here¬ 
 ward’s blunt faith and honesty enabled him to shun the snare. 
 
 Such being the fortunes of Hereward, those of Bertha formed the subject 
 of a broken and passionate communication between the lovers, broken like 
 an April day, and mingled wdth many a tender caress, such as modesty 
 permits to lovers when they meet again unexpectedly after a separation, 
 which threatened to be eternal. But the story may be comprehended in 
 few words. Amid the general sack of the monastery, an old Norman knight 
 seized upon Bertha as his prize. Struck with her beauty, he designed her 
 as an attendant upon his daughter, just then come out of the years of child¬ 
 hood, and the very apple of her father’s eye, being the only child of his 
 beloved Countess, and sent late in life to bless their marriage-bed. It was 
 in the order of things that the lady of Aspramonte, who was considerably 
 younger than the knight, should govern her husband, and that Brenhilda, 
 their daughter, should govern both her parents. 
 
 The Knight of Aspramonte, however, it may be observed, entertained 
 some desire to direct his young offspring to more feminine amusements 
 than those which began already to put her life frequently in danger. Con¬ 
 tradiction was not to be thought of, as the good old knight knew by expe¬ 
 rience. The influence and example of a companion a little older than her¬ 
 self might be of some avail, and it was with this view that, in the confusion 
 of the sack, Aspramonte seized upon the youthful Bertha. Terrified to the 
 utmost degree, she clung to her mother, and the Knight of Aspramonte, 
 who had a softer heart than was then usually found under a steel cuirass, 
 moved by the affliction of the mother and daughter, and recollecting that 
 the former might also be a useful attendant upon his lady, extended his 
 protection to both, and conveying them out of the press, paid the soldiers 
 who ventured to dispute the spoil with him, partly in some small pieces of 
 money, and partly in dry blows with the reverse of his lance. 
 
 The well-natured knight soon after returned to his own castle, and being 
 a man of an orderly life and virtuous habits, the charming beauties of the 
 Saxon virgin, and the more ripened charms of her mother, did not prevent 
 their travelling in all honour as well as safety to his family fortress, the 
 castle of Aspramonte. Here such masters as could be procured were got 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 167 
 
 together to tench the young Bertha every sort of female accomplishment, in 
 the hope that her mistress, Brenhilda, might be inspired Avith a desire to 
 partake in her education ; but although this so far succeeded, that the Saxon 
 captive became highly skilled in such music, needle-work, and other female 
 accomplishments as Avere knoAvn to the time, yet her young mistress, Bren- 
 hilda, retained the taste for those martial amusements which had so sensibly 
 grieved her father, but to which her mother, who herself had nourished 
 such fancies in her youth, readily gaA^e sanction. 
 
 The captives, hoAvever, Avere kindly treated. Brenhilda became infinitely 
 attached to the young Anglo-Saxon, whom she loved less for her ingenuity 
 in arts, than for her activity in field sports, to which her early state of inde¬ 
 pendence had trained her. 
 
 The Lady of Aspramonte Avas also kind to both the captives; but, in one 
 particular, she exercised a piece of petty tyranny OA^er them. She had 
 imbibed an idea, strengthened by an old doting father-confessor, that the 
 Saxons Avere heathens at that time, or at least heretics, and made a positive 
 point Avith her husband that the bondswoman and girl Avho Avere to attend 
 on her person and that of her daughter, should be qualified for the office by 
 being aneAV admitted into the Christian Church by baptism. 
 
 Though feeling the falsehood and injustice of the accusation, the mother 
 had sense enough to submit to necessity, and received the name of Martha 
 in all form at'the altar, to Avhich she ansAvered during the rest of her life. 
 
 But Bertha shoAved a character upon this occasion inconsistent Avith the 
 general docility and gentleness of her temper. She boldly refused to be 
 admitted aneAV into the pale of the Church, of which her conscience told 
 her she Avas already a member, or to exchange for another the name origi¬ 
 nally given her at the font. It Avas in vain that the old knight commanded, 
 that the lady threatened, and that her mother advised and entreated. INIore 
 closely pressed in private by her mother, she let her motive be known, which 
 had not before been suspected. “ 1 knoAV,^’ she said, with a flood of tears, 
 “that my father Avould have died ere 1 Avas subjected to this insult; and 
 then—who shall assure me that voavs Avhich were made to the Saxon Bertha, 
 will be binding if a French Agatha be substituted in her stead? They may 
 banish me,’’ she said, “ or kill me if they Avill, but if the son of AValtheoff 
 should ag9,in meet Avith the daughter of Engelred, he shall meet that Bertha 
 Avhom he kneAV in the forests of Hampton.” 
 
 All argument Avas in vain ; the Saxon maiden remained obstinate, and to 
 try to break her resolution, the Lady of Aspramonte at length spoke of dis¬ 
 missing her from the service of her young mistress, and banishing her from 
 the castle. To this also she had made up her mind, and she answered firmly 
 though respectfully, that she Avould sorrow bitterly at parting with her 
 young lady^; but as to the rest, she Avould rather beg under her OAvn name, 
 than be recreant to the faith of her fathers and condemn it as heresy, by 
 assuming one of Frank origin. The Lady Brenhilda, in the meantime, 
 entered the chamber, Avhere her mother was just about to pass the threatened 
 doom of banishment. — “Do not stop for my entrance, madam,” said the 
 dauntless young lady; “lam as much concerned in the doom Avhich you 
 are about to pass as is Bertha; if she crosses the dr.iAvbridge of Aspra- 
 monte as an exile, so Avill I, Avhen she has dried her tears, i)f which even 
 my petulance could never Avring one from her eyes. She shall be my squire 
 and body attendant, and Launcelot, the bard, shall follow Avith my spear 
 and shield.” 
 
 “ And you avIU return, mistress,” said her mother, “ from so foolish an 
 expedition, before the sun sets ?” 
 
 “ So heaven further me in my purpose, lady,” answered the young heiress, 
 “ the sun shall neither rise nor set that sees us return, till this name of 
 Bertha, and of her mistress, Brenhilda, are Avafted as far as the trumpet of 
 fame can sound them.—Cheer up, my SAveetest Bertha !” she said, taking 
 
168 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 her attendant by the hand, “if heaven hath torn thee from thy country and 
 thy plighted troth, it hath given thee a sister and a friend, with whom thy 
 fame shall be forever blended/^ 
 
 The Lady of Aspramonte was confounded : She knew that her daughter 
 was perfectly capable of the wild course which she had announced, and that 
 she herself, even with her husband’s assistance, would be unable to prevent 
 her following it. She passively listened, therefore, while the Saxon matron, 
 formerly Urica, but now Martha, addressed her daughter. “My child,” 
 she said, “ as you value honour, virtue, safety, and gratitude, soften your 
 heart towards your master and mistress, and follow the advice of a parent, 
 M'ho has more years and more judgment than you. And you, my dearest 
 young lady, let not your lady-mother think that an attachment to the 
 exercises you excel in, has destroyed in your bosom filial affection, and a 
 regard to the delicacy of your sex !—As they seem both obstinate, madam,” 
 continued the matron, after watching the influence of this advice upon the 
 young woman, “ perhaps, if it may be permitted me, I could state an alter¬ 
 native, which might, in the meanwhile, satisfy your ladyship’s wishes, 
 accommodate itself to the wilfulness of my obstinate daughter, and answer 
 the kind purpose of her generous mistress,” The Lady of Aspramonte 
 signed to the Saxon matron to proceed. She went on accordingly: “ The 
 Saxons, dearest lady, of the present day, are neither pagans nor heretics ; 
 they are, in the time of keeping Easter, as well as in all other disputable 
 doctrine, humbly obedient to the Pope of Rome; and this our good Bishop 
 well knows, since he upbraided some of the domestics for calling me an old 
 heathen. Yet our names are uncouth in the ears of the Franks, and bear, 
 perhaps, a heathenish sound. If it be not exacted that my daughter submit 
 to a new rite of baptism, she will lay aside her Saxon name of Bertha upon 
 all occasions while in your honourable household. This will cut short a 
 debate which, with forgiveness, I think is scarce of importance enough to 
 break the peace of this castle. I will engage that, in gratitude for this 
 indulgence of a trifling scruple, my daughter, if possible, shall double the 
 zeal and assiduity of her service to her young lady.” 
 
 The Lady of Aspramonte was glad to embrace the means which this 
 offer presented, of extricating herself from the dispute with as little com¬ 
 promise of dignity as could well be. “ If the good Lord Bishop approved 
 of such a compromise,” she said, “ she would for herself withdraw her 
 opposition.” The prelate approved accordingly, the more readily that he 
 was informed that the young heiress desired earnestly such an agreement. 
 The peace of the castle was restored, and Bertha recognized her new name 
 of Agatha as a name of service, but not a name of baptism. 
 
 One effect the dispute certainly produced, and that was, increasing in an 
 enthusiastic degree the love of Bertha for her young mistress, AVith that 
 amiable failing of attached domestics and humble friends, she endeavoured 
 to serve her as she knew she loved to be served; and therefore indulged her 
 mistress in those chivalrous flxncies which distinguished her even in her 
 own age, and in ours would have rendered her a female Quixote. Bertha, 
 indeed, never caught the frenzy of her mistress; but, strong, willing, and 
 able-bodied, she readily qualified herself to act upon occasion as a squire 
 of the body to a Lady Adventuress ; and, accustomed from her childhood 
 to see blows dealt, blood flowing, and men dying, she could look with an 
 undazzled eye upon the dangers which her mistress encountered, and seldom 
 teased her with remonstrances, unless when those were unusually great. 
 This compliance on most occasions, gave Bertha a right of advice upon some, 
 which, always given with the best intentions and at fitting times, strength¬ 
 ened her influence with her mistress, which a course of conduct savouring 
 of diametrical opposition would certainly have destroyed. 
 
 A few more words serve to announce the death of the Knight of Aspra- 
 moutc — the romantic marriage of the young lady with the Count of Paris 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. IGO 
 
 — their engagement in the crusade — and the detail of events with which 
 the reader is acquainted. 
 
 llereward did not exactly comprehend some of the later incidents of the 
 story, owing to a slight strife which arose between Bertha and him during 
 the course of her narrative. When she avowed the girlish simplicity with 
 which she obstinately refused to change her name, because, in her appre¬ 
 hension, the troth-plight betwixt her and her lover might be thereby preju¬ 
 diced, it was impossible for llereward not to acknowledge her tenderness, 
 by snatching her to his bosom, and impressing his grateful thanks upon her 
 lips. She extricated herself immediately from his grasp, however, with 
 cheeks more crimsoned in modesty than in anger, and gravely addressed 
 her lover thus: “ Enough, enough, llereward ! this may be pardoned to so 
 unexpected a meeting; but we must in future remember, that w^e are pro¬ 
 bably the last of our race; and let it not be said, that the manners of their 
 ancestors were forgotten by llereward and by Bertha; think, that though 
 ' we are alone, the shades of our fathers are not fiir off, and watch to see 
 what use we make of the meeting, which, perhaps, their intercession has 
 procured us.^’ 
 
 “ You wrong me, Bertha,^^ said llereward, “ if you think me capable of 
 forgetting my own duty and yours, at a moment when our thanks are duo 
 to Ileaven, to be testified very differently than by infringing on its behests, 
 or the commands of our parents. The question is now, IIow we shall rejoin 
 each other when we separate ? since separate, I fear, we must.’^ 
 
 “ 0 ! do not say so I” exclaimed the unfortunate Bertha. 
 
 “ It must be so,” said llereward, “ for a time; but I swear to thee by the 
 hilt of my sw'ord, and the handle of my battle-axe, that blade was never so 
 true to shaft as I will be to thee!” 
 
 “ But wherefore, then, leave me, llereward ?” said the maiden ; “ and oh! 
 wherefore not assist me in the release of my mistress?” 
 
 “ Of thy mistress 1” said llereward. “ Shame! that thou canst give that 
 name to mortal woman!” 
 
 “ But she is my mistress,” answered Bertha, “ and by a thousand kind 
 ties which cannot be separated so long as gratitude is the reward of kind¬ 
 
 ness 
 
 )> 
 
 “ And what is her danger,” said llereward; “ what is it she wants, this 
 accomplished lady whom thou callest mistress?” 
 
 “ Her honour, her life, are alike in danger,” said Bertha. “ She has 
 agreed to meet the Caesar in the field, and he will not hesitate, like a base- 
 born miscreant, to take every advantage in the encounter, which, I grieve 
 to say, may in all likelihood be fatal to my mistress,” 
 
 “ Why dost thou think so ?” answered llereward. “ This lady has won 
 many single combats, unless she is belied, against adversaries more for¬ 
 midable than the Caesar.” 
 
 “ True,” said the Saxon maiden ; “ but you speak of things that passed 
 in a fiir different land, where faith and honour are not empty sounds ; as, 
 alas! they seem but too surely to be here. Trust me, it is no girlish terror 
 which sends me out in this disguise of my country dress, which, they say, 
 finds respect at Constantinople: I go to let the chiefs of the Crusade know 
 the peril in which the noble lady stands, and trust to their humanity, to 
 their religion, to their love of honour, and fear of disgrace, for assistance 
 in this hour of need ; and now that I have had the blessing of meeting with 
 thee, all besides will go well — all will go well — and I ■will back to my 
 mistress and report whom I have seen.” 
 
 “ Tarry yet another moment, my recovered treasure !” said llereward, 
 “ and let me balance this matter carefully. This Frankish lady holds the 
 Saxons like the very dust that thou brushest from the hem of her garment. 
 She treats — she regards — the Saxons as pagans and heretics. She has 
 dared to impose slavish tasks upon thee, born in freedom. Her father’s 
 
 I* 
 
WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 170 
 
 sword has been embrued to the hilt with Anglo-Saxon blood—perhaps that 
 of Waltheoff and Engelred has added death to the stain! She has been, 
 besides, a presumptuous fool, usurping for herself the trophies and warlike 
 character which belong to the other sex. Lastly, it will be hard to find a 
 champion to fight in her stead, since all the crusaders have passed over to 
 Asia, which is the land, they say, in which they have come to war ; and by 
 orders of the Emperor, no means of return to the hither shore will be per¬ 
 mitted to any of them.’^ 
 
 “ Alas 1 alas 1’^ said Bertha, “ how does this world change us ! The son 
 of WaltheofiT I once knew brave, ready to assist distress, bold and generous. 
 Such was what I pictured him to myself during his absence. I have met 
 him again, and he is calculating, cold, and selfish 
 
 “Hush, damsel,^' said the Varangian, “and know him of whom thou 
 speakest, ere thou judgest him. The Countess of Paris is such as I have 
 said; yet let her appear boldly in the lists, and when the trumpet shall 
 sound thrice, another shall reply, which shall announce the arrival of her 
 own noble lord to do battle in her stead ; or should he fail to appear — I 
 will requite her kindness to thee, Bertha, and be ready in his place.” 
 
 “ Wilt thou? wilt thou indeed V’ said the damsel; “ that was spoken like 
 the son of Waltheoff—like the genuine stock! I will home, and comfort 
 my mistress ; for surely if the judgment of God ever directed the issue of a 
 judicial combat, its influence will descend upon this. But you hint that 
 the Count is here—that he is at liberty—she will enquire about that.” 
 
 “ She must be satisfied,” replied Hereward, “ to know that her husband 
 is under the guidance of a friend, who will endeavour to protect him from 
 his own extravagances and follies; or, at all events, of one who, if he can¬ 
 not properly be called a friend, has certainly not acted, and will not act, 
 towards him the part of an enemy. — And now, farewell, long lost — long 
 
 loved !”-Before he could say more, the Saxon maiden, after two or three 
 
 vain attempts to express her gratitude, threw herself into her lover’s arms, 
 and despite the coyness which she had recently shown, impressed upon his 
 lips the thanks which she could not speak. 
 
 They parted, Bertha returning to her mistress at the lodge, which she 
 had left both with trouble and danger, and Hereward by the portal kept by 
 the negro-portress, who, complimenting the handsome Varangian on his 
 success among the fair, intimated, that she had been in some sort a witness 
 of his meeting with the Saxon damsel. A piece of gold, part of a late 
 largesse, amply served to bribe her tongue; and the soldier, clear of the 
 gardens of the philosopher, sped back as he might to the barrack—-judging 
 that it was full time to carry some supply to Count Robert, who had been 
 left without food the whole day. 
 
 It is a common popular saying, that as the sensation of hunger is not 
 connected with any pleasing or gentle emotion, so it is particularly remark¬ 
 able for irritating those of anger and spleen. It is not, therefore, very sur¬ 
 prising that Count Robert, who had been so unusually long without suste¬ 
 nance, should receive Hereward with a degree of impatience beyond what 
 the occasion merited, and injurious certainly to the honest Varangian, who 
 had repeatedly exposed his life that day for the interest of the Countess 
 and the Count himself. 
 
 “ Soil, sir!” he said, in that accent of affected restraint by which a supe¬ 
 rior modifies his displeasure against his inferior into a cold and scornful 
 expression—“You have played a liberal host to us!—Not that it is of con¬ 
 sequence ; but methinks a Count of the most Christian kingdom dines not 
 every day with a mercenary soldier, and might expect, if not the ostenta¬ 
 tious, at least the needful part of hospitality.” 
 
 “And methinks,” replied the Varangian, “0 most Christian Count, that 
 such of your high rank as, by choice or fate, become the guests of such as 
 I, may think themselves pleased, and blame not their host’s niggardliness, 
 
COUNT U 0 B E R T OF PARIS. 
 
 171 
 
 but the difficulty of his circumstances, if dinner should not present itself 
 oftener than once in four-and-twenty hours.So sayin^, he clapt his hands 
 together, and his domestic Edric entered. Ilis guest looked astonished at 
 the entrance of this third party into their retirement. “ I will answer for 
 this man,’' said Ilereward, and addressed him in the following words: — 
 “What food hast thou, Edric, to place before the honourable Count?” 
 
 “Nothing but the cold pasty,” replied the attendant, “marvellously 
 damaged by your honour’s encounter at breakfast.” 
 
 The military domestic, as intimated, brought forward a large pasty, but 
 which had already that morning sustained a furious attack, insomuch, that 
 Count Hubert of Paris, who, like all noble Normans, was somewhat nice 
 and delicate in his eating, was in some doubt whether his scrupulousness 
 should not prevail over his hunger; but on looking more closely, sight, 
 smell, and a fast of twenty hours, joined to convince him that the pasty 
 was an excellent one, and that the charger on which it was presented 
 possessed corners yet untouched. At length, having suppressed his scru¬ 
 ples, and made bold inroad upon the remains of the dish, he paused to 
 partake of a flask of strong red wine which stood invitingly beside him, 
 and a lusty draught increased the good-humour which had begun to take 
 place towards Ilereward, in exchange for the displeasure with which he 
 had received him. 
 
 “ Now, by heaven !” he said, “ I myself ought to be ashamed to lack the 
 courtesy which I recommend to others! Here have I, with the manners 
 of a Flemish boor, been devouring the provisions of my gallant host, with¬ 
 out even asking him to sit down at his own table, and to partake of his own 
 good cheer!” 
 
 “I will not strain courtesies with you for that,” said Ilereward; and 
 thrusting his hand into the pasty, he proceeded with great speed and dex¬ 
 terity to devour the miscellaneous contents, a handful of which was enclosed 
 in his grasp. The Count now withdrew from the table, partly in disgust at 
 the rustic proceedings of Ilereward, who, however, by now calling Edric 
 to join him in his attack upon the pasty, showed that he had, in fact, ac¬ 
 cording to his manners, subjected himself previously to some observance 
 of respect towards his guest; while the assistance of his attendant enabled 
 him to make a clear cacaabulum of what was left. Count Robert at length 
 summoned up courage sufficient to put a question, which had been trembling 
 upon his lips ever since Ilereward had returned. 
 
 “ Have thine enquiries, my gallant friend, learned more concerning my 
 unfortunate wife, my faithful Brenhilda?” 
 
 “ Tidings I have,” said the Anglo-Saxon, “ but whether pleasing or not, 
 yourself must be the judge. This much I have learned ;—she hath, as you 
 know, come under an engagement to meet the Caesar in arms in the lists, 
 but under conditions which you may perhaps think strange; these, how¬ 
 ever, she hath entertained without scruple.” 
 
 “ Let me know these terms,” said the Count of Paris; “ they will, I 
 think, appear less strange in my eyes than in thine.” 
 
 But while he afiected to speak with the utmost coolness, the husband’s 
 sparkling eye and crimsoned cheek betrayed the alteration which had taken 
 place in his feelings. “ The lady and the Caesar,” said Ilereward, “ as you 
 partly heard yourself, are to meet in fight; if the Countess wins, of course 
 she remains the wife of the noble Count of Paris ; if she loses, she becomes 
 the paramour of the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius.” 
 
 “Saints and angels forbid!” said Count Robert; “ were they to permit 
 such treason to triumph, we might be pardoned for doubting their 
 divinity ! ” 
 
 “Yet methinks,” said the Anglo-Saxon, “it were no disgraceful precau¬ 
 tion that both you and I, with other friends, if Ave can obtain such, should 
 bo seen under shield in the lists on the morning of the conflict. To triumph. 
 
172 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 or to be defeated, is in the hand of fate; but what we cannot fail to witness 
 is, whether or not the lady receives that fair play which is the due of an 
 honourable combatant, and which, as you have yourself seen, can be some¬ 
 times basely transgressed in this Grecian empire.'^ 
 
 “On that condition,’^ said the Count, “ and protesting, that not even the 
 extreme danger of my lady shall make me break through the rule of a fair 
 tight, I will surely attend the lists, if thou, brave Saxon, canst find me any 
 means of doing so.—Yet stay,^^ he continued, after reflecting for a moment, 
 “thou shalt promise not to let her know that her Count is on the field, far 
 less to point him out to her eye among the press of warriors. 0, thou dost 
 not know that the sight of the beloved will sometimes steal from us our 
 courage, even when it has most to achieve 
 
 “ We will endeavour,said the Varangian, “ to arrange matters according 
 to thy pleasure, so that thou findest out no more fantastical difficulties; for, 
 by my word, an affair so complicated in itself, requires not to be confused 
 by the fine-spun whims of thy national gallantry. Meantime, much must 
 be done this night; and while I go about it, thou, Sir Knight, hadst best 
 remain here, with such disguise of garments, and such food, as Edric may 
 be able to procure for thee. Fear nothing from intrusion on the part of thy 
 neighbours. We Varangians respect each other’s secrets, of whatever nature 
 they may chance to be.” 
 
 Cliaiittr tjiB (KuiEntii'/irst. 
 
 But for our trusty brother-in-law—and the Abbot, 
 
 With all the rest of that consorted crew,— 
 
 Destruction slraig:ht shall dog them at the heels 
 Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where’er these traitors are : 
 
 They shall not live within this world, 1 swear. 
 
 Kichard II. 
 
 As Hereward spoke the last words narrated in the foregoing chapter, he 
 left the count in his apartment, and proceeded to the Blacquernal Palace. 
 We traced his first entrance into the court, but since then he had frequently 
 been summoned, not only by order of the Princess Anna Comnena, who 
 delighted in asking him questions concerning the customs of his native 
 country, and marking down the replies in her own inflated language; but 
 also by the direct command of the Emperor himself, who had the humour 
 of many princes, that of desiring to obtain direct information from persons 
 in a very inferior station in their Court. The ring which the Princess had 
 given to the Varangian, served as a pass-token more than once, and was 
 now so generally known by the slaves of the palace, that Hereward had only 
 to slip it into the hand of a principal person among them, and was intro¬ 
 duced into a small chamber, not distant from the saloon already mentioned, 
 dedicated to the Muses. In this small apartment, the Emperor, his spouse 
 Irene, and their accomplished daughter Anna Comnena, were seated 
 together, clad in very ordinary apparel, as indeed the furniture of the room 
 itself was of the kind used % respectable citizens, saving that mattrasses, 
 composed of eiderdown, hung before each door to prevent the risk of eaves¬ 
 dropping. 
 
 “Our trusty Varangian,” said the Empress. 
 
 “ My guide and tutor respecting the manners of those steel-clad men,” 
 
\ 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 173 
 
 said the Princess Anna Comnena, “ of whom it is so necessary that I should 
 form an accurate idea.’^ 
 
 “ Your Imperial Majesty,” said the Empress, “ will not, I trust, think 
 your consort and your muse-inspired daughter, are too many to share with 
 you the intelligence brought by this brave and loyal man ?” 
 
 “ Dearest wife and daughter,” returned the Emperor, “I have hitherto 
 spared you the burden of a painful secret, which I have locked in my own 
 bosom, at whatever expense of solitary sorrow and unimparted anxiety. 
 
 Noble daughter, ^^ou in particular will feel this calamity, learning, as you 
 must learn, to think odiously of one, of whom it has hitherto been your duty 
 to hold a very different opinion.” 
 
 “ Holy Mary !” exclaimed the Princess. 
 
 “Rally yourself,” said the Emperor; “remember you are a child of the 
 purple chamber, born, not to weep for your father’s wrongs, but to avenge 
 them, — not to regard even him who has lain by your side as half so 
 important as the sacred Imperial grandeur, of which you are yourself a 
 partaker.” 
 
 “ What can such words preface?” said Anna Comnena, in great agitation. 
 
 “ They say,” answered the Emperor, “ that the Caesar is an ungrateful 
 man to all my bounties, and even to that which annexed him to my own 
 house, and made him by adoption my own son. He hath consorted himself 
 with a knot of traitors, whose very names are enough to raise the foul fiend, 
 as if to snatch his assured prey!” 
 
 “Could Nicephorus do this?” said the astonished and forlorn Princess; 
 “Nicephorus, w^ho has so often called my eyes the lights by which he steered 
 his path ? Could he do this to my father, to whose exploits he has listened 
 hour after hour, protesting that he knew not whether it was the beauty of 
 the language, or the heroism of the action, which most enchanted him? 
 Thinking with the same thought, seeing with the same eye, loving with the 
 same heart, — 0, my father! it is impossible that he could be so false. 
 
 Think of the neighbouring Temple of the Muses 1” 
 
 “ And if I did,” murmured Alexius in his heart, “ I should think of the 
 only apology which could be proposed for the traitor. A little is well 
 enough, but the full soul loatheth the honey-comb.” Then speaking aloud, 
 
 “ My daughter,” he said, “ be comforted; we ourselves were unwilling to 
 believe the shameful truth ; but our guards have been debauched; their 
 commander, that ungrateful Achilles Tatius, with the equal traitor. Age- . 
 lastes, have been seduced to favour our imprisonment or murder; and, alas 
 for Greece! in the very moment when she required the fostering care of a 
 parent, she was to be deprived of him by a sudden and merciless blow 1” 
 
 Here the Emperor wept, whether for the loss to be sustained by his sub¬ 
 jects, or of his own life, it is hard to say. 
 
 “ Methinks,” said Irene, “your Imperial Highness is slow in taking mea¬ 
 sures against the danger.” 
 
 “Under your gracious permission, mother,” answered the Princess, “I 
 would rather say he was hasty in giving belief to it. Methinks the evi¬ 
 dence of a Varangian, granting him to be ever so stout a man-at-arms, is 
 but a frail guarantee against the honour of your son-in-law—the approved 
 bravery and fidelity of the captain of your guards—the deep sense, virtue, 
 and profound wisdom of the greatest of your philosophers”- 
 
 “ And the conceit of an over-educated daughter,” said the Emperor, 
 
 “who will not allow her parent to judge in what most concerns him. I 
 will tell thee, Anna, 1 know every one of them, and the trust which may 
 be reposed in them; the honour of your Nicephorus — the bravery and 
 fidelity of the Acolyte — and the virtue and wisdom of Agelastes — have I 
 not had them all in my purse? And had my purse continued well filled, 
 and my arm strong as it was of late, there they would have still remained. 
 
 But the butterflies went off as the weather became cold, and I must meet 
 
174 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the tempest without their assistance. You talk of want of proof? I have 
 proof sufficient when I see danger; this honest soldier brought me indica¬ 
 tions which corresponded with my own private remarks, made on purpose. 
 Varangian he shall be of Varangians; Acolyte he shall be named, in place 
 of the present traitor; and who knows what may come thereafter V’ 
 
 “ May it please your Highness,^' said the Varangian, who had been 
 hitherto silent, “ many men in this empire rise to dignity by the fall of 
 their original patrons, but it is a road to greatness to which I cannot recon¬ 
 cile my conscience; moreover, having recovered a friend, from whom I was 
 long ago separated, I shall require, in short space, your Imperial license for 
 going hence, where I shall leave thousands of enemies behind me, and 
 spending my life, like many of my countrymen, under the banner of King 
 William of Scotland’^- 
 
 “ Part with thee, most inimitable man cried the Emperor, with emphasis; 
 “where shall I get a soldier—a champion — a friend—so faithful?’^ 
 
 “ Noble sir,^^ replied the Anglo-Saxon, “ I am every way sensible to your 
 goodness and munificence; but let me entreat you to call me by my own 
 name, and to promise me nothing but your forgiveness, for my having been 
 the agent of such confusion among your Imperial servants. Not only is 
 the threatened fate of Achilles Tatius, my benefactor; of the Cassar, whom 
 I think my well-wisher; and even of Agelastes himself, painful, so far as it 
 is of my bringing round; but also I have known it somehow happen, that 
 those on whom your Imperial Majesty has lavished the most valuable ex¬ 
 pressions of your favour one day, were the next day food to fatten the chough 
 and crow. And this, I acknowledge, is a purpose, for which I would not 
 willingly have it said I had brought my English limbs to these Grecian 
 shores.^^ 
 
 “ Call thee by thine own name, my Edward,^^ said the Emperor, (while he 
 muttered aside—“by Heaven, I have again forgot the name of the barba¬ 
 rian — “by thine own name certainly for the present, but only until we 
 shall devise one more fitted for the trust we repose in thee. Meantime, look 
 at this scroll, which contains, I think, all the particulars which we have 
 been able to learn of this plot, and give it to these unbelieving women, who 
 will not credit that an Emperor is in danger, till the blades of the conspi¬ 
 rators' poniards are clashing within his ribs." 
 
 Hereward did as he was commanded, and having looked at the scroll, and 
 signified, by bending his head, his acquiescence in its contents, he presented 
 it to Irene, who had not read long, ere, with a countenance so embittered 
 that she had difficulty in pointing out the cause of her displeasure to her 
 daughter, she bade her, with animation, “Read that — read that, and judge 
 of the gratitude and affection of thy Csesar!" 
 
 The Princess Anna Comnena awoke from a state of profound and over¬ 
 powering melancholy, and looked at the passage pointed out to her, at first 
 with an air of languid curiosity, which presently deepened into the most 
 intense interest. She clutched the scroll as a falcon does his prey, her eye 
 lightened with indignation ; and it was with the cry of the bird when m 
 fury that she exclaimed, “ Bloody-minded, double-hearted traitor! what 
 wouldst thou have? Yes, father," she said, rising in fury, “ it is no longer 
 the voice of a deceived princess that shall intercede to avert from the traitor 
 Nicephorus the doom he has deserved! Did he think that one born in the 
 purple chamber could be divorced — murdered, perhaps — with the petty 
 formula of the Romans, ‘ Restore the keys — be no longer my domestic 
 drudge?'* Was a daughter of the blood of Comnenus liable to such insults 
 as the meanest of Quirites might bestow on a family housekeeper!" 
 
 So saying, she dashed the tears from her eyes, and her countenance, 
 naturally that of beauty and gentleness, became animated with the ex- 
 
 *Tlie laconic form of the Roman divorce. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 175 
 
 pression of a fury. Ilercward looked at her with a mixture of fear, dislike 
 and compassion. She again burst forth, for nature having given her con¬ 
 siderable abilities, had lent her at the same time an energy of passion, far 
 superior in power to the cold ambition of Irene, or the wily, ambidexter, 
 shuffling policy of the Emperor. 
 
 “ He shall abye it,^' said the Princess ; “ he shall dearly abye it! False, 
 smiling, cozening traitor!—and for that unfeminine barbarian ! Something 
 of this I guessed, even at that old fooFs banqueting-house; and yet if this 
 unworthy Ca;sar submits his body to the chance of arms, he is less prudent 
 than I have some reason to believe. Think you he will have the madness 
 to brand us with such open neglect, my father ? and will you not invent 
 some mode of ensuring our revenge?’^ 
 
 “ Soh 1^^ thought the Emperor, “ this difficulty is over; she will run down 
 hill to her revenge, and wdll need the snaffle and curb more than the lash. 
 If every jealous dame in Constantinople were to pursue her fury as unre¬ 
 lentingly, our laws should be w'ritten, like Draco’s, not in ink, but in blood. 
 — Attend to me now,” he said aloud, “ my wife, my daughter, and thou, 
 dear Edward, and you shall learn, and you three only, my mode of navi¬ 
 gating the vessel of the state through these shoals.” 
 
 “ Let us see distinctly,” continued Alexius, “ the means by which they 
 propose to act, and these shall instruct us how to meet them. A certain 
 number of the Varangians are unhappily seduced, under pretence of 
 wrongs, artfully stirred up by their villanous general. A part of them are 
 - studiously to be arranged nigh our person—the traitor Ursel, some of them 
 suppose, is dead, but if it were so, his name is sufficient to draw together 
 his old factionaries — I have a means of satisfying them on that point, on 
 which I shall remain silent for the present. — A considerable body of the 
 Immortal Guards have also given w^ay to seduction ; they are to be placed 
 to support the handful of treacherous Varangians, who are in the plot to 
 attack our person. — Now, a slight change in the stations of the soldiery, 
 which thou, my faithful Edward—or—a—a—whatever thou art named,— 
 for which thou, I say, shalt have full authority, will derange the plans of 
 the traitors, and place the true men in such position around them as to cut 
 them to pieces with little trouble.” 
 
 “ And the combat, my lord ?” said the Saxon. 
 
 “ Thou hadst been no true Varangian hadst thou not enquired after that,” 
 said the Emperor, nodding good-humouredly towards him. “ As to the 
 combat, the Ca3sar has devised it, and it shall be my care that he shall not 
 retreat from the dangerous part of it. lie cannot in honour avoid fighting 
 with this woman, strange as the combat is; and however it ends, the con¬ 
 spiracy will break forth, and as assuredly as it comes against persons pre¬ 
 pared, and in arms, shall it be stifled in the blood of the conspirators!” 
 
 “ My revenge does not require this,” said the Princess ; “ and your Impe¬ 
 rial honour is also interested that this Countess shall be protected.” 
 
 ” It is little business of mine,” said the Emperor. “ She comes here 
 with her husband altogether uninvited. He behaves with insolence in my 
 presence, and deserves vrhatever may be the issue to himself or his lady 
 of their mad adventure. In sooth, I desired little more than to give him a 
 fright with those animals whom their ignorance judged enchanted, and to 
 give his wife a slight alarm about the impetuosity of a Grecian lover, and 
 there my vengeance should have ended. But it may be that his wife may 
 be taken under my protection, now that little revenge is over.” 
 
 “ And a paltry revenge it was,” said the Empress, “ that you, a man past 
 middle life, and with a wife who might command some attention, should 
 constitute yourself the object of alarm to such a handsome man as Count 
 llobert, and the Amazon his wife.” 
 
 “ By your favour, dame Irene, no,” said the Emperor. “ I left that part 
 of the proposed comedy to my son-in-law the Caesar.” 
 
176 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 But when the poor Emperor had in some measure stopt one floodgate, he 
 efi’ectually opened another, and one which was more formidable. “ The 
 more shame to your Imperial wisdom, my father exclaimed the Princess 
 Anna Comnena; “ it is a shame, that with wisdom and a beard like yours, 
 you should be meddling in such indecent follies as admit disturbance into 
 private families, and that family your own daughter’s! Who can say that 
 the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius ever looked astray towards another woman 
 than his wife, till the Emperor taught him to do so, and involved him in a 
 web of intrigue and treachery, in which he has endangered the life of his 
 father-in-law ?” 
 
 “Daughter! daughter! daughter!”—said the Empress ; “daughter of a 
 she-wolf, I think, to goad her parent at such an unhappy time, when all the 
 leisure he has is too little to defend his life!” 
 
 “ Peace, I pray you, women both, with your senseless clamours,” an¬ 
 swered Alexius, “and let me at least swim for my life undisturbed with 
 your folly. God knows if I am a man to encourage, I will not say the real¬ 
 ity of wrong, but even its mere appearance !” 
 
 These words he uttered, crossing himself, with a devout groan. Ilis wife 
 Irene, in the meantime, stept before him, and said, with a bitterness in her 
 looks and accent, which only long-concealed nuptial hatred breaking forth 
 at once could convey, — “Alexius, terminate this affair how it will, you 
 have lived a hypocrite, and thou wilt not fail to die one.” So saying, with 
 an air of noble indignation, and carrying her daughter along with her, she 
 swept out of the apartment. 
 
 The Emperor looked after her in some confusion. He soon, however, re¬ 
 covered his self-possession, and turning to Ilereward, with a look of injured 
 majesty, said, “Ah! my dear Edward,” — for the word had become rooted 
 in his mind, instead of the less euphonic name of Ilereward,—“thou seest 
 how it is even with the greatest, and that the Emperor, in moments of dif¬ 
 ficulty, is a subject of misconstruction, as well as the meanest burgess of 
 Constantinople; nevertheless, my trust is so great in thee, Edward, that I 
 would have thee believe, that my daughter, Anna Comnena, is not of the 
 temper of her mother, but rather of my own ; honouring, thou mayst see, 
 with religious fidelity, the unworthy ties which I hope soon to break, and 
 assort her with other fetters of Cupid, which shall be borne more lightly. 
 Edward, my main trust is in thee. Accident presents us with an oppor¬ 
 tunity, happy of the happiest, so it be rightly improved, of having all the 
 traitors before us assembled on one fair field. Think, then, on that day, as 
 the Franks say at their tournaments, that fair eyes behold thee. Thou canst 
 not devise a gift within my power, but I will gladly load thee with it.” 
 
 “ It needs not,” said the .Varangian, somewhat coldly ; “ my highest am¬ 
 bition is to merit the epitaph upon my tomb, ‘ Ilereward was faithful.’ I 
 am about, however, to demand a proof of your imperial confidence, which, 
 perhaps, you may think a startling one.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” said the Emperor. “ What, in one word, is thy demand ?” 
 
 “Permission,” replied Ilereward, “to go to the Duke of Bouillon’s en¬ 
 campment, and entreat his presence in the lists, to witness this extraordi¬ 
 nary combat.” 
 
 “ That he may return with his crusading madmen,” said the Emperor, 
 “and sack Constantinople, under pretence of doing justice to his Confede¬ 
 rates? This, Varangian, is at least speaking thy mind openly.” 
 
 “ No, by Heavens!” said Ilereward suddenly ; “ the Duke of Bouillon 
 shall come with no more knights than may be a reasonable guard, should 
 treachery be offered to the Countess of Paris.” 
 
 “Well, even in this,” said the Emperor, “will I be conformable; and if 
 thou, Edward, betrayest my trust, think that thou forfeitest all that my 
 friendship has promised, and dost incur, besides, the damnation that is due 
 to the traitor who betrays with a kiss.” 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 177 
 
 “For thy reward, noble sir,’’ answered the Varangian, “I hereby re¬ 
 nounce all claim to it. When the diadem is once more firmly fixed upon 
 thy brow, and the sceptre in thy hand, if I am then alive, if my poor ser¬ 
 vices should deserve so much, I will petition thee for the means of leaving 
 this court, and returning to the distant island in which I was born. Mean¬ 
 while, think me not unfaithful, because I have for a time the means of being 
 so with effect. Your Imperial Highness shall learn that Ilereward is as true 
 as is your right hand to your left.” — So saying, he took his leave with a 
 profound obeisance. 
 
 The Emperor gazed after him with a countenance in which doubt was 
 mingled with admiration. 
 
 “.I have trusted him,” he said, “with all he asked, and with the power 
 of ruining me entirely, if such be his purpose. He has but to breathe a 
 whisper, and the whole mad crew of crusaders, kept in humour at the ex¬ 
 pense of so much current falsehood, and so much more gold, will return 
 W’ith fire and sword to burn down Constantinople, and sow with salt the 
 place where it stood. I have done what I had resolved never to do,—I have 
 ventured kingdom and life on the faith of a man born of woman. IIow 
 often have I said, nay, sworn, that I would not hazard myself on such 
 peril, and yet, step by step, I have done so! I cannot tell—there is in that 
 man’s looks and words a good faith which overwhelms me; and, what is 
 almost incredible, my belief in him has increased in proportion to his show¬ 
 ing me how slight my power was over him. I threw, like the wily angler, 
 every bait I could devise, and some of them such as a king would scarcely 
 have disdained; to none of these would he rise; but yet he gorges, I may 
 say, the bare hook, and enters upon my service without a shadow of self- 
 interest. — Can this be double-distilled treachery ? — or can it be what men 
 call disinterestedness?—If I thought him false, the moment is not yet past 
 — he has not yet crossed the bridge — he has not passed the guards of the 
 palace, who have no hesitation, and know no disobedience—But no—I were 
 then alone in the land, and without a friend or confidant.—I hear the sound 
 of the outer gate unclose, the sense of danger certainly renders my ears 
 more acute than usual.—It shuts again—the die is cast. He is at liberty— 
 and Alexius Comnenus must stand or fall, according to the uncertain faith 
 of a mercenary Varangian.” He clapt his hands; a slave appeared, of 
 whom he demanded wine. He drank, and his heart was cheered within 
 him. “ I am decided,” he said, “ and will abide with resolution the cast 
 of the throw, for good or for evil.” 
 
 So saying, he retired to his apartment, and was not again seen during 
 that night. 
 
 (Cliapttr tilt '(Eratnlq-lttanli. 
 
 And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet peal’d. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 Tue Varangian, his head agitated with the weighty matters which were 
 imposed on him, stopt from time to time as he journeyed through the moon¬ 
 light streets, to arrest passing ideas as they shot through his mind, and 
 consider them with accuracy in all their bearings. His thoughts were such 
 as animated or alarmed him alternately, each followed by a confused throng 
 of accompaniments which it suggested, and banished again in its turn by 
 VoL. XU.—12 
 
178 
 
 AVAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 reflections of another description. It was one of those conjunctures when 
 tiie minds of ordinary men feel themselves unable to support a burden which 
 is suddenly Hung upon them, and when, on the contrary, those of uncommon 
 fortitude, and that best of Heaven’s gifts, good sense, founded on presence 
 of mind, feel their talents awakened and regulated for the occasion, like a 
 good steed under the management of a rider of courage and experience. 
 
 As he stood in one of those fits of reverie, which repeatedly during that 
 night arrested his stern military march, Hereward thought that his ear 
 caught the note of a distant trumpet. This surprised him; a trumpet 
 blown at that late hour, and in the streets of Constantinople, argued some¬ 
 thing extraordinary; for as all military movements were the subject of 
 special ordinance, the etiquette of the night could hardly have been trans¬ 
 gressed without some great cause. The question was, what that cause 
 could be ? 
 
 Had the insurrection broken out unexpectedly, and in a different manner 
 from what the conspirators proposed to themselves? — If so, his meeting 
 with his plighted bride, after so many years’ absence, was but a delusive 
 preface to their separating for ever. Or had the crusaders, a race of men 
 upon whose motions it was difficult to calculate, suddenly taken arms and 
 returned from the opposite shore to surprise the city ? This might very 
 possibly be the case ; so numerous had been the different causes of com¬ 
 plaint afforded to the crusaders, that, when they were now for the first time 
 assembled into one body, and had heard the stories which they could 
 reciprocally tell concerning the perfidy of the Greeks, nothing was so likely, 
 so natural, even perhaps so justifiable, as that they should study revenge. 
 
 But the sound rather resembled a point of war regularly blown, than the 
 tumultuous blare of bugle-horns and trumpets, the accompaniments at once, 
 and the annunciation, of a taken town, in which the horrid circumstances 
 of storm had not yet given place to such stern peace as the victors’ weari¬ 
 ness of slaughter and rapine allows at length to the wretched inhabitants. 
 Whatever it was, it wa,s necessary that Hereward should learn its purport, 
 and therefore he made his way into a broad street near the barracks, from 
 which the sound seemed to come, to which point, indeed, his way was 
 directed for other reasons. 
 
 The inhabitants of that quarter of the town did not appear violently 
 startled by this military signal. The moonlight slept on the street, crossed 
 by the gigantic shadowy towers of Sancta Sophia. No human being 
 appeared in the streets, and such as for an instant looked from their doors 
 or from their lattices, seemed to have their curiosity quickly satisfied, for 
 they withdrew their heads, and secured the opening through which they 
 had peeped. 
 
 Hereward could not help remembering the traditions which were recounted 
 by the fathers of his tribe, in the deep woods of Hampshire, and which 
 spoke of invisible huntsmen, who were heard to follow with viewless horses 
 and hounds the unseen chase through the depths of the forests of Germany. 
 Such it seemed were the sounds with which these haunted woods were wont 
 to ring while the wild chase was up; and with such apparent terror did the 
 hearers listen to their clamour. 
 
 “ Fie!” he said, as he suppressed within him a tendency to the same 
 superstitious fears; “ do such childish fancies belong to a man trusted with 
 so much, and from whom so much is expected ?” He paced down the street, 
 therefore, with his battle-axe over his shoulder, and the first person whom 
 he saw venturing to look out of his door, he questioned concerning the 
 cause of this military music at such an unaccustomed hour. 
 
 “ I cannot tell, so please you, 1113 ^ lord,” said the citizen, unwilling, it 
 appeared, to remain in the open air, or to enter into conversation, and 
 greatly disposed to decline further questioning. This was the political 
 citizen of Constantinople, whom we met with at the beginning of this 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 179 
 
 history, and who, hastily stopping into his habitation, eschewed all further 
 conversation. 
 
 The wrestler Stephanos showed himself at the next door, which was gar¬ 
 landed with oak and ivy leaves, in honour of some recent victory. He stood 
 unshrinking, partly encouraged by the consciousness of personal strength, 
 and partly by a rugged surliness of temper, which is often mistaken among 
 persons of this kind for real courage. Ilis admirer and flatterer, Lysi- 
 machus, kept himself ensconced behind his ample shoulders. 
 
 As llereward passed, he put the same question as he did to the former 
 citizen,—“Know you the meaning of these trumpets sounding so late?^' 
 
 “ You should know best yourself,'^ answered Stephanos, doggedl}"; “ for, 
 to judge by your axe and helmet, they are your trumpets, and not ours, 
 which disturb honest men in their first sleep.'^ 
 
 “ Varlet!’’ answered the Varangian, with an emphasis which made the 
 prizer start, — “ but — when that trumpet sounds, it is no time for a soldier 
 to punish insolence as it deserves.'^ 
 
 The Greek started back and bolted into his house, nearly overthrowing 
 in the speed of his retreat the artist Lysimachus, who was listening to what 
 passed. 
 
 llereward passed on to the barracks, where the military music had seemed 
 to halt; but on the Varangian crossing the threshold of the ample court¬ 
 yard, it broke forth again with a tremendous burst, whose clangour almost 
 stunned him, though well accustomed to the sounds. “ What is the meaning 
 of this, Engelbrecht?^’ he said to the Varangian sentinel, who paced axe in 
 hand before the entrance. 
 
 “ The proclamation of a challenge and combat,'^ answered Engelbrecht. 
 “ Strange things towards, comrade; the frantic crusaders have bit the 
 Grecians, and infected them with their humour of tilting, as they say dogs 
 do each other with madness.’’ 
 
 llereward made no reply to the sentinel’s speech, but pressed forward 
 into a knot of his fellow-soldiers who were assembled in the court, half¬ 
 armed, or, more properly, in total disarray, as just arisen from their beds, 
 and huddled around the trumpets of their corps, which were drawn out in 
 full pomp. Ho of the gigantic instrument, whose duty it was to intimate 
 the express commands of the Emperor, was not wanting in his place, and 
 the musicians were supported by a band of the Varangians in arms, headed 
 by Achilles Tatius himself. llereward could also notice, on approaching 
 nearer, as his comrades made way for him, that six of the Imperial heralds 
 were on duty on this occasion ; four of these (two acting at the same time) 
 had already made proclamation, which was to be repeated for the third 
 time by the two last, as was the usual fashion in Constantinople with Im¬ 
 perial mandates of great consequence. Achilles Tatius, the moment he 
 saw his confidant, made him a sign, which llereward understood as con¬ 
 veying a desire to speak with him after the proclamation was over. The 
 herald, after the flourish of trumpets was finished, commenced in these 
 words: 
 
 “ By the authority of the resplendent and divine Prince Alexius Com- 
 nenus. Emperor of the most holy Roman Empire, his Imperial Majesty 
 desires it to be made known to all and sundry the subjects of his empire, 
 whatever their race of blood may be, or at whatever shrine of divinity they 
 happen to bend—Know ye, therefore, that upon the second day after this is 
 dated, our beloved son-in-law, the much esteemed Caesar, hath taken upon 
 him to do battle with our sworn enemy, Robert, Count of Paris, on account 
 of his insolent conduct, by presuming publicly to occupy our royal seat, and 
 no less by breaking, in our Imperial presence, those curious specimens of 
 art, ornamenting our throne, called by tradition the Lions of Solomon. And 
 that there may not remain a man in Europe who shall dare to say that the 
 Grecians are behind other parts of the world in any of the manly exercises 
 
180 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 which Christian nations use, the said noble enemies, renouncing all assist¬ 
 ance from falsehood, from spells, or from magic, shall debate this quarrel 
 in three courses with grinded spears, and three passages of arms with 
 sharpened swords; the field to be at the judgment of the honourable 
 Emperor, and to be decided at his most gracious and unerring pleasure. 
 And so God show the right I” 
 
 Another formidable flourish of the trumpets concluded the ceremony. 
 Achilles then dismissed the attendant troops, as well as the heralds and 
 musicians, to their respective quarters; and having got Ilereward close to 
 his side, enquired of him whether he had learned any thing of the prisoner, 
 Robert, Count of Paris. 
 
 “Nothing,’^ said the Varangian, “save the tidings your proclamation 
 contains.^^ 
 
 “ You think, then,’^ said Achilles, “ that the Count has been a party to it.” 
 
 “ He ought to have been so,” answered the Varangian. “ I know no one 
 but himself entitled to take burden for his appearance in the lists.” 
 
 “ Why, look you,” said the Acolyte, “ my most excellent, though blunt- 
 witted Hereward, this Caesar of ours hath had the extravagance to venture 
 his tender wit in comparison to that of Achilles Tatius. He stands upon 
 his honour, too, this ineffable fool, and is displeased with the idea of being 
 supposed either to challenge a woman, or to receive a challenge at her 
 hand. He has substituted, therefore, the name of the lord instead of the 
 lady. If the Count fail to appear, the Caesar walks forward challenger and 
 successful combatant at a cheap rate, since no one has encountered him, 
 and claims that the lady should be delivered up to him as a captive of his 
 dreaded bow and spear. This will be the signal for a general tumult, in 
 which, if the Emperor be not slain on the spot, he will be conveyed to the 
 dungeon of his own Blacquernal, there to endure the doom which his cruelty 
 has inflicted upon so many others.” 
 
 “But”—said the Varangian. 
 
 “But — but — but,” said his oflScer; “ but thou art a fool. Canst thou 
 not see that this gallant Cmsar is willing to avoid the risk of encountering 
 with this lady, while he earnestly desires to be supposed willing to meet 
 her husband? It is our business to fix the combat in such a shape as to 
 bring all who are prepared for insurrection together in arms to play their 
 parts. Do thou only see that our trusty friends are placed near to the 
 Emperor's person, and in such a manner as to keep from him the officious 
 and meddling portion of guards, who may be disposed to assist him ; and 
 whether the Caesar fights a combat with lord or lady, or whether there be 
 any combat at all or not, the revolution shall be accomplished, and the 
 Tatii shall replace the Comneni upon the Imperial throne of Constantinople. 
 Go, my trusty Hereward. Thou wilt not forget that the signal word of the 
 insurrection is Ursel, who lives in the affections of the people, although his 
 body, it is said, has long lain a corpse in the dungeons of the Blacquer¬ 
 nal.” 
 
 “ What was this Ursel,” said Ilereward, “ of whom I hear men talk so 
 variously ?” 
 
 “ A competitor for the crown with Alexius Comnenus—good, brave, and 
 honest; but overpowered by the cunning, rather than the skill or bravery 
 of his foe. He died, as I believe, in the Blacquernal; though when, or 
 how, there are few that can say. . But, up and be doing, my Hereward! 
 Speak encouragement to the Varangians—Interest whomsoever thou canst 
 to join us. Of the Immortals, as they are called, and of the discontented 
 citizens, enough are prepared to fill up the cry, and follow in the wake of 
 those on whom we must rely as the beginners of the enterprise. No longer 
 shall Alexius's cunning, in avoiding popular assemblies, avail to protect 
 him; he cannot, with regard to his honour, avoid being present at a combat 
 to be fought beneath his own eye; and Mercury be praised for the elo- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 181 
 
 qucncc •which inspired him, after some hesitation, to determine for tho 
 proclamation 
 
 “ You have seen him, then, this evening?” said the Varangian. 
 
 “Seen him! Unquestionably,” answered the Acolyte. “ Had I ordered 
 these trumpets to be sounded without his knowledge, the blast had blown 
 the head from my shoulders.” 
 
 “ I had wellnigh met you at the palace,” said Ilereward; while his heart 
 throbbed almost as high as if he had actually had such a dangerous 
 encounter. 
 
 “ I heard something of it,” said Achilles; “ that you came to take the 
 parting orders of him who now acts the sovereign. Surely, had I seen you 
 there, with that steadfast, open, seemingly honest countenance, cheating the 
 wily Greek by very dint of bluntness, 1 had not forborne laughing at the 
 contrast between that and the thoughts of thy heart.” 
 
 “God alone,” said Ilereward, “knows the thoughts of our hearts; but I 
 take him to witness, that I am faithful to my promise, and will discharge 
 the task intrusted to me.” 
 
 “ Bravo I mine honest Anglo-Saxon,” said Achilles. “ I pray thee to 
 call my slaves to unarm me ; and when thou thyself doffest those weapons 
 of an ordinary lifeguard’s-man, tell them they never shall above twice more 
 enclose the limbs of one for whom fate has much more fitting garments in 
 store.” 
 
 Ilereward dared not intrust his voice with an answer to so critical a 
 speech; he bowed profoundly, and retired to his own quarters in the 
 building. 
 
 Upon entering the apartment, he was immediately saluted by the voice 
 of Count Robert, in joyful accents, not suppressed by the fear of making 
 himself heard, though prudence should have made that uppermost in his 
 mind. 
 
 “Hast thou heard it, my dear Ilereward,” he said — “hast thou heard 
 the proclamation, by which this Greek antelope hath defied me to tilting 
 with grinded spears, and fighting three passages of arms with sharpened 
 swords? Yet there is something strange, too, that he should not think it 
 safer to hold my lady to the encounter! He may think, perhaps, that the 
 crusaders would not permit such a battle to be fought. But, by our Lady 
 of the Broken Lances I he little knows that the men of the West hold their 
 ladies’ character for courage as jealously as they do their own. This whole 
 night have I been considering in what armour I shall clothe me; what shift 
 I shall make for a steed; and whether I shall not honour him sufficiently 
 by using Tranchefer, as my only weapon, against his whole armour, ofiensive 
 and defensive.” 
 
 “I shall take care, however,” said Ilereward, “that thou art better pro¬ 
 vided in case of need. — Thou knowest not the Greeks.” 
 
 (ClinptBr t|it €ititnti]-®j)itti. 
 
 The Varangian did not leave the Count of Paris until the latter had 
 placed in his hands his signet-ring, semee, (as the heralds express it,) with 
 lances splintered, and bearing the proud motto, “ Mine yet unscathed.” 
 Provided with this symbol of confidence, it was now his business to take 
 order for communicating the approaching solemnity to the leader of the 
 crusading army, and demanding L’om him, in the name of Robert of Paris, 
 and the Lady Brenhilda, such a detachment of western cavaliers as might 
 
 U 
 
182 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 ensure strict observance of honour and honesty in the arrangement of the 
 lists, and during the progress of the combat. The duties imposed on 
 llereward were such as to render it impossible for him to proceed personally 
 to the camp of Godfrey; and though there were many of the Varangians 
 in whose fidelity he could have trusted, he knew of none among those 
 under his immediate command whose intelligence, on so novel an occasion, 
 might be entirely depended on. In this perplexity, he strolled, perhaps 
 without well knowing why, to the gardens of Agelastes, where fortune once 
 more produced him an interview with Bertha. 
 
 No sooner had llereward made her aware of his difficulty, than the faithful 
 bower-maiden’s resolution was taken. 
 
 “ I see,” said she, “ that the peril of this part of the adventure must rest 
 with me; and wherefore should it not? My mistress, in the bosom of 
 prosperity, offered herself to go forth into the wide world for my sake; I 
 Avill for hers go to the camp of this Frankish lord. He is an honourable 
 man, and a pious Christian, and his followers are faithful pilgrims. A 
 woman can have nothing to fear who goes to such men upon such an 
 errand.” 
 
 The Varangian, however, was too well acquainted with the manners of 
 camps to permit the fair Bertha to go alone. He provided, therefore, for 
 • her safe-guard a trusty old soldier, bound to his person by long kindness 
 and confidence, and having thoroughly possessed her of the particulars of 
 the message she was to deliver, and desired her to be in readiness without 
 the enclosure at peep of daAvn, returned once more to his barracks. 
 
 With the earliest light, llereward was again at the spot where he had 
 parted overnight with Bertha, accompanied by the honest soldier to whose 
 care he meant to confide her. In a short time, he had seen them safely on 
 board of a ferry-boat lying in the harbour; the master of which readily 
 admitted them, after some examination of their license, to pass to Scutari, 
 which was forged in the name of the Acolyte, as authorised by that foul 
 conspirator, and which agreed with the appearance of old Osmund and his 
 young charge. 
 
 The morning Avas lovely; and erelong the toAvn of Scutari opened on the 
 view of the travellers, glittering, as now, with a variety of architecture, 
 which, though it might be termed fantastical, could not be denied the praise 
 of beauty. These buildings rose boldly out of a thick grove of cypresses, 
 and other huge trees, the larger, probably, as they Avere respected for filling 
 the cemeteries, and being the guardians of the dead. 
 
 At the period we mention, another circumstance, no less striking than 
 beautiful, rendered doubly interesting a scene which must have been at all 
 times greatly so. A large portion of that miscellaneous army Avhich came 
 to regain the holy places of Palestine, and the blessed Sepulchre itself, 
 from the infidels, had established themselves in a camp within a mile, or 
 thereabouts, of Scutari, xilthough, therefore, the crusaders Avere destitute 
 in a great measure of the use of tents, the army (excepting the pavilions of 
 some leaders of high rank) had constructed for themselves temporary huts, 
 not unpleasing to the eye, being decorated with leaves and flowers, while 
 the tall pennons and banners that floated over them with various devices, 
 showed that the flower of Europe Avere assembled at that place. A loud 
 and varied murmur, resembling that of a thronged hive, floated from the 
 camp of the crusaders to the neighbouring town of Scutari, and every now 
 and then the deep tone was broken by some shriller sound, the note of some 
 musical instrument, or the treble scream of some child or female, in fear or 
 in gaiety. 
 
 The party at length landed in safety; and as they approached one of the 
 gates of the camp, there sallied forth a brisk array of gallant cavaliers, 
 pages, and squires, exercising their masters’ horses or their own. From 
 the noise they made, conversing at the very top of their voices, galloping, 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 183 
 
 curvetting, and prancing their palfreys, it seemed as if their early discipline 
 had called them to exercise ere the fumes of last night’s revel vrero 
 thoroughly dissipated by repose. So soon as they saw Bertha and her 
 party, they approached them with cries which marked their country was 
 Italy—“ Al’erta ! al’erta!—Roba de guadagno, cameradi!”* 
 
 They gathered round the Anglo-Saxon maiden and her companions, re¬ 
 peating their cries in a manner which made Bertha tremble. Their general 
 demand was, “ What was her business in their camp ?” 
 
 “ 1 would to the general-in-chief, cavaliers,” answered Bertha, “ having a 
 secret message to his ear.” 
 
 “ For whose ear?” said a leader of the party, a handsome youth of about 
 eighteen years of age, who seemed either to have a sounder brain than his 
 fellows, or to have overflowed it with less wine. “ Which of our leaders do 
 you come hither to see ?” he demanded. 
 
 “ Godfrey of Bouillon.” 
 
 “ Indeed!” said the page who had spoken first; “ can nothing of less 
 consequence serve thy turn ? Take a look amongst us ; young are we all, 
 and reasonably wealthy. My Lord of Bouillon is old, and if he has any 
 sequins, he is not like to lavish them in this way.” 
 
 “ Still I have a token to Godfrey of Bouillon,” answered Bertha, “ an 
 assured one ; and he will little thank any who obstructs my free passage to 
 him ;” and therewithal showing a little case, in which the signet of the 
 Count of Paris was enclosed, “ 1 will trust it in your hands,” she said, “ if 
 you promise not to open it, but to give me free access to the noble leader of 
 the crusaders.” 
 
 “ I will,” said the youth, “ and if such be the Duke’s pleasure, thou shalt 
 be admitted to him.” 
 
 “ Ernest the Apulian, thy dainty Italian wit is caught in a trap,” said 
 one of his companions. 
 
 “ Thou art an ultramontane fool, Polydore,” returned Ernest; “ there 
 may be more in this than either thy wit or mine is able to fathom. This 
 maiden and one of her attendants wear a dress belonging to the Varangian 
 Imperial guard. They have perhaps been intrusted with a message from 
 the Emperor, and it is not irreconcilable with Alexius’s politics to send it 
 through such messengers as these. Let us, therefore, convey them in all 
 honour to the General’s tent.” 
 
 “ With all my heart,” said Polydore. “ A blue-eyed wench is a pretty 
 thing, but I like not the sauce of the camp-marshal, nor his taste in attiring 
 men who gave way to temptation.f Yet, ere I prove a fool like my com¬ 
 panion, I would ask who or what this pretty maiden is, who comes to put 
 noble princes and holy pilgrims in mind that they have in their time had 
 the follies of men ?” 
 
 Bertha advanced and whispered in the ear of Ernest. Meantime joke 
 followed jest, among Polydore and the rest of the gay youths, in riotous 
 and ribald succession, which, however characteristic of the rude speakers, 
 may as well be omitted here. Their effect was to shake in some degree the 
 fortitude of the Saxon maiden, who had some difficulty in mustering courage 
 to address them. “ As you have mothers, gentlemen,” she said, “ as you 
 have fair sisters, whom you would protect from dishonour with your best 
 blood — as you love and honour those holy places which you are sworn to 
 free from the infidel enemy, have compassion on me, that you may merit 
 success in your undertaking!” 
 
 “Fear nothing, maiden,” said Ernest, “I will be your protector; and 
 you, my comrades, be ruled by me. I have, during your brawling, taken 
 a view, though somewhat against my promise, of the pledge which she 
 
 * That is—“ Take heed ! take heed! there is booty, comrades!” 
 
 t Pereons among: the Crusaders found guilty of certain offences, did penance in a drees of tar and feathers, 
 though it is supposed a punishment of modern invention. 
 
WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 184 
 
 bears, and if she who presents it is affronted or maltreated, be assured 
 Godfrey of Bouillon will severely avenge the wrong done her/^ 
 
 “Nay, comrade, if thou canst warrant us so much,’^ said Polydore, “I 
 will myself be most .anxious to conduct the young woman in honour and 
 safety to Sir Godfrey’s tent.” 
 
 “ The Princes,” said Ernest, “ must be nigh meeting there in council. 
 What I have said I will warrant and uphold with hand and life. More I 
 might guess, but I conclude this sensible young maiden can speak for 
 herself.” 
 
 “ Now, Heaven bless thee, gallant squire,” said Bertha, “ and make thee 
 alike brave and fortunate! Embarrass yourself no farther about me, than 
 to deliver me safe to your leader, Godfrey.” 
 
 “ We spend time,” said Ernest, springing from his horse. “You are no 
 soft Eastern, fair maid, and I presume you will find yourself under no 
 difficulty in managing a quiet horse?” 
 
 “Not the least,” said Bertha, as, wrapping herself in her cassock, she 
 sprung from the ground, and alighted upon the spirited palfrey, as a linnet 
 stoops upon a rose-bush. “ And now, sir, as my business really brooks no 
 delay, I will be indebted to you to show me instantly to the tent of Duke 
 Godfrey of Bouillon.” 
 
 By availing herself of this courtesy of the young Apulian, Bertha im¬ 
 prudently separated herself from the old Varangian ; but the intentions of 
 the youth were honourable, and he conducted her through the tents and 
 huts to the pavilion of the celebrated General-in-chief of the Crusade. 
 
 “Here,” he said, “you must tarry for a space, under the guardianship 
 of my companions,” (for two or three of the pages had accompanied them, 
 out of curiosity to see the issue,) “and I will take the commands of the 
 Duke of Bouillon upon the subject.” 
 
 To this nothing could be objected, and Bertha had nothing better to do, 
 than to admire the outside of the tent, which, in one of Alexius’s fits of 
 generosity and munificence, had been presented by the Greek Emperor to 
 the Chief of the Franks. It was raised upon tall spear-shaped poles, which 
 had the semblance of gold; its curtains were of thick stuff, manufactured 
 of silk, cotton, and gold thread. The warders who stood round, were (at 
 least during the time that the council was held) old grave men, the personal 
 squires of the body, most of them, of the sovereigns who had taken the Cross, 
 and who could, therefore, be trusted as a guard over the assembly, without 
 danger of their blabbing what they might overhear. Their appearance was 
 serious and considerate, and they looked like men who had taken upon them 
 the Cross, not as an idle adventure of arms, but as a purpose of the most 
 solemn and serious nature. One of these stopt the Italian, and demanded what 
 business authorized him to press forward into the council of the crusaders, 
 who were already taking their seats. The page answered by giving his 
 name, “ Ernest of Otranto, page of Prince Tancred and stated that he 
 announced a young woman, who bore a token to the Duke of Bouillon, adding 
 that it was accompanied by a message for his own ear. 
 
 Bertha, meantime, laid aside her mantle, or upper garment, and disposed 
 the rest of her dress according to the Anglo-Saxon costume. She had hardly 
 completed this task, before the page of Prince Tancred returned, to conduct 
 her into the presence of the council of the Crusade. She followed his 
 signal; while the other young men who had accompanied her, wondering 
 at the apparent ease with which she gained admittance, drew back to a re¬ 
 spectful distance from the tent, and there canvassed the singularity of their 
 morning’s adventure. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the ambassadress herself entered the council chamber, 
 exhibiting an agreeable mixture of shamefacedness and reserve, together 
 with a bold determination to dy her duty at all events. There were about 
 fifteen of the principal crusaders assembled in council, with their chieftain 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 185 
 
 Godfrey. lie himself was a tall strong man, arrived at that period of life 
 in which men are supposed to have lost none of their resolution, while they 
 have acquired a wisdom and circumspection unknown to their earlier years. 
 The countenance of Godfrey bespoke both prudence and boldness, and 
 resembled his hair, where a few threads of silver were already mingled 
 with his raven locks. 
 
 Tancred, the noblest knight of the Christian chivalry, sat at no great dis¬ 
 tance from him, with Hugh, Earl of Vermandois, generally called the Great 
 Count, the selfish and wily Bohemond, the powerful Raymond of Provence, 
 and others of the principal crusaders, all more or less completely sheathed 
 in armour. 
 
 Bertha did not allow her courage to be broken down, but advancing with 
 a timid grace towards Godfrey, she placed in his hands the signet which 
 had been restored to her by the young page, and after a deep obeisance, 
 spoke these words: “ Godfrey, Count of Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine the 
 Lower, Chief of the Holy Enterprise called the Crusade, and you, his 
 gallant comrades, peers, and companions, by whatever titles you may be 
 honoured, I, an humble maiden of England, daughter of Engelred, origi¬ 
 nally a franklin of Hampshire, and since Chieftain of the Foresters, or free 
 Anglo-Saxons, under the command of the celebrated' Edric, do claim what 
 credence is due to the bearer of the true pledge which I put into your hand, 
 on the part of one not the least considerable of your own body, Count 
 Robert of Paris”- 
 
 “ Our most honourable confederate,” said Godfrey, looking at the ring. 
 “ Most of you, my lords, must, I think, know this signet—a field sown with 
 the fragments of many splintered lances.” The signet was handed from 
 one of the Assembly to another, and generally recognised. 
 
 When Godfrey had signified so much, the maiden resumed her message. 
 “ To all true crusaders, therefore, comrades of Godfrey of Bouillon, and 
 especially to the Duke himself, — to all, I say, excepting Bohemond of 
 Tarentum, whom he counts unworthy of his notice”- 
 
 “ Ilah ! me unworthy of his notice,” said Bohemond. “What mean you 
 by that, damsel?—But the Count of Paris shall answer it to me.” 
 
 “Under your favour. Sir Bohemond,” said Godfrey, “no. Our articles 
 renounce the sending of challenges among ourselves, and the matter, if not 
 dropt betwixt the parties, must be referred to the voice of this honourable 
 council.” 
 
 “1 think I guess the business now, my lord,” said Bohemond. “The 
 Count of Paris is disposed to turn and tear me, because I offered him good 
 counsel on the evening before we left Constantinople, when he neglected to 
 accept or be guided by it”- 
 
 “It will be the more easily explained when we have heard his message,” 
 said Godfrey. — “Speak forth Lord Robert of Paris’s charge, damsel, that 
 we may take some order with that which now seems a perplexed business.” 
 
 Bertha resumed her message; and, having briefly narrated the recent 
 events, thus concluded: — “ The battle is to be done to-morrow, about two 
 hours after daybreak, and the Count entreats of the noble Duke of Lor¬ 
 raine that he will permit some fifty of the lances of France to attend the 
 deed of arms, and secure that fair and honourable conduct which he has 
 otherwise some doubts of receiving at the hands of his adversary. Or if 
 any young and gallant knight should, of his own free will, wish to view the 
 said combat, the Count will feel his presence as an honour; always he 
 desires that the name of such knight be numbered carefully with the armed 
 crusaders who shall attend in the lists, and that the whole shall be limited, 
 by Duke Godfrey's own inspection, to fifty lances only, which are enough to 
 obtain the protection required, while more would be considered as a prepa¬ 
 ration for aggression upon the Grecians, and occasion the revival of disputes 
 which are now happily at rest.” 
 
186 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Bertha had no sooner finished delivering her manifesto, and made with 
 great grace her obeisance to the council, than a sort of whisper took place 
 in the assembly, which soon assumed a more lively tone. 
 
 Their solemn vow not to turn their back upon Palestine, now that they 
 had set their hands to the plough, was strongly urged by some of the elder 
 knights of the council, and two or three high prelates, who had by this 
 time entered to take share in the deliberations. The young knights, on the 
 other hand, were fired with indignation on hearing the manner in which 
 their comrade had been trepanned ; and few of them could think of missing 
 a combat in the lists in a country in which such sights were so rare, and 
 where one was to be fought so near them. 
 
 Godfrey rested his brow on his hand, and seemed in great perplexity. To 
 break with the Greeks, after having suffered so many injuries in order to 
 maintain the advantage of keeping the peace with them, seemed very impo¬ 
 litic, and a sacrifice of all he had obtained by a long course of painful for¬ 
 bearance towards Alexius Comnenus. On the other hand, he was bound 
 as a man of honour to resent the injury offered to Count Robert of Paris, 
 whose reckless spirit of chivalry made him the darling of the army. It 
 was the cause, too, of a beautiful lady, and a brave one: every knight in 
 the host would think himself bound, by his vow, to hasten to her defence. 
 When Godfrey spoke, it was to complain of the difficulty of the determina¬ 
 tion, and the short time there was to consider the case. 
 
 “ With submission to my Lord Duke of Lorraine,’^ said Tancred, “ I was 
 a knight ere I was a crusader, and took on me the vows of chivalry, ere I 
 placed this blessed sign upon my shoulder; the vow first made must be first 
 discharged. I will therefore do penance for neglecting, for a space, the 
 obligations of the second vow, while I observe that which recalls me to the 
 first duty of knighthood, — the relief of a distressed lady in the hands of 
 men whose conduct towards her, and towards this host, in every respect 
 entitles me to call them treacherous faitours.^’ 
 
 “If my kinsman Tancred,^^ said Bohemond, “ will check his impetuosity, 
 and you, my lords, will listen, as you have sometimes deigned to do, to my 
 advice, I think I can direct you how to keep clear of any breach of your 
 oath, and yet fully to relieve our distressed fellow-pilgrims. — I see some 
 suspicious looks are cast towards me, which are caused perhaps by the 
 churlish manner in which this violent, and, in this case, almost insane young 
 warrior, has protested against receiving my assistance. My great offence is 
 the having given him warning, by precept and example, of the treachery 
 which was about to be practised against him, and instructed him to use for¬ 
 bearance and temperance. My warning he altogether contemned — my, 
 example he neglected to follow, and fell into the snare which was spread, as 
 it were, before his very eyes. Yet the Count of Paris, in rashly contemning 
 me; has acted only from a temper which misfortune and disappointment 
 have rendered irrational and frantic. I am so far from bearing him ill- 
 will, that, with your lordship’s permission, and that of the present council, 
 I will haste to the place of rendezvous with fifty lances, making up the 
 retinue which attends upon each to at least ten men, which will make the 
 stipulated auxiliary force equal to five hundred; and with these I can have 
 little doubt of rescuing the Count and his lady.” 
 
 “Nobly proposed,” said the Duke of Bouillon; “and with a charitable 
 forgiveness of injuries which becomes our Christian expedition. But thou 
 hast forgot the main difficulty, brother Bohemond, that we are sworn never 
 to turn back upon the sacred journey.” 
 
 “If we can elude that oath upon the present occasion,” said Bohemond, 
 “ it becomes our duty to do so. Are we such bad horsemen, or are our 
 steeds so awkward, that we cannot rein them back from this to the landing- 
 place at Scutari? We can get them on shipboard in the same retrograde 
 manner, and when we arrive in Europe, where our vow binds us no longer, 
 
COUNT KOBE R TO F PARIS. 187 
 
 the Count and Countess of Paris are rescued, and our vow remains entire 
 ill the Chancery of Heaven/’ 
 
 A general shout arose—“ Long life to the gallant Bohemond!—Shame to 
 us if we do not fly to the assistance of so valiant a knight, and a lady so 
 lovely, since we can do so without breach of our vow.” 
 
 “ The question,” said Godfrey, “ appears to me to be eluded rather than 
 solved; yet such evasions have been admitted by the most learned and 
 scrupulous clerks ; nor do I hesitate to admit of Bohemond’s expedient, any 
 more than if the enemy had attacked our rear, which might have occasioned 
 our countermarching to be a case of absolute necessity.” 
 
 Some there were in the assembly, particularly the churchmen, inclined 
 to think that the oath by which the crusaders had solemnly bound them¬ 
 selves, ought to be as literally obeyed. But Peter the Hermit, who had a 
 place in the council, and possessed great weight, declared it as his opinion, 
 “ That since the precise observance of their vow would tend to diminish the 
 forces of the crusade, it was in fact unlawful, and should not be kept accord¬ 
 ing to the literal meaning, if, by a fair construction, it could be eluded.” 
 
 He olfered himself to back the animal which he bestrode—that is, his ass ; 
 and though he was diverted from showing this example by the remonstrances 
 of Godfrey of Bouillon, who was afraid of his becoming a scandal in the 
 eyes of the heathen, yet he so prevailed by his arguments, that the knights, 
 far from scrupling to countermarch, eagerly contended which should have 
 the honqur of making one of the party which should retrograde to Constan¬ 
 tinople, see the combat, and bring back to the host in safety the valorous 
 Count of Paris, of whose victory no one doubted, and his Amazonian 
 Countess. 
 
 This emulation was also put an end to by the authority of Godfrey, who 
 himself selected the fifty knights who were to compose the party. They 
 were chosen from different nations, and the command of the whole was 
 given to young Tancred of Otranto. Notwithstanding the claim of Bohe¬ 
 mond, Godfrey detained the latter, under the pretext that his knowledge of 
 the country and people was absolutely necessary to enable the council to 
 form the plan of the campaign in Syria; but in reality he dreaded the sel¬ 
 fishness of a man of great ingenuity as well as military skill, who, finding 
 himself in a separate command, might be tempted, should opportunities 
 arise, to enlarge his own power and dominion, at the expense of the pious 
 purposes of the crusade in general. The younger men of the expedition 
 were chiefly anxious to procure such horses as had been thoroughly trained, 
 and could go through Mfith ease and temper the manoeuvre of equitation, by 
 which it was designed to render legitijuate the movement which they had 
 recourse to. The selection was at length made, and the detachment ordered 
 to draw up in the rear, or upon the eastward line of the Christian encamp¬ 
 ment. In the meanwhile, Godfrey charged Bertha with a message for the 
 Count of Paris, in which, slightly censuring him for not observing more 
 caution in his intercourse with the Greeks, he informed him that he had 
 sent a detachment of fifty lances, with the corresponding squires, pages, 
 men-at-arms, and cross-bows, five hundred in number, commanded by the 
 valiant Tancred, to his assistance. The Duke also informed him, that he 
 had added a suit of armour of the best temper Milan could afford, together 
 with a trusty war-horse, which he entreated him to use upon the field of 
 battle; for Bertha had not omitted to intimate Count Robert’s want of the 
 means of knightly equipment. The horse was brought before the pavilion 
 accordingly, completely barbed or armed in steel, and laden with armour 
 for the knight’s body. Godfrey himself put the bridle into Bertha’s 
 hand. 
 
 “ Thou need’st not fear to trust thyself with this steed, he is as gentle and 
 docile as he is fleet and brave. Place thyself on his back, and take heed 
 thou stir not from the side of the noble Prince Tancred of Otranto, who 
 
188 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 will be the faithful defender of a maiden that has this day shown dexterity, 
 courage, and fidelity.’^ 
 
 Bertha bowed low, as her cheeks glowed at praise from one whose talents 
 and worth were in such general esteem, as to have raised him to the distin¬ 
 guished situation of leader of a host which numbered in it the bravest and 
 most distinguished captains of Christendom. 
 
 “Who are yon two persons?’^ continued Godfrey, speaking of the com¬ 
 panions of Bertha, whom he saw in the distance before the tent. 
 
 “ The one,^^ answered the damsel, “is the master of the ferry-boat which 
 brought me over; and the other an old Varangian who came hither as my 
 protector.’^ 
 
 “ As they may come to employ their eyes here, and their tongues on the 
 opposite side,” returned the general of the crusaders, “I do not think it 
 prudent to let them accompany you. They shall remain here for some short 
 time. The citizens of Scutari will not comprehend for some space what our 
 intention is, and I could wish Prince Tancred and his attendants to be the 
 first to announce their own arrival.” 
 
 Bertha accordingly intimated the pleasure of the French general to the 
 parties, without naming his motives ; when the ferryman began to exclaim 
 on the hardship of intercepting him in his trade; and Osmund to complain 
 of being detained from his duties. But Bertha, by the orders of Godfrey, 
 left them, with the assurance that they would be soon at liberty. Finding 
 themselves thus abandoned, each applied himself to his favourite, amuse¬ 
 ment. The ferryman occupied himself in staring about at all that was new; 
 and Osmund, having in the meantime accepted an offer of breakfast from 
 some of the domestics, was presently engaged with a flask of such red wine 
 as would have reconciled him to a worse lot than that which he at present 
 experienced. 
 
 The detachment of Tancred, fifty spears and their armed retinue, which 
 amounted fully to five hundred men, after having taken a short and hasty 
 refreshment, were in arms and mounted before the sultry hour of noon. 
 After some manoeuvres, of which the Greeks of Scutari, whose curiosity 
 was awakened by the preparations of the detachment, were at a loss to com¬ 
 prehend the purpose, they formed into a single column, having four men in 
 front. When the horses were in this position, the whole riders at once 
 began to rein back. The action was one to which both the cavaliers and 
 their horses were well accustomed, nor did it at first afford much surprise 
 to the spectators ; but when the same retrograde evolution was continued, 
 and the body of crusaders seemed about to enter the town of Scutari in so 
 extraordinary a fashion, some idea of the truth began to occupy the citizens. 
 The cry at length was general, when Tancred and a few others, whose horses 
 were unusually well-trained, arrived at the port, and possessed themselves of 
 a galley, info which they led their horses, and, disregarding all opposition 
 from the Imperial ofiicers of the haven, pushed the vessel off from the shore. 
 
 Other cavaliers did not accomplish their purpose so easily; the riders, or 
 the horses, were less accustomed to continue in the constrained pace for 
 such a considerable length of time, so that many of the knights, having 
 retrograded for one or two hundred yards, thought their vow was sufficiently 
 observed by having so far deferred to it, and riding in the ordinary manner 
 into the town, seized without farther ceremony on some vessels, which, not¬ 
 withstanding the orders of the Greek Emperor, had been allowed to remain 
 on the Asiatic side of the strait. Some less able horsemen met with various 
 accidents ; for though it was a proverb of the time, that nothing was so 
 bold as a blind horse, yet from this mode of equitatipn, where neither horse 
 nor rider saw the way he was going, some steeds were overthrown, others 
 backed upon dangerous obstacles; and the bones of the cavaliers them- ' 
 selves suffered much more than would have been the case in an ordinary 
 march. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 189 
 
 Those horsemen, also, who met with falls, incurred the danger of being 
 slain by the Greeks, had not Godfrey, surmounting his religious scruples, 
 despatched a squadron to extricate them — a task which they performed / 
 with great ease. The greater part of Tancred’s followers succeeded in em¬ 
 barking, as was intended, nor was there more than a score or two finally 
 amissing. To accomplish their voyage, however, even the Prince of Otranto 
 himself, and most of his followers, were obliged to betake themselves to the 
 uuknightly labours of the oar. This they found extremely difficult, as well 
 from the state both of the tide and the wind, as from the want of practice 
 at the exercise. Godfrey in person viewed their progress anxiously, from 
 a neighbouring height, and perceived with regret the difficulty which they 
 found in making their way, which was still more increased by the necessity 
 for their keeping in a body, and waiting for the slowest and worst manned 
 vessels, which considerably detained those that were more expeditious. 
 
 They made some progress, however; nor had the commander-in-chief the 
 least doubt, that before sunset they would safely reach the opposite side of 
 the strait. 
 
 lie retired at length from his post of observation, having placed a careful 
 sentinel in his stead, with directions to bring him word the instant that the 
 detachment reached the opposite shore. This the soldier could easily dis¬ 
 cern by the eye, if it was daylight at the time ; if, on the contrary, it was 
 night before they could arrive, the Prince of Otranto had orders to show 
 certain lights, which, in case of their meeting resistance from the Greeks, 
 should be arranged in a peculiar manner, so as to indicate danger. 
 
 Godfrey then explained to the Greek authorities of Scutari, whom he 
 summoned before him, the necessity there was that he should keep in readi¬ 
 ness such vessels as could be procured, with which, in case of need, he was 
 determined to transport a strong division from his army to support those’ 
 who had gone before, lie then rode back to his camp, the confused mur¬ 
 murs of which, rendered more noisy by the various discussions concerning 
 the events of the day, rolled off from the numerous host of the crusaders, 
 and mingled with the hoarse sound of the many-billowed Hellespont. 
 
 Ctioptn tjjE '(Kintnti|-/nnrtji. 
 
 All is prepared — the chambers of the mine 
 
 Are cramm’d with the combustible, which, harmless 
 
 While yet unkindled, as the sable sand, 
 
 Keeds but a spark to change its nature so. 
 
 That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood. 
 
 Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who knows 
 That ’tis his towers which meet its fury. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 When the sky is darkened suddenly, and the atmosphere grows thick and 
 stifling, the lower ranks of creation entertain the ominous sense of a coming 
 tempest. The birds fly to the thickets, the wild creatures retreat to the 
 closest covers wffiich their instinct gives them the habit of frequenting, and 
 domestic animals show their apprehension of the approaching thunder- • 
 storm by singular actions and movements inferring fear and disturbance. 
 
 It seems that human nature, when its original habits are cultivated and 
 attended to, possesses, on similar occasions, something of that prescient fore¬ 
 boding, which announces the approaching tempest to the inferior ranks of 
 creation. The cultivation of our intellectual powers goes perhaps too far. 
 
190 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 when it teaches us entirely to suppress and disregard those natural feelings, 
 which were originally designed as sentinels by which nature warned us of 
 impending danger. 
 
 Something of the kind, however, still remains, and that species of feeling 
 which announces to us sorrowful or alarming tidings, may be said, like the 
 prophecies of the weird sisters, to come over us like a sudden cloud. 
 
 During the fatal da}’’ which was to precede the combat of the Csesar with 
 the Count of Paris, there were current through the city of Constantinople 
 the most contradictory, and at the same time the most terrific reports. 
 Privy conspiracy, it was alleged, was on the very eve of breaking out; 
 open war, it was reported by others, was about to shake her banners over 
 the devoted city; the precise cause was not agreed upon, any more than the 
 nature of the enemy. Some said that the barbarians from the borders of 
 Thracia, the Hungarians, as they were termed, and the Comani, were on 
 their march from the frontiers to surprise the city; another report stated 
 that the Turks, who, during this period, were established in Asia, had 
 resolved to prevent the threatened attack of the crusaders upon Palestine, 
 by surprising not only the Western Pilgrims, but the Christians of the 
 East, by one of their innumerable invasions, executed with their charac¬ 
 teristic rapidity. 
 
 Another report, approaching more near to the truth, declared that the 
 crusaders themselves, having discovered their various causes of complaint 
 against Alexius Comnenus, had resolved to march back their united forces 
 to the capital, with a view of dethroning or chastising him ; and the citizens 
 were dreadfully alarmed for the consequences of the resentment of men so 
 fierce in their habits and so strange in their manners. In short, although 
 they did not all agree on the precise cause of danger, it was yet generally 
 allowed that something of a dreadful kind was impending, which appeared 
 to be in a certain degree confirmed by the motions that were taking place 
 among the troops. The Varangians, as well as the Immortals, were gradu¬ 
 ally assembled, and placed in occupation of the strongest parts of the city, 
 until at length the fleet of galleys, row-boats, and transports, occupied by 
 Tancred and his party, were observed to put themselves in motion from 
 Scutari, and attempt to gain such a height in the narrow sea, as upon the 
 turn of the tide should transport them to the port of the capital. 
 
 Alexius Comnenus was himself struck at this unexpected movement on 
 the part of the crusaders. Yet, after some conversation with Hereward, on 
 whom he had determined to repose his confidence, and had now gone too far 
 to retreat, he became reassured, the more especially by the limited size of 
 the detachment which seemed to meditate so bold a measure as an attack 
 upon his capital. To those around him he said with carelessness, that it 
 was hardly to be supposed that a trumpet could blow to the charge, within 
 hearing of the crusaders’ camp, without some out of so many knights coming 
 forth to see the cause and the issue of the conflict. 
 
 The conspirators also had their secret fears when the little armament of 
 Tancred had been seen on the straits. Agelastes mounted a mule, and went 
 to the shore of the sea, at the place now called Galata. lie met Bertha’s 
 old ferryman, whom Godfrey had set at liberty, partly in contempt, and 
 partly that the report he was likely to make, might serve to amuse the con¬ 
 spirators in the city. Closely examined by Agelastes, he confessed that the 
 present detachment, so far as he understood, was despatched at the instance 
 of Bohemond, and was under the command of his kinsman Tancred, whose 
 well-known banner was floating from the headmost vessel. This gave 
 courage to Agelastes, who, in the course of his intrigues, had opened a private 
 communication with the wily and ever mercenary Prince of Antioch. The 
 object of the philosopher had been to obtain from Bohemond a body of his 
 followers to co-operate in the intended conspiracy, and fortify the party of 
 insurgents. It is true, that Bohemond had returned no answer, but the 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 191 
 
 account now given by the ferryman, and the sight of Tancred the kinsman 
 of Bohemond’s banner displayed on the straits, satisfied the philosopher that 
 his ofiTers, his presents, and his promises, had gained to his side the avari¬ 
 cious Italian, and that this band had been selected by Bohemond, and were 
 coming to act in his favour. 
 
 As Agelastes turned to go off, he almost jostled a person, as much 
 muffled up, and apparently as unwilling to be known, as the philosopher 
 himself. Alexius Comnenus, however — for it was the Emperor himself— 
 knew Agelastes, though rather from his stature and gestures, than his 
 countenance; and could not forbear whispering in his ear, as he passed, the 
 well-known lines, to which the pretended sage^s various acquisitions gave 
 some degree of point:— 
 
 “ Grammatinus. rhetor, peomefres, pictor, aliptes, 
 
 Aufiiir, sclicenohales, iiiedirus, ma^us; omnia novit. 
 
 Grajculus esurieiis in cselum, jusseris, ibit.”* 
 
 Agelastes first started at the unexpected sound of the Emperor’s voice, yet 
 immediately recovered presence of mind, the want of which had made him 
 suspect himself betrayed; and without taking notice of the rank of the 
 person to whom he spoke, he answered by a quotation which should return 
 the alarm he had received. The speech that suggested itself was said to be 
 that which the Phantom of Cleonice dinned into the ears of the tyrant wdio 
 murdered her:— 
 
 “Tu cole justitiarn; teque atque alios manet ultor.”t 
 
 The sentence, and the recollections which accompanied it, thrilled through 
 the heart of the Emperor, who walked on, however, without any notice or 
 reply. 
 
 “ The vile conspirator,” he said, “ had his associates around him, other¬ 
 wise he had not hazarded that threat. Or it may have been worse — 
 Agelastes himself, on the very brink of this world, may have obtained that 
 singular glance into futurity proper to that situation, and perhaps speaks 
 less from his own reflection than from a strange spirit of prescience, which 
 dictates his words. Have I then in earnest sinned so far in my imperial 
 duty, as to make it just to apply to me the warning used by the injured 
 Cleonice to her ravisher and murderer? Methinks I have not. Methinks 
 that at less expense than that of a just severity, I could ill have kept rny 
 seat in the high place where Heaven has been pleased to seat me, and 
 where, as a ruler, I am bound to maintain my station. Methinks the sum 
 of those w'ho have experienced my clemency may be well numbered with 
 that of such as have sustained the deserved punishments of their guilt — 
 But has that vengeance, however deserved in itself, been always taken in a 
 legal or justifiable manner? My conscience, I doubt, will hardly answer so 
 home a question ; and where is the man, had he the virtues of Antoninus 
 himself, that can hold so high and responsible a place, yet sustain such an 
 interrogation as is implied in that sort of warning which I have received 
 from this traitor? Tii cole jusiitiain —we all need to use justice to others— 
 Teqve atque alios manet ultor —we are all amenable to an avenging being— 
 I will see the Patriarch.— instantly will I see him; and by confessing my 
 transgressions to the Church, I will, by her plenary indulgence, acquire the 
 right of spending the last day of my reign in a consciousness of innocence, 
 or at least of pardon — a state of mind rarely the lot of those whose lines 
 have fallen in lofty places.” 
 
 So saying, he passed to the palace of Zosimus the Patriarch, to whom he 
 could unbosom himself with more safety, because he had long considered 
 Agelastes as a private enemy to the Church, and a man attached to the 
 
 * The lines of Juvenal imitated by Johnson in his London — 
 
 “All sciences a fastin? Monsieur knows. 
 
 And bill him go to hell—to hell he goes.” 
 
 t “ Do thou cultivate justice : for thee and for others there remains an avenger.”— Ovid. Met. 
 
192 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 ancient doctrines of heathenism. In the councils of the state they were also 
 opposed to each other, nor did the Emperor doubt, that in communicating 
 the secret of the conspiracy to the Patriarch, he was sure to attain a loyal 
 and firm supporter in the defence which he proposed to himself. He there¬ 
 fore gave a signal by a low whistle, and a confidential officer, well mounted, 
 approached him, who attended him in his ride, though unostentatiously, and 
 at some distance. 
 
 In this manner, therefore, Alexius Comnenus proceeded to the palace of 
 the Patriarch, with as much speed as was consistent with his purpose of 
 avoiding to attract any particular notice as he passed through the street. 
 During the whole ride, the warning of Agelastes repeatedly occurred to 
 him, and his conscience reminded him of too many actions of his reign 
 which could only be justified by necessity, emphatically said to be the 
 tyrant’s plea, and which were of themselves deserving the dire vengeance 
 so long delayed. 
 
 When he came in sight of the splendid towers which adorned the front 
 of the patriarchal palace, he turned aside from the lofty gates, repaired to a 
 narrow court, and again giving his mule to his attendant, he stopt before a 
 postern, whose low arch and humble architrave seemed to exclude the pos¬ 
 sibility of its leading to any place of importance. On knocking, however, 
 a priest of an inferior order opened the door, who, with a deep reverence, 
 received the Emperor so soon as he had made himself known, and conducted 
 him into the interior of the palace. Demanding a secret interview with the 
 Patriarch, Alexius was then ushered into his private library, where he was 
 received by the aged priest with the deepest respect, which the nature of his 
 communication soon changed into horror and astonishment. 
 
 Although Alexius was supposed by many of his own court, and particu¬ 
 larly by some members of his own family, to be little better than a hypocrite 
 in his religious professions, yet such severe observers were unjust in brand¬ 
 ing him with a name so odious. .He was indeed aware of the great support 
 which he received from the good opinion of the clergy, and to them he was 
 willing to make sacrifices for the advantage of the Church, or of individual 
 prelates who manifested fidelity to the crown ; but though, on the one hand, 
 such sacrifices were rarely made by Alexius, without a view to temporal 
 policy, yet, on the other, he regarded them as recommended by his devo¬ 
 tional feelings, and took credit to himself for various grants and actions, as 
 dictated by sincere piety, which, in another aspect, were the fruits of tem¬ 
 poral policy. His mode of looking on these measures was that of a person 
 with oblique vision, who sees an object in a different manner, according to 
 the point from which he chances to contemplate it. 
 
 The Emperor placed his own errors of government before the Patriarch 
 in his confession, giving due weight to every branch of morality as it occur¬ 
 red, and stripping from them the lineaments and palliative circumstances 
 which had in his own imagination lessened their guilt. The Patriarch 
 heard, to his astonishment, the real thread of many a court intrigue, which 
 had borne a very different appearance, till the Emperor’s narrative either 
 justified his conduct upon the occasion, or left it totally unjustifiable. Upon 
 the whole, the balance was certainly more in favour of Alexius than the 
 Patriarch had supposed likely in that more distant view he had taken of 
 the intrigues of the court, when, as usual, the ministers and the courtiers 
 endeavoured to make up for the applause which they had given in council 
 in the most blameable actions of the absolute monarch, by elsewhere im¬ 
 puting to his motives greater guilt than really belonged to them. Many 
 men who had fallen sacrifices, it Mms supposed to the personal spleen or 
 jealousy of the Emperor, appeared to have been in fact removed from life, 
 or from liberty, because their enjoying either was inconsistent with the 
 quiet of the state and the safety of the monarch. 
 
 Zosimus also learned, what he perhaps already suspected, that amidst 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 103 
 
 the profound silence of despotism which seemed to pervade the Grecian 
 empire, it heaved frequently with convulsive throes, which ever and anon 
 made obvious the existence of a volcano under the surface. Thus, while 
 smaller delinquencies, or avowed discontent with the Imperial government, 
 seldom occurred, and were severely punished when they did, the deepest 
 and most mortal conspiracies against the life and the authority of the 
 Emperor were cherished by those nearest to his person ; and he was often 
 himself aware of them, though it was not until they approached an ex¬ 
 plosion that he dared act upon his knowledge, and punish the conspirators. 
 
 The whole treason of the Caesar, with his associates, Agelastes and Achil¬ 
 les Tatius, was heard by the Patriarch with wonder and astonishment, and 
 he was particularly surprised at the dexterity with which the Emperor, 
 knowing tlie existence of so dangerous a conspiracy at home, had been able 
 to parry the danger from the crusaders occurring at the same moment. 
 
 “ In that respect,’' said the Emperor, to whom indeed the churchman 
 hinted his surprise, “I have been singularly unfortunate. Had I been 
 secure of the forces of my own empire, I might have taken one out of two 
 manly and open courses with these frantic warriors of the west—I might, 
 my reverend father, have devoted the sums paid to Bohemond and other of 
 the more selfish among the crusaders, to the honest and open support of 
 the army of western Christians, and safely transported them to Palestine, 
 without exposing them to the great loss which they are likely to sustain by 
 the opposition of the Infidels ; their success would have been in fact my 
 own, and a Latin kingdom in Palestine, defended by its steel-clad warriors, 
 would have been a safe and unexpugnable barrier of the empire against tlie 
 Saracens. Or, if it was thought more expedient for the protection of the 
 empire and the holy Church, over which you are ruler, we might at once, 
 and by open force, have defended the frontiers of our states, against a host 
 commanded by so many different and discording chiefs, and advancing upon 
 us with such equivocal intentions. If the first swarm of these locusts, under 
 him whom they called Walter the Penniless, was thinned by the Hungarians, 
 and totally destroyed by the Turks, as the pyramids of bones on the frontiers 
 of the country still keep in memory, surely the united forces of the Grecian 
 empire would have had little difficulty in scattering this second flight, though 
 commanded by these Godfreys, Bohemonds, and Tancreds.” 
 
 The Patriarch was silent, for though he disliked, or rather detested the 
 crusaders, as members of the Latin Church, he yet thought it highly doubt¬ 
 ful that in feats of battle they could have been met and overcome by the 
 Grecian forces. 
 
 “ At any rate,” said Alexius, rightly interpreting his silence, “ if van¬ 
 quished, I had fallen under my shield as a Greek emperor should, nor had 
 I been forced into these mean measures of attacking men by stealth, and 
 with forces disguised as infidels; while the lives of the faithful soldiers of 
 the empire, who have fallen in obscure skirmishes, had better, both for them 
 and me, been lost bravely in their ranks, avowedly fighting for their native 
 emperor and their native country. Now, and as the matter stands, I shall 
 be handed down to posterity as a wily tyrant, who engaged his subjects in 
 fatal feuds for the safety of his own obscure life. Patriarch ! these crimes 
 rest not with me, but with the rebels whose intrigues compelled me into 
 such courses — What, reverend father, will be my fate hereafter? — and in 
 what light shall I descend to posterity, the author of so many disasters?” 
 
 “For futurity,” said the Patriarch, “your grace hath referred yourself 
 to the holy Church, which hath power to bind and loose; your means of 
 propitiating her are ample, and I have already indicated such as she may 
 reasonably expect, in consequence of your repentance and forgiveness.” 
 
 “They shall be granted,” replied the Emperor, “in their fullest extent; 
 nor will I injure you in doubting their effect in the next world. In this 
 present state of existence, however, the favourable opinion of the Church 
 Voh. NIL —13 K 
 
194 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 may do much for me during this important crisis. If we understand each 
 other, good Zosimus, her doctors and bishops are to thunder in my behalf, 
 nor is my benefit from her pardon to be deferred till the funeral monument 
 closes upon me 
 
 “ Certainly not,’^ said Zosimus; “ the conditions which I have already 
 stipulated being strictly attended to,’^ 
 
 “ And my memory in history,said Alexius, “ in what manner is that 
 to be preserved V’ 
 
 “For that,^^ answered the Patriarch, “your Imperial Majesty must trust 
 to the filial piety and literary talents of your accomplished daughter, Anna 
 Comnena.^^ 
 
 The Emperor shook his head. “ This unhappy Csesar,^^ he said, “ is 
 like to make a quarrel between us; for I shall scarce pardon so ungrateful 
 a rebel as he is, because my daughter clings to him with a woman's fond¬ 
 ness. Besides, good Zosimus, it is not, I believe, the page of a historian 
 such as my daughter that is most likely to be received without challenge by 
 posterity. Some Procopius, some philosophical slave, starving in a garret, 
 aspires to write the life of an Emperor whom he durst not approach; and 
 although the principal merit of his production be, that it contains particu¬ 
 lars upon the subject which no man durst have promulgated while the prince 
 was living, yet no man hesitates to admit such as true when he has passed 
 from the scene." 
 
 “On that subject," said Zosimus, “I can neither afford your Imperial 
 Majesty relief or protection. If, however, your memory is unjustly slandered 
 upon earth, it will 1)6 a matter of indifference to your Highness, who will 
 be then, I trust, enjoying a state of beatitude which idle slander cannot 
 assail. The only way, indeed, to avoid it while on this side of time, would 
 be to write your Majesty's own memoirs while you are yet in the body; so 
 convinced am I that it is in your power to assign legitimate excuses for 
 those actions of your life, which, without your doing so, would seem most 
 worthy of censure." 
 
 “Change we the subject," said the Emperor; “and since the danger is 
 imminent, let us take care for the present, and leave future ages to judge 
 for themselves.—What circumstance is it, reverend father, in your opinion, 
 which encourages these conspirators to make so audacious an appeal to the 
 populace and the Grecian soldiers ?" 
 
 “Certainly, “answered the Patriarch, “the most irritating incident of 
 your highness's reign was the fate of Ursel, who, submitting, it is said, upon 
 capitulation, for life, limb, and liberty, was starved to death by your orders, 
 in the dungeons of the Blacquernal, and whose courage, liberality, and 
 other popular virtues, are still fondly remembered by the citizens of this 
 metropolis, and by the soldiers of the guard, called Immortal." 
 
 “And this," said the Emperor, fixing his eye upon his confessor, “your 
 reverence esteems actually the most dangerous point of the popular tumult?" 
 
 “ I cannot doubt," said the Patriarch, “ that his very name, boldly pro¬ 
 nounced, and artfully repeated, wall be the watchword, as has been plotted, 
 of a horrible tumult." 
 
 “ I thank Heaven !" said the Emperor ; “ on that particular I will be on 
 my guard. Good-night to your reverence! and, believe me, that all in this 
 scroll, to which I have set my hand, shall be with the utmost fidelity accom¬ 
 plished. Be not, however, over-impatient in this business;—such a shower 
 of benefits falling at once upon the Church, would make men suspicious 
 that the prelates and ministers proceeded rather as acting upon a bargain 
 between the Emperor and Patriarch, than as paying or receiving an atone¬ 
 ment offered by a sinner in excuse of his crimes. This would be injurious, 
 father, both to yourself and me." 
 
 “ All regular delay," said the Patriarch, “ shall be interposed at your 
 highness’s pleasure; and we shall trust to you for recollection that the bar- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 195 
 
 gain, if it could be termed oue, was of your own seeking, and that the benefit 
 to the Church was contingent upon the pardon and the support which she 
 has afforded to your majesty/^ . 
 
 “True,” said the Emperor — “most true — nor shall I forget it. Once 
 more adieu, and forget not what I have told thee. This is a night, Zosimus, 
 in which the Emperor must toil like a slave, if he means not to return to 
 the humble Alexius Comnenus, and even then there were no resting-place.” 
 * So saying, he took leave of the Patriarch, who was highly gratified with 
 the advantages he had obtained for the Church, which many of his prede¬ 
 cessors had struggled for in vain. He resolved, therefore, to support the 
 staggering Alexius. 
 
 Cjjnpttr tliE 
 
 Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet, 
 
 Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose ; 
 
 The fated beasts of Nature’s lower strain 
 Have each their separate task. 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 Agelastes, after crossing the Emperor in the manner we have already 
 described, and after having taken such measures as occurred to him to 
 ensure the success of the conspiracy, returned to the lodge of his garden, 
 where the lady of the Count of Paris still remained, her only companion 
 being an old woman named Vexhelia, the wife of the soldier who accom¬ 
 panied Bertha to the camp of the Crusaders; the kind-hearted maiden hav¬ 
 ing stipulated that, during her absence, her mistress was not to be left 
 without an attendant, and that attendant connected with the Varangian 
 guard. lie had been all day playing the part of the ambitious politician, 
 the selfish time-server, the dark and subtle conspirator; and now it seemed, 
 as if to exhaust the catalogue of his various parts in the human drama, he 
 chose to exhibit himself in the character of the wily sophist, and justify, or 
 seem to justify, the arts by which he had risen to wealth and eminence, and 
 hoped even now to arise to royalty itself. 
 
 “ Fair Countess,” he said, “ what occasion is there for your wearing this 
 veil of sadness over a countenance so lovely?” 
 
 “ Do you suppose me,” said Brenhilda, “ a stock, or stone, or a creature 
 without the feelings of a sensitive being, that I should endure mortification, 
 imprisonment, danger and distress, without expressing the natural feelings 
 of humanity? Do you imagine that to a lady like me, as free as the unre¬ 
 claimed falcon, you can offer the insult of captivity, without my being sen¬ 
 sible to the disgrace, or incensed against the authors of it? And dost thou 
 think that I will receive consolation at thy hands — at thine — one of the 
 most active artificers in this web of treachery in which I am so basely 
 entangled ?” 
 
 “Not entangled certainly by my means”—answered Agelastes; “clap 
 your hands, call for what you wish, and the slave who refuses instant obe¬ 
 dience had better been unborn. Had I not, with reference to your safety ' 
 and your honour, agreed for a short time to be your keeper, that ofllce 
 would have been usurped by the Caesar, whose object you know, and may 
 partly guess the modes by which it would be pursued. Why then dost thou 
 childishly weep at being held for a short space in an honourable restraint, 
 which the renowned arms of your husband will probably put an end to long 
 ere to-morrow at noon ?” 
 
 “ Canst thou not comprehend,” said the Countess, “ thou man of many 
 
196 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 words, but of few honourable thoughts, that a heart like mine, which has 
 been trained in the feelings of reliance upon my own worth and valour, 
 must be necessarily affected with shame at being obliged to accept, even from 
 the sword of a husband, that safety which I would gladly have owed only 
 to my own 
 
 “Thou art misled. Countess,'^ answered the philosopher, “by thy pride, 
 a failing predominant in woman. Thinkest thou there has been no offen¬ 
 sive assumption in laying aside the character of a mother and a wife, and 
 adopting that of one of those brain-sick female fools, who, like the bravoes 
 of the other sex, sacrifice every thing that is honourable or useful to a 
 frantic and insane affectation of courage ? Believe me, fair lady, that the 
 true system of virtue consists in filling thine own place gracefully in society, 
 breeding up thy children, and delighting those of the other sex, and any 
 thing beyond this, may well render thee hateful or terrible, but can add 
 nothing to thy amiable qualities.^^ 
 
 “ Thou pretendest,’^ said the Countess, “ to be a philosopher; methinks 
 thou shouldst know, that the fame which hangs its chaplet on the tomb of 
 a brave hero or heroine, is worth all the petty engagements in which ordi¬ 
 nary persons spend the current of their time. One hour of life, crowded to 
 the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole 
 years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal 
 through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either 
 honour or observation.^' 
 
 “ Daughter," said Agelastes, approaching near to the lady, “ it is with 
 pain I see you bewildered in errors which a little calm reflection might 
 remove. We may flatter ourselves, and human vanity usually does so, that 
 beings infinitely more powerful than those belonging to mere humanity, are 
 employed daily in measuring out the good and evil of this world, the termi¬ 
 nation of combats, or the fate of empires, according to their own ideas of 
 what is right or wrong, or, more properly, according to what we ourselves 
 conceive to be such. The Greek heathens, renowned for their wisdom, and 
 glorious for their actions, explained to men of ordinary minds the supposed 
 existence of Jupiter and his Pantheon, where various deities presided over 
 various virtues and vices, and regulated the temporal fortune and future 
 happiness of such as practised them. The more learned and wise of the 
 ancients rejected such the vulgar interpretation, and wisely, although affect¬ 
 ing a deference to the public faith, denied before their disciples in private, 
 the gross fallacies of Tartarus and Olympus, the vain doctrines concerning 
 the gods themselves, and the extravagant expectations which the vulgar 
 entertained of an immortality, supposed to be possessed by creatures who 
 were in every respect mortal, both in the conformation of their bodies, and 
 in the internal belief of their souls. Of these wise and good men some 
 granted the existence of the supposed deities, but denied that they cared 
 about the actions of mankind any more than those of the inferior animals. 
 A merry, jovial, careless life, such as the followers of Epicurus would 
 choose for themselves, was what they assigned for those gods whose being 
 they admitted. Others, more bold or more consistent, entirely denied the 
 existence of deities who apparently had no proper object or purpose, and 
 believed that such of them, whose being and attributes were proved to us 
 by no supernatural appearances, had in reality no existence whatever." 
 
 “ Stop, wretch!" said the Countess, “ and know that thou speakest not to 
 one of those blinded heathens, of whose abominable doctrines you are 
 detailing the result. Know, that if an erring, I am nevertheless a sincere 
 daughter of the Church, and this cross displayed on my shoulder, is a suffi¬ 
 cient emblem of the vows I have undertaken in its cause. Bo therefore 
 wary, as thou art wily; for, believe me, if thou scoffest or utterest reproach 
 against my holy religion, what I am unable to answer in language, I will 
 reply to, without hesitation, with the point of my dagger." 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 197 
 
 “ To that argument,” said Agelastes, drawing back from the neighbour¬ 
 hood of Brenhilda, “ believe me, fair lady, I am very willing to urge your 
 gentleness. But although I shall not venture to say any thing of those 
 superior and benevolent powers to whom you ascribe the management of 
 the world, you will surely not take ofience at my noticing those base super¬ 
 stitions which have been adopted in explanation of what is called by the 
 Magi, the Evil Principle. Was there ever received into a human creed, a 
 being so mean — almost so ridiculous—as the Christian Satan? A goatish 
 figure and limbs, with grotesque features, formed to express the most exe¬ 
 crable passions ; a degree of power scarce inferior to that of the Deity ; and 
 a talent at the same time scarce equal to that of the stupidest of the lowest 
 order! What is he, this being, who is at least the second arbiter of the 
 human race, save an immortal spirit, with the petty spleen and spite of a 
 vindictive old man or old woman ?” 
 
 Agelastes made a singular pause in this part of his discourse. A mirror 
 of considerable size hung in the apartment, so that the philosopher could 
 see in its reflection the figure of Brenhilda, and remark the change of her 
 countenance, though she had averted her face from him in hatred of the 
 doctrines which he promulgated. On this glass the philosopher had his 
 eyes naturally fixed, and he was confounded at perceiving a figure glide 
 from behind the shadow of a curtain, and glare at him with the supposed 
 mien and expression of the Satan of monkish mythology, or a satyr of the 
 heathen age. 
 
 “ Man!” said Brenhilda, whose attention was attracted by this extraor¬ 
 dinary apparition, as it seemed, of the fiend, “ have thy wicked words, and 
 still more wicked thoughts, brought the devil amongst us ? If so, dismiss 
 him instantly, else, by Our Lady of the Broken Lances! thou shalt know 
 better than at present, what is the temper of a Frankish maiden, when in 
 presence of the fiend himself, and those who pretend skill to raise him! I 
 wish not to enter into a contest unless compelled; but if I am obliged to 
 join battle with an enemy so horrible, believe me, no one shall say that 
 Brenildha feared him.” 
 
 Agelastes, after looking with surprise and horror at the figure as reflected 
 in the glass, turned back his head to examine the substance, of which the 
 reflection was so strange. The object, however, had disappeared behind 
 the curtain, under which it probably lay hid, and it was after a minute or 
 two that the half-gibing, half-scowling countenance showed itself again in 
 the same position in the mirror. 
 
 “ By the gods !” said Agelastes- 
 
 “In whom but now,” said the Countess, “you professed unbelief.” 
 
 “ By the gods !” repeated Agelastes, in part recovering himself, “ it is 
 Sylvan ! that singular mockery of humanity, who was said to have been 
 brought from Taprobana. I warrant he also believes in his jolly god Pan, 
 or the veteran Sylvan us. He is to the uninitiated a creature whose appear¬ 
 ance is full of terrors, but he shrinks before the philosopher like ignorance 
 before knowledge.” So saying, he with one hand pulled down the curtain, 
 under which the animal had nestled itself when it entered from the garden- 
 window of the pavilion, and with the other, in which he had a staff up¬ 
 lifted, threatened to chastise the creature, with the words, — “ How now, 
 Sylvanus ! what insolence is this ? — To your place !” 
 
 As, in uttering these words, he struck the animal, the blow unluckily 
 lighted upon his wounded hand, and recalled its bitter smart. The wild 
 temper of the creature returned, unsubdued for the moment by any awe of 
 man ; uttering a fierce, and, at the same time, stifled cry, it flew on the • 
 philosopher, and clasped its strong and sinewy arms about his throat with 
 the utmost fury. The old man twisted and struggled to deliver himself from 
 the creature’s grasp, but in vain. Sylvan kept hold of his prize, compressed 
 his sinewy arms, and abode by his purpose of not quitting his hold of tho 
 
 R 2 
 
198 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 philosopher’s throat till he had breathed his last. Two more bitter yells, 
 accompanied each with a desperate contortion of the countenance, and 
 squeeze of the hands, concluded, in less than five minutes, the dreadful strife. 
 
 Agelastes lay dead upon the ground, and his assassin Sylvan, springing 
 from the body as if terrified and alarmed at what he had done, made his 
 escape by the window. The Countess stood in astonishment, not knowing 
 exactly whether she had witnessed a supernatural display of the judgment 
 of Heaven, or an instance of its vengeance by mere mortal means. Her 
 new attendant Vexhelia was no less astonished, though her acquaintance 
 with the animal was considerably more intimate. 
 
 “ Lady,^^ she said, “ that gigantic creature is an animal of great strength, 
 resembling mankind in form, but huge in its size, and, encouraged by its 
 immense power, sometimes malevolent in its intercourse with mortals. I 
 have heard the Varangians often talk of it as belonging to the Imperial 
 museum. It is fitting we remove the body of this unhappy man, and hide 
 it in a plot of shrubbery in the garden. It is not likely that he will be 
 missed to-night, and to-morrow there will be other matter astir, which will 
 probably prevent much enquiry about him.^’ The Countess Brenhilda as¬ 
 sented, for she was not one of those timorous females to whom the counte¬ 
 nances of the dead are objects of terror. 
 
 Trusting to the parole which she had given, Agelastes had permitted the 
 Countess and her attendant the freedom of his gardens, of that part at least 
 adjacent to the pavilion. They therefore were in little risk of interruption 
 as they bore forth the dead body between them, and without much trouble 
 disposed of it in the thickest part of one of the bosquets with which the 
 garden was studded. 
 
 As they returned to their place of abode or confinement, the Countess, 
 half speaking to herself, half addressing Vexhelia, said, “I am sorry for 
 this; not that the infamous wretch did not deserve the full punishment of 
 Heaven coming upon him in the very moment of blasphemy and infidelity, 
 but because the courage and truth of the unfortunate Brenhilda may be 
 brought into suspicion, as his slaughter took place when he was alone with 
 her and her attendant, and as no one was witness of the singular manner 
 in which the old blasphemer met his end.—Thou knowest,” she added, ad¬ 
 dressing herself to Heaven — “ thou! blessed Lady of the Broken Lances, 
 the protectress both of Brenhilda and her husband, well knowest, that 
 whatever faults may be mine, I am free from the slightest suspicion of 
 treachery; and into thy hands I put my cause, with a perfect reliance upon 
 thy wisdom and bounty to bear evidence in my favour.^^ So saying, they 
 returned to the lodge unseen, and with pious and submissive prayers, the 
 Countess closed that eventful evening. 
 
 (Clia|itEr tin €inintii-liitlr. 
 
 Will you hear of a Spanisti lady, 
 
 How she wooed an Englishman? 
 
 Garments gay, as rich as may be, 
 
 Deck’d with jewels she had on. 
 
 Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 
 
 And by birth and parentage of high degree. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 "VVe left Alexius Comnenus after he had unloaded his conscience in the 
 ears of the Patriarch, and received from him a faithful assurance of the 
 pardon and patronage of the national Church. He took leave of the digni- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 199 
 
 tary with pojno exulting exclamations, so uncxplicitly expressed, however, 
 that it was hy no moans easy to conceive the meaning of "what he said. His 
 first enquiry, when he reached the Blacquernal, being for his daughter, he 
 was directed to the room encrusted with beautifully carved marble, from 
 which she herself, and many of her race, derived the proud appellation of 
 rorphijrogenita, or born in the purple. Her countenance was clouded with 
 anxiety, which, at the sight of her father, broke out into open and uncon¬ 
 trollable grief. 
 
 “ Daughter,'^ said the Emperor, with a harshness little common to his 
 manner, and a seriousness wnich he sternly mairitained, instead of sympa¬ 
 thizing with his daughter’s affliction, “ as you would prevent the silly fool 
 with whom you are connected, from displaying himself to the public both 
 as an ungrateful monster and a traitor, you will not fail to exhort him, by 
 due submission, to make his petition for pardon, accompanied with a full 
 confession of his crimes, or, by my sceptre and my crown, he shall die the 
 death ! Nor will I pardon any who rushes upon his doom in an open tone 
 of defiance, under such a standard of rebellion as my ungrateful son-in-law 
 has hoisted.’^ 
 
 “What can you require of me, father?” said the Princess. “Can you 
 expect that I am to dip my own hands in the blood of this unfortunate 
 man; or wilt thou seek a revenge yet more bloody than that which was 
 exacted by the deities of antiquity, upon those criminals who offended 
 against their divine power ?” 
 
 “Think not so, my daughter!” said the Emperor; “but rather believe 
 that thou hast the last opportunity afforded by my filial affection, of rescu¬ 
 ing, perhaps from death, that silly fool thy husband, who has so richly de¬ 
 served it.” 
 
 “ My father,” said the Princess, “ God knows it is not at your risk that I 
 would wish to purchase the life of Nicephorus; but he has been the father 
 of my children, though they are now no more, and women cannot forget 
 that such a tie has existed, even though it has been broken by fate. Per¬ 
 mit me only to hope that the unfortunate culprit shall have an opportunity 
 of retrieving his errors; nor shall it, believe me, be my fault, if he resumes 
 those practices, treasonable at once, and unnatural, by which his life is at 
 present endangered.” 
 
 “ Follow me, then, daughter,” said the Emperor, “ and know, that to thee 
 alone I am about to intrust a secret, upon which the safety of my life and 
 crown, as well as the pardon of my son-in-law’s life, will be found eventually 
 to depend.” 
 
 He then assumed in haste the garment of a slave of the Seraglio, and 
 commanded his daughter to arrange her dress in a more succinct form, and 
 to take in her hand a lighted lamp. 
 
 “Whither are we going, my fiither?” said Anna Comnena. 
 
 “ It matters not,” replied her father, “ since my destiny calls me, and 
 since thine ordains thee to be my torch-bearer. Believe it, and record it, 
 if thou darest, in thy book, that Alexius Comnenus does not, without alarm, 
 descend into those awful dungeons which his predecessors built for men, 
 even when his intentions are innocent, and free from harm. Be silent, and 
 should we meet any inhabitant of those inferior regions, speak not a word 
 nor make any observation upon his appearance.” 
 
 Passing through the intricate apartments of the palace, they now came 
 to that large hall through which Hereward had passed on the first night of 
 his introduction to the place of Anna’s recitation called the Temple of the 
 Muses. It was constructed, as we have said, of black marble, dimly illu¬ 
 minated. At the upper end of the apartment was a small altar, on which 
 was laid some incense, while over the smoke was suspended, as if project¬ 
 ing from the wall, two imitations of human hands and arms, which were 
 but imperfectly seen. 
 
200 
 
 WAVERLBY NOVELS. 
 
 At the bottom of this hall, a small iron door led to a narrow and winding 
 staircase, resembling a draw-well in shape and size, the steps of which were 
 excessively steep, and which the Emperor, after a solemn gesture to his 
 daughter commanding her attendance, began to descend with the imperfect 
 light, and by the narrow and difficult steps by which those who visited the 
 under regions of the Blacquernal seemed to bid adieu to the light of day. 
 Door after door they passed in their descent, leading, it waa probable, to 
 different ranges of dungeons, from which was obscurely heard the stifled 
 voice of groans and sighs, such as attracted Hereward^s attention on a 
 former occasion. The Emperor took no notice of these signs of human 
 misery, and three stories or ranges of dungeons had been already passed, 
 ere the father and daughter arrived at the lowest story of the building, the 
 base of which was the solid rock, roughly carved, upon which were erected 
 the side-walls and arches of solid but unpolished marble. 
 
 “ Here,^' said Alexius Comnenus, “ all hope, all expectation takes fare¬ 
 well, at the turn of a hinge or the grating of a lock. Yet shall not this be 
 always the case—the dead shall revive and resume their right, and the dis¬ 
 inherited of these regions shall again prefer their claim to inhabit the upper 
 world. If I cannot entreat Heaven to my assistance, be assured, my daugh¬ 
 ter, that rather than be the poor animal which I have stooped to be thought, 
 and even to be painted in thy history, I would sooner brave every danger 
 of the multitude which now erect themselves betwixt me and safety. No¬ 
 thing is resolved save that I will live and die an Emperor: and thou, Anna, 
 be assured, that if there is power in the beauty or in the talents, of which 
 so much has been boasted, that power shall be this evening exercised to the 
 advantage of thy parent, from whom it is derived.'^ 
 
 “ What is it that you mean. Imperial father ? — Holy Virgin ! is this the 
 promise you made me to save the life of the unfortunate Nicephorus 
 
 “ And so I will,^^ said the Emperor; “ and I am now about that action of 
 benevolence. But think not I will once more warm in my bosom the house¬ 
 hold snake which had so nearly stung me to death. No, daughter, I have 
 provided for thee a fitting husband, in one who is able to maintain and de¬ 
 fend the rights of the Emperor thy father;—and beware how thou opposes! 
 an obstacle to what is my pleasure ! for behold these walls of marble, though 
 unpolished, and recollect it is as possible to die within the marble as to be 
 born there.^^ 
 
 The Princess Anna Comnena was frightened at seeing her father in a 
 state of mind entirely different from any which she had before witnessed. 
 “ 0, heaven ! that my mother were here I” she ejaculated, in the terror of 
 something she hardly knew what. 
 
 “ Anna,'^ said the Emperor, “your fears and your screams are alike in 
 vain. I am one of those, who, on ordinary occasions, hardly nourish a wish 
 of my own, and account myself obliged to those who, like my wife and 
 daughter, take care to save me all the trouble of free judgment. But when 
 the vessel is among the breakers, and the master is called to the helm, be¬ 
 lieve that no meaner hand shall be permitted to interfere with him, nor will 
 the wife and daughter, whom he indulged in prosperity, be allowed to thwart 
 his will while he can yet call it his own. Thou couldst scarcely fail to under¬ 
 stand that I was almost prepared to have given thee, as a mark of my sin¬ 
 cerity, to yonder obscure Varangian, without asking question of either birth 
 or blood. Thou mayst hear when I next promise thee to a three years' in¬ 
 habitant of these vaults, who shall be Caesar in Briennius’s stead, if I can 
 move him to accept a princess for his bride, and an imperial crown for his 
 inheritance, in place of a starving dungeon." 
 
 “I tremble at your words, father," said Anna Comnena; “ how canst 
 thou trust a man who has felt thy cruelty? — How canst thou dream that 
 aught can ever in sincerity reconcile thee to one whom thou hast deprived 
 of his eyesight?" 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 201 
 
 “ Care not for that/’ said Alexius; “ ho becomes mine, or he shall never 
 know what it is to be a^ain his own. — And thou, girl, mayst rest assured 
 that, if I will it, thou art next day the bride of rny present captive, or thou 
 retirest to the most severe nunnery, never again to mix with society. Be 
 silent, therefore, and await thy doom, as it shall come, and hope not that 
 thy utmost endeavours can avert the current of thy destiny.” 
 
 As he concluded this singular dialogue, in which he had assumed a tone 
 to which his daughter was a stranger, and before which she trembled, ho 
 passed on through more than one strictly fastened door, while his daughter, 
 with a faltering step, illuminated him on the obscure road. At length he 
 found admittance by another passage into the cell in which Ursel was con¬ 
 fined, and found him reclining in hopeless misery, — all those expectations 
 having faded from his heart which the Count of Paris had by his indomita¬ 
 ble gallantry for a time excited. He turned his sightless eyes towards the 
 place where he heard the moving of bolts and the approach of steps. 
 
 “ A new feature,” he said, “ in my imprisonment — a man comes with a 
 heavy and determined step, and a woman or a child with one that scarcely 
 presses the floor !—is it my death that you bring?—Believe me, that I have 
 lived long enough in these dungeons to bid my doom welcome.” 
 
 ” It is not thy death, noble Ursel,” said the Emperor, in a voice some¬ 
 what disguised. “ Life, liberty, whatever the world has to give, is placed 
 by the Emperor Alexius at the feet of his noble enemy, and he trusts that 
 many years of happiness and power, together with the command of a large 
 share of the empire, will soon obliterate the recollection of the dungeons of 
 the Blacquernal.” 
 
 “ It cannot be,” said Ursel, with a sigh. “ He upon whose eyes the sun 
 has set even at middle day, can have nothing left to hope from the most 
 advantageous change of circumstances.” 
 
 “ You are not entirely assured of that,” said the Emperor; “ allow us to 
 convince you that what is intended towards you is truly favourable and 
 liberal, and I hope you will be rewarded by finding that there is more pos¬ 
 sibility of amendment in your case, than your first apprehensions are will¬ 
 ing to receive. Make an efibrt, and try whether your eyes are not sensible 
 of the light of the lamp.” 
 
 ” Do wdth me,” said Ursel, “ according to your pleasure; I have neither 
 strength to remonstrate, nor the force of mind equal to make me set your 
 cruelty at defiance. Of something like light I am sensible ; but whether it 
 is reality or illusion, I cannot determine. If you are come to deliver mo 
 from this living sepulchre, I pray God to requite you; and if, under such 
 deceitful pretence, you mean to take my life, I can only commend my soul 
 to Heaven, and the vengeance due to my death to Him who can behold the 
 darkest places in which injustice can shroud itself.” 
 
 So saying, and the revulsion of his spirits rendering him unable to give 
 almost any other signs of existence, Ursel sunk back upon his seat of cap¬ 
 tivity, and spoke not another word during the time that Alexius disembar¬ 
 rassed him of those chains which had so long hung about him, that they 
 almost seemed to make a part of his person. 
 
 “ This is an affair in which thy aid can scarce be sufficient, Anna,” said 
 the Emperor; “it would have been well if you and I could have borne him 
 into the open air by our joint strength, for there is little wisdom in showing 
 the secrets of this prison-house to those to whom they are not yet known ; 
 nevertheless, go, my child, and at a short distance from the head of the 
 staircase which we descended, thou wilt find Edward, the bold and trusty 
 Varangian, who on your communicating to him my orders, will come hither 
 and render his assistance ; and see that you send also the experienced leech, 
 Douban.” 
 
 Terrified, half-stifled, and half struck with horror, the lady yet felt a 
 degree of relief from the somewhat milder tone in which her father ad- 
 
202 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 dressed her. With tottering steps, yet in some measure encouraged by the 
 tenor of her instructions, she ascended the staircase which yawned upon 
 these infernal dungeons. As she approached the top, a large and strong 
 figure threw its broad shadow between the lamp and the opening of the hall. 
 Frightened nearly to death at the thoughts of becoming the wife of a squalid 
 wretch like Ursel, a moment of weakness seized upon the Princess's mind, 
 and, when she considered the melancholy option which her father had 
 placed before her, she could not but think that the handsome and gallant 
 Varangian, who had already rescued the royal family from such imminent 
 danger, was a fitter person with whom to unite herself, if she must needs 
 make a second choice, than the singular and disgusting being whom her 
 father's policy had raked from the bottom of the Blacquernal dungeons. 
 
 I will not say of poor Anna Comnena, who was a timid but not an un¬ 
 feeling woman, that she would have embraced such a proposal, had not the 
 life of her present husband Nicephorus Briennius been in extreme danger; 
 and it was obviously the determination of the Emperor, that if he spared 
 him, it should be on the sole condition of unloosing his daughter's hand, 
 and binding her to some one of better faith, and possessed of a greater 
 desire to prove an affectionate son-in-law. Neither did the plan of adopting 
 the Varangian as a second husband, enter decidedly into the mind of the 
 Princess. The present was a moment of danger, in which her rescue to be 
 successful must be sudden, and perhaps, if once achieved, the lady might 
 have had an opportunity of freeing herself both from Ursel and the Varan¬ 
 gian, without disjoining either of them from her father's assistance, or of 
 herself losing it. At any rate, the surest means of safety were to secure, 
 if possible, the young soldier, whose features and appearance were of a 
 kind which rendered the task no way disagreeable to a beautiful woman. 
 The schemes of conquest are so natural to the fair sex, and the whole idea 
 passed so quickly through Anna Comnena's mind, that having first entered 
 while the soldier's shadow was interposed between her and the lamp, it had 
 fully occupied her quick imagination, when, with deep reverence and great 
 surprise at her sudden appearance on the ladder of Acheron, the Varangian 
 advancing, knelt down, and lent his arm to the assistance of the fair lady, 
 in order to help her out of the dreary staircase. 
 
 “ Dearest Hereward," said the lady, with a degree of intimacy which 
 seemed unusual, “ how much do I rejoice, in this dreadful night, to have 
 fallen under your protection! I have been in places which the spirit of 
 hell appears to have contrived for the human race." The alarm of the 
 Princess, the familiarity of a beautiful woman, who, while in mortal fear, 
 seeks refuge, like a frightened dove, in the bosom of the strong and the 
 brave, must be the excuse of Anna Comnena for the tender epithet with 
 which she greeted Hereward; nor, if he had chosen to answer in the same 
 tone, which, faithful as he was, might have proved the case if the meeting 
 had chanced before he saw Bertha, would the daughter of Alexius have 
 been, to say the truth, irreconcilably offended. Exhausted as she was, she 
 suffered herself to repose upon the broad breast and shoulder of the Anglo- 
 Saxon ; nor did she make an attempt to recover herself, although the deco¬ 
 rum of her sex and station seemed to recommend such an exertion. Ilere- 
 ward was obliged himself to ask her, with the unimpassioned and reverential 
 demeanour of a private soldier to a princess, whether he ought to summon 
 her female attendants ? to which she faintly uttered a negative. “ No, no," 
 said she, “ I have a duty to execute for my father, and I must not summon 
 eye-witnesses ;—he knows me to be in safety, Hereward, since he knows I 
 am with thee; and if I am a burden to you in my present state of weak¬ 
 ness, I shall soon recover, if you will set me down upon the marble steps." 
 
 “ Heaven forbid, lady," said Hereward, “ that I were thus neglectful of 
 your Highness's gracious health! I see your two young ladies, Astarto 
 and Violante, are in quest of you—Permit me to summon them hither, and 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 203 
 
 I will keep watch upon you, if you are unable to retire to your chamber, 
 where, rnethinks, the present disorder of your nerves will be most properly 
 treated/^ 
 
 “ Do as thou wilt, barbarian,said the Princess, rallying herself, with a 
 certain degree of pique, arising perhaps from her not thinking more dra¬ 
 matis personce were appropriate to the scene, than the two who were already 
 upon the stage. Then, as if for the first time, appearing to recollect the 
 message with which she had been commissioned, she exhorted the Yarau- 
 gian to repair instantly to her father. 
 
 On such occasions, the slightest circumstances have their effect on the 
 actors. The Anglo-Saxon was sensible that the Princess was somewhat 
 offended, though whether she was so, on account of her being actually in 
 llereward’s arms, or whether the cause of her anger w\as the being nearly 
 discovered there by the two young maidens, the sentinel did not presume 
 to guess, but departed for the gloomy vaults to join Alexius, with the never- 
 failing double-edged axe, the bane of many a Turk, glittering upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Astarte and her companion had been despatched by the Empress Irene 
 in search of Anna Comnena, through those apartments of the ])alace which 
 she was wont to inhabit. The daughter of Alexius could nowhere be found, 
 although the business on which they were seeking her was described by the 
 Empress as of the most pressing nature. Nothing, however, in a palace, 
 passes altogether unespied, so that the Empress’s messengers at length 
 received information that their mistress and the Emperor had been seen to 
 descend that gloomy access to the dungeons, which, by allusion to the clas¬ 
 sical infernal regions, was termed the Pit of Acheron. They came thither, 
 accordingly, and we have related the consequences. Ilereward thought it 
 necessary to say that her Imperial Highness had swooned upon being sud¬ 
 denly brought into the upper air. The Princess, on the other part, briskly 
 shook off her juvenile attendants, and declared herself ready to proceed to 
 the chamber of her mother. The obeisance which she made Ilereward at 
 parting, had something in it of haughtiness, yet evidently qualified by a 
 look of friendship and regard. As she passed an apartment in which some 
 of the royal slaves were in waiting, she addressed to one-of them, an old 
 respectable man, of medical skill, a private and hurried order, desiring him 
 to go to the assistance of her father, whom he would find at the bottom of 
 the staircase called the Pit of Acheron, and to take his scimitar along with 
 him. To hear, as usual, was to obey, and Douban, for that was his name, 
 only replied by that significant sign which indicates immediate acqui¬ 
 escence. In the meantime, Anna Comnena herself hastened onward to her 
 mother’s apartments, in which she found the Empress alone. 
 
 “ Go hence, maidens,” said Irene, “ and do not let any one have access 
 to these apartments, even if the Emperor himself should command it. 
 Shut the door,” she said, “Anna Comnena; and if the jealousy of the 
 stronger sex do not allow us the masculine privileges of bolts and bars, to 
 secure the insides of our apartments, let us avail ourselves, as quickly as 
 may be, of such opportunities as are permitted us ; and remember. Princess, 
 that however implicit your duty to your father, it is yet more so to me, who 
 am of the same sex with thyself, and may truly call thee, even according 
 to the letter, blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. Be assured thy 
 fiither knows not, at this moment, the feelings of a woman. Neither he 
 nor any man alive can justly conceive the pangs of the heart which beats 
 under a woman’s robe. These men, Anna, would tear asunder without 
 scruple the tenderest ties of affection, the whole structure of domestic 
 felicity, in which lie a woman’s cares, her joy, her pain, her love, and her 
 despair. Trust, therefore, to me, my daughter ! and believe me, I wdll at 
 once save thy father’s crown and thy happiness. The conduct of thy hus¬ 
 band has been wrong, most cruelly wrong; but, Anna, he is a man — and 
 
204 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 in calling him such, I lay to his charge, as natural frailties, thoughtless 
 treachery, wanton infidelity, every species of folly and inconsistency, to 
 which his race is subject. You ought not, therefore, to think of his faults, 
 unless it be to forgive them.” 
 
 “ Madam,” said Anna Comnena, “ forgive me if I remind you that you 
 recommend to a princess, born in the purple itself, a line of conduct which 
 would hardly become the female who carries the pitcher for the needful 
 supply of water to the village well. All who are around me have been 
 taught to pay me the obeisance due to my birth, and while this Nicephorus 
 Briennius crept on his knees to your daughter’s hand, which you extended 
 towards him, he was rather receiving the yoke of a mistress than accepting 
 a household alliance with a wife. lie has incurred his doom, without a 
 touch even of that temptation which may be pled by lesser culprits in his 
 condition ; and if it is the will of my father that he should die, or suffer 
 banishment, or imprisonment, for the crime he has committed, it is not the 
 business of Anna Comnena to interfere, she being the most injured among 
 the imperial family, who have in so many, and such gross respects, the right 
 to complain of his falsehood.” 
 
 “Daughter,” replied the Empress, “so far I agree with you, that the 
 treason of Nicephorus towards your father and myself has been in a great 
 degree unpardonable ; nor do I easily see on what footing, save that of 
 generosity, his life could be saved. But still you are yourself in different 
 circumstances from me, and may, as an affectionate and fond wife, compare 
 the intimacies of your former habits with the bloody change which is so 
 soon to be the consequence and the conclusion of his crimes. He is pos¬ 
 sessed of that person and of those features which women most readily recall 
 to their memory, whether alive or dead. Think what it will cost you to 
 recollect that the rugged executioner received his last salute, — that the 
 shapely neck had no better repose than the rough block — that the tongue, 
 the sound of which you used to prefer to the choicest instruments of music, 
 is silent in the dust!” 
 
 Anna, who was not insensible to the personal graces of her husband, 
 was much affected by this forcible appeal. “Why distress me thus, 
 mother?” she replied in a weeping accent. “Did I not feel as acutely 
 as you would have me to do, this moment, however awful, would be easily 
 borne. I had but to think of him as he is, to contrast his personal quali¬ 
 ties with those of the mind, by which they are more than overbalanced, 
 and resign myself to his deserved fate with unresisting submission to my 
 father’s will.” 
 
 “ And that,” said the Empress, “ would be to bind thee, by his sole fiat, 
 to some obscure wretch, whose habits of plotting and intriguing had, by 
 some miserable chance, given him the opportunity of becoming of impor¬ 
 tance to the Emperor, and who is, therefore, to be rewarded by the hand 
 of Anna Comnena.’^ 
 
 “Do not think so meanly of me, madam,” said the Princess — “I know, 
 as well as ever Grecian maiden did, how I should free myself from dis¬ 
 honour ; and, you may trust me, you shall never blush for your daughter.” 
 
 “ Tell me not that,” said the Empress, “ since I shall blush alike for the 
 relentless cruelty which gives up a once beloved husband to an ignominious 
 death, and for the passion, for which I want a name, which would replace 
 him by an obscure barbarian from the extremity of Thule, or some wretch 
 escaped from the Blacquernal dungeons.” 
 
 The Princess was astonished to perceive that her mother was acquainted 
 with the purposes, even the most private, which her father had formed 
 for his governance during this emergency. She was ignorant that Alexius 
 and his royal consort, in other respects living together with a decency 
 ever exemplary in people of their rank, had, sometimes, on interesting 
 occasions, family debates, in which the husband, provoked by the seem- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 205 
 
 ing unbelief of hie partner, was tempted to let her guess more of his real 
 purposes than he would have coolly imparted of his own calm choice. 
 
 The Princess was affected at the anticipation of the death of her husband, 
 nor could this have been reasonably supposed to be otherwise ; but she was 
 still more hurt and affronted by her mother taking it for granted that she 
 designed upon the instant to replace the Caesar by an uncertain, and at all 
 events an unworthy successor. Whatever considerations had operated to 
 make llereward her choice, their effect was lost when the match was 
 placed in this odious and degrading point of view; besides which is to bo 
 remembered, that women almost instinctively deny their first thoughts in 
 favour of a suitor, and seldom willingly reveal them, unless time and cir¬ 
 cumstance concur to favour them. She called Heaven therefore passionately 
 to witness, while she repelled the charge. 
 
 “ Bear witness,’^ she said, “ Our Lady, Queen of Heaven ! Bear witness, 
 saints and martyrs all, ye blessed ones, who are, more than ourselves, the 
 guardians of our mental purity ! that I know no passion which I dare not 
 avow, and that if Nicephoros’s life depended on my entreaty to God and 
 men, all his injurious acts towards me disregarded and despised, it should 
 be as long as Heaven gave to those servants whom it snatched from the 
 earth without suft’ering the pangs of mortality!” 
 
 “ You have sworn boldly,” said the Empress. “ See, Anna Comnena, that 
 you keep your word, for believe me it will be tried.” 
 
 “ What will be tried, mother?” said the Princess ; “ or what have I to do 
 to pronounce the doom of the Caesar, who is not subject to my power?” 
 
 “I will show you,” said the Empress, gravely; and, leading her towards 
 a sort of wardrobe, which formed a closet in the wall, she withdrew a cur¬ 
 tain which hung before it, and placed before her her unfortunate husband, 
 Nicephorus Briennius, half-attired, with his sword drawn in his hand. 
 Looking upon him as an enemy, and conscious of some schemes with respect 
 to him which had passed through her mind in the course of these troubles, 
 the Princess screamed faintly, upon perceiving him so near her with a 
 weapon in his hand. 
 
 “ Be more composed,” said the Empress, “ or this wretched man, if 
 discovered, falls no less a victim to thy idle fears than to thy baneful 
 revenge.” 
 
 Nicephorus at this speech seemed to have adopted his cue, for, dropping 
 the point of his sword, and falling on his knees before the Princess, he 
 clasped his hands to entreat for mercy. 
 
 “ What hast thou to ask from me?” said his wife, naturally assured, by 
 her husband’s prostration, that the stronger force was upon her own side— 
 “ what hast thou to ask from me, that outraged gratitude, betrayed affection, 
 the most solemn vows violated, and the fondest ties of nature torn asunder 
 like the spider’s broken web, will permit thee to put in words for very 
 shame ?” 
 
 “ Do not suppose, Anna,” replied the suppliant, “ that I am at this event¬ 
 ful period of my life to play the hypocrite, for the purpose of saving the 
 wretched remnant of a dishonoured existence. I am but desirous to part 
 in charity with thee, to make my peace with Heaven, and to nourish the 
 last hope of making my way, though burdened with many crimes, to those 
 regions in which alone I can find thy beauty, thy talents, equalled at least, 
 if not excelled.” 
 
 “You hear him, daughter?” said Irene; “his boon is for forgiveness 
 alone; thy condition is the more godlike, since thou mayst unite the safety 
 of his life with the pardon of his offences.” 
 
 “ Thou art deceived, mother,” answered Anna. “ It is not mine to pardon 
 his guilt, far less to remit his punishment. You have taught me to think 
 of myself as future ages shall know me; what will they say of me, those 
 future ages, when I am described as the unfeeling daughter, who pardoned 
 
 s 
 
206 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the intended assassin of her father, because she saw in him her own un¬ 
 faithful husband?^’ 
 
 “ See there,’' said the Caesar, “ is not that, most serene Empress, the very 
 point of despair? and have I not in vain oflered my life-blood to wipe out 
 the stain of parricide and ingratitude? Have I not also vindicated myself 
 from the most unpardonable part of the accusation, which charged me with 
 attempting the murder of the godlike Emperor? Have I not sworn by all 
 that is sacred to man, that my purpose went no farther than to sequestrate 
 Alexius for a little time from the fatigues of empire, and place him where 
 he should quietly enjoy ease and tranquillity? while, at the same time, his 
 empire should be as implicitly regulated by himself, his sacred pleasure 
 being transmitted through me, as in any respect, or at any period, it had 
 ever been ?” 
 
 “ Erring man !” said the Princess, “ hast thou approached so near to the 
 footstool of Alexius Comnenus, and durst thou form so false an estimate of 
 him, as to conceive it possible that he would consent to be a mere puppet 
 by whose intervention you might have brought his empire into submission ? 
 Know that the blood of Comnenus is not so poor; my father would have 
 resisted the treason in arms ; and by the death of thy benefactor only couldst 
 thou have gratified the suggestions of thy criminal ambition.” 
 
 “Be such your belief,” said the Caesar; “I have said enough for a life 
 which is not and ought not to be dear to me. Call your guards, and let 
 them take the life of the unfortunate Briennius, since it has become hateful 
 to his once beloved Anna Comnena. Be* not afraid that any resistance of 
 mine shall render the scene of my apprehension dubious or fatal. Nice¬ 
 phoros Briennius is Caesar no longer, and he thus throws at the feet of his 
 Princess and spouse, the only poor means which he has of resisting the just 
 doom which is therefore at her pleasure to pass.” 
 
 He cast his sword before the feet of the Princess, while Irene exclaimed, 
 weeping, or seeming to weep bitterly, “ I have indeed read of such scenes! 
 but could I ever have thought that my own daughter would have been the 
 principal actress in one of them—could I ever have thought that her mind, 
 admired by every one as a palace for the occupation of Apollo and the 
 Muses, should not have had room enough for the humbler, but more amiable 
 virtue of feminine charity and compassion, which builds itself a nest in the 
 bosom of the lowest village girl? Do thy gifts, accomplishments, and 
 talents, spread hardness as well as polish over thy heart? If so, a hundred 
 times better renounce them all, and retain in their stead those gentle and 
 domestic virtues which are the first honours of the female heart. A woman 
 who is pitiless, is a worse monster than one who is unsexed by any other 
 passion.” 
 
 “What would you have me do?” said Anna. “You, mother, ought to 
 know better than I, that the life of my father is hardly consistent with the 
 existence of this bold and cruel man. 0,'I am sure he still meditates his 
 purpose of conspiracy ! He that could deceive a woman in the manner he 
 has done me, will not relinquish a plan which is founded upon the death of 
 his benefactor.” 
 
 “ You do me injustice, Anna,” said Briennius, starting up, and imprinting 
 a kiss upon her lips ere she was aware. “By this caress, the last that will 
 pass between us, I swear, that if in my life I have yielded to folly, I have, 
 notwithstanding, never been guilty of a treason of the heart towards a 
 woman as superior to the rest of the female world in talents and accomplish¬ 
 ments, as in personal beauty.” 
 
 The Princess, much softened, shook her head, as she replied — “Ah, 
 Nicephorus ! — such were once your words! such, perhaps, were then your 
 thoughts! But who, or what, shall now warrant to me the veracity of 
 either ?” 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 207 
 
 “ Those very accomplishments, and that very beauty itself,’^ replied Xice- 
 phorus. 
 
 “ And if more is wanting,'^ said Irene, “ thy mother will enter her secu¬ 
 rity for him. Deem her not an insufficient pledge in this affair ; she is thy 
 mother, and the wife of Alexius Comnenus, interested beyond all liuman 
 beings in the growth and increase of the power and dignity of her husband 
 and her child; and one who sees on this occasion an opportunity for exer- 
 cisiiig generosity, for soldering up the breaches of the Imperial house, and 
 reconstructing the frame of government upon a basis, which, if there be 
 faith and gratitude in man, shall never be again exposed to hazard.'' 
 
 “ To the reality of that faith and gratitude, then," said the Princess, “we 
 must trust implicitly, as it is your will, mother; although even my own 
 knowledge of the subject, both through study and experience of the world, 
 has called me to observe the rashness of such confidence. But although we 
 two may forgive Nicephoros’s errors, the Bmperor is still the person to whom 
 the final reference must be had, both as to pardon and favour." 
 
 “Fear not Alexius," answered her mother; “he will speak determinedly 
 and decidedly; but, if he acts not in the very moment of forming the reso¬ 
 lution, it is no more to be relied on than an icicle in time of thaw. Do thou 
 apprize me, if thou canst, what the Emperor is at present doing, and take 
 my word I will find means to bring him round to our opinion." 
 
 “ ^lust I then betray secrets which my father has intrusted to me?" said 
 the Princess ; “ and to one who has so lately held the character of his avowed 
 enemy ?" 
 
 “ Call it not betray," said Irene, “ since it is written thou shalt betray no 
 one, least of all thy father, and the father of the empire. Yet again it is 
 written, by the holy Luke, that men shall be betrayed, both by parents and 
 • brethren, and kinsfolk and friends, and therefore surely also by daughters; 
 by which I only mean thou shalt discover to us thy father’s secrets, so far 
 as may enable us to save the life of thy husband. The necessity of the case 
 excuses whatever may be otherwise considered as irregular." 
 
 “ Be it so then, mother. Having yielded my consent perhaps too easily, 
 to snatch this malefactor from my father’s justice, I am sensible I must 
 secure his safety by such means as are in my power. I left my father at 
 the bottom of those stairs, called the Pit of Acheron, in the cell of a blind 
 man, to whom he gave the name of Ursel." 
 
 “Holy Mary !" exclaimed the Empress, “ thou hast named a name which 
 has been long unspoken in the open air." 
 
 “ Has the Emperor's sense of his danger from the living," said the Caesar, 
 “induced him to invoke the dead? — for Ursel has been no living man for 
 the space of three years." 
 
 “ It matters not," said Anna Comnena; “ I tell you true. My father 
 even now held conference with a miserable-looking prisoner, whom he so 
 named." 
 
 “It is a danger the more," said the Coesar; “he cannot have forgotten 
 the zeal with which I embraced the cause of the present Emperor against 
 his own; and so soon as he is at liberty, he will study to avenge it. For 
 this we must endeavour to make some provision, though it increases our 
 difficulties.—Sit down then, my gentle, my beneficent mother; and thou, my 
 wife, who hast preferred thy love for an unworthy husband to the sugges¬ 
 tions of jealous passion and of headlong revenge, sit down, and let us see in 
 what manner it may be in our power, consistently with your duty to the 
 Emperor, to bring our broken vessel securely into port." 
 
 He employed much natural grace of manner in handing the mother and 
 daughter to their seats ; and, taking his place confidentially between them, 
 all were soon engaged in concerting what measures should be taken for the 
 morrow, not forgetting such as should at once have the effect of preserving 
 the Ca3sar'8 life, and at the same time of securing the Grecian empire 
 
208 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 against the conspiracy of which he had been the chief instigator. Brien- 
 nius ventured to hint, that perhaps the best way would be to suffer the con¬ 
 spiracy to proceed as originally intended, pledging his own faith that the 
 rights of Alexius should be held inviolate during the struggle; but his 
 influence over the Empress and her daughter did not extend to obtaining so 
 great a trust. They plainly protested against permitting him to leave the 
 palace, or taking the least share in the confusion which to-morrow was cer¬ 
 tain to witness. 
 
 “ You forget, noble ladies,^^ said the Caesar, “ that my honour is concerned 
 in meeting the Count of Paris.^^ 
 
 “ Pshaw! tell me not of your honour, Briennius,^^ said Anna Comnena ; 
 “ do I not well know, that although the honour of the western knights be a 
 species of Moloch, a flesh-devouring, blood-quaffing demon, yet that which 
 is the god of idolatry to the eastern warriors, though equally loud and noisy 
 in the hall, is far less implacable in the field ? Believe not that I have for¬ 
 given great injuries and insults, in order to take such false coin as honour 
 in payment; your ingenuity is but poor, if you cannot devise some excuse 
 which will satisfy the Greeks; and in good sooth, Briennius, to this battle 
 you go not, whether for your good or for j^our ill. Believe not that I will 
 consent to your meeting either Count or Countess, whether in w^arlike 
 combat or amorous parley. So you may at a word count upon remaining 
 prisoner here until the hour appointed for such gross folly be past and 
 over.^^ 
 
 The Caesar, perhaps, was not in his heart angry that his wife’s pleasure 
 was so bluntly and resolutely expressed against the intended combat. “ If,” 
 said he, “ you are determined to take my honour into your own keeping, I 
 am here for the present your prisoner, nor have I the means of interfering 
 with your pleasure. When once at liberty, the free exercise of my valour 
 and my lance is once more my own.” 
 
 “ Be it so. Sir Paladin,” said the Princess, very composedly. “ I have 
 good hope that neither of them will involve you with any of yon dare-devils 
 of Paris, whether male or female, and that we will regulate the pitch to 
 which your courage soars, by the estimation of Greek philosophy, and the 
 judgment of our blessed Lady of Mercy, not her of the Broken Lances.” 
 
 At this moment an authoritative knock at the door alarmed the consulta¬ 
 tion of the Caesar and the ladies. 
 
 (TljtilitBt tliB ^raEnttt-lnaiitlj. 
 
 Physician. Be comforted, good madam; the great rage, 
 
 You see is cured in him: and yet it is danger 
 To make him even o’er the time he has lost. 
 
 Desire him to go in: trouble him no more. 
 
 Till further settling. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 We left the Emperor Alexius Comnenus at the bottom of a subterranean 
 vault, with a lamp expiring, and having charge of a prisoner, who seemed 
 himself nearly reduced to the same extremity. Por the first two or three 
 moments, he listened after his daughter’s retiring footsteps. He grew im¬ 
 patient, and began to long for her return before it was possible she could 
 have traversed the path betwixt him and the summit of these gloomy stairs. 
 A minute or two he endured with patience the absence of the assistance 
 which he had sent her to summon; but strange suspicions began to cross 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 209 
 
 his imagination. Could it be possible ? Had she changed her purpose on 
 account of the hard -words which he had used towards her? Had she 
 resolved to leave her father to his bite in his hour of utmost need ? and was 
 he to rely no longer upon the assistance which he had implored her to send ? 
 
 The short time which the Princess trifled away in a sort of gallantry with 
 the Varangian llereward, was magnified tenfold by the impatience of the 
 Emperor, who began to think that she was gone to fetch the accomplices of 
 the Caesar to assault their prince in his defenceless condition, and carry 
 into effect their half-disconcerted conspiracy. 
 
 After a considerable time, filled up with this feeling of agonizing uncer¬ 
 tainty, he began at length, more composedly, to recollect the little chance 
 there was that the Princess would, even for her own sake, resentful as she 
 was in the highest degree of her husband’s ill behaviour, join her resources 
 to his, to the destruction of one who had so generally showed himself an 
 indulgent and affectionate father. When he had adopted this better mood, 
 a step was heard upon the staircase, and after a long and unequal descent, 
 llereward, in his heavy armour, at length coolly arrived at the bottom of 
 the steps. Behind him, panting and trembling, partly with cold and partly 
 with terror, came Douban, the slave well skilled in medicine. 
 
 “Welcome, good Edward ! Welcome, Douban !” he said, “ whose medical 
 skill is sufficiently able to counterbalance the weight of years which hang 
 upon him.” 
 
 “Your Highness is gracious,” said Douban — but what he would have 
 farther said was cut off by a violent fit of coughing, the consequence of his 
 age, of his feeble habit, of the damps of the dungeon, and the rugged 
 exercise of descending the long and difficult staircase. 
 
 “ Thou art unaccustomed to visit thy patients in so rough an abode,” 
 said Alexius ; “ and, nevertheless, to the damps of these dreary regions 
 state necessity obliges us to confine many, who are no less our beloved 
 subjects in reality than they are in title.” 
 
 The medical man continued his cough, perhaps as an apology for not 
 giving that answer of assent, with which his conscience did not easily per¬ 
 mit him to reply to an observation, which, though stated by one who should 
 know the fact, seemed not to be in itself altogether likely. 
 
 “ Yes, my Douban,” said the Emperor, “ in this strong case of steel and 
 adamant have we found it necessary to enclose the redoubted Ursel, whose 
 fame is spread through the whole world, both for military skill, political 
 wisdom, personal bravery, and other noble gifts, which we have been 
 obliged to obscure for a time, in order that we might, at the fittest conjunc¬ 
 ture, which is now arrived, restore them to the world in their full lustre. 
 Feel his pulse, therefore, Douban—consider him as one who hath suffered 
 severe confinement, with all its privations, and is about to be suddenly 
 restored to the full enjoyment of life, and whatever renders life valuable.” 
 
 “ I will do my best,” said Douban; “but your Majesty must consider, 
 that we work upon a frail and exhausted subject, whose health seems 
 already-wellnigh gone, and may perhaps vanish in an instant — like this 
 pale and trembling light, whose precarious condition the life-breath of this 
 unfortunate patient seams closely to resemble.” 
 
 “ Desire, therefore, good Douban, one or two of the mutes who serve in 
 the interior, and who have repeatedly been thy assistants in such cases—or 
 stay—Edward, thy motions will be more speedy; do thou go for the mutes 
 — make them bring some kind of litter to transport the patient; and, 
 Douban, do thou superintend the whole. Transport him instantly to a 
 suitable apartment, only taking care that it be secret, and let him enjoy the 
 comforts of the bath, and whatever else may tend to restore his feeble 
 animation — keeping in mind, that he must, if possible, appear to-morrow 
 in the field.” 
 
 “ That will be hard,” said Douban, “ after having been, it would appear, 
 VoL. XII.—14 s2 
 
210 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 subjected to such fare and such usage as his fluctuating pulse intimates but 
 too plainly/^ 
 
 “ 'Twas a mistake of the dungeon-keeper, the inhuman villain, who should 
 not go without his reward,continued the Emperor, “ had not Heaven 
 already bestowed it by the strange means of a sylvan man, or native of the 
 woods, who yesterday put to death the jailor who meditated the death of 
 his prisoner—Yes, my dear Douban, a private sentinel of our guards called 
 the Immortal, had wellnigh annihilated this flower of our trust, whom for 
 a time we were compelled to immure in secret. Then, indeed, a rude ham¬ 
 mer had dashed to pieces an unparalleled brilliant, but the fates have 
 arrested such a misfortune.^^ 
 
 The assistance having arrived, the physician, who seemed more accus¬ 
 tomed to act than to speak, directed a bath to be prepared with medicated 
 herbs, and gave it as his opinion, that the patient should not be disturbed 
 till to-morrow’s sun was high in the heavens. Ursel accordingly was 
 assisted to the bath, which was employed according to the directions of the 
 physician ; but without affording any material symptoms of recovery. From 
 thence he was transferred to a cheerful bedchamber, opening by an ample 
 window to one of the terraces of the palace, which commanded an extensive 
 prospect. These operations were performed upon a frame so extremely 
 stupified by previous suffering, so dead to the usual sensations of existence, 
 that it was not till the sensibility should be gradually restored by friction 
 of the stiffened limbs, and other means, that the leech hoped the mists of 
 the intellect should at length begin to clear away. 
 
 Douban readily undertook to obey the commands of the Emperor, and 
 remained by the bed of the patient until the dawn of morning, ready to 
 support nature as far as the skill of leechcraft admitted. 
 
 From the mutes, much more accustomed to be the executioners of the 
 Emperor’s displeasure than of his humanity, Douban selected one man of 
 milder mood, and by Alexius’s order, made him understand, that the task 
 in which he was engaged was to be kept most strictly secret, while the 
 hardened slave was astonished to find that the attentions paid to the sick 
 were to be rendered with yet more mystery than the blood}^ offices of death 
 and torture. 
 
 The passive patient received the various acts of attention which were 
 rendered to' him in silence; and if not totally without consciousness, at 
 least without a distinct comprehension of their object. After the soothing 
 operation of the bath, and the voluptuous exchange of the rude and musty 
 pile of straw, on which he had stretched himself for years, for a couch of 
 the softest down, Ursel was presented with a sedative draught, slightly 
 tinctured with an opiate. The balmy restorer of nature came thus invoked, 
 and the captive sunk into a delicious slumber long unknown to him, and 
 which seemed to occupy equally his mental faculties and his bodily frame, 
 while the features were released from their rigid tenor, and the posture of 
 the limbs, no longer disturbed by fits of cramp, and sudden and agonizing 
 twists and throes, seemed changed for a placid state of the most perfect 
 ease and tranquillity. 
 
 The morn was already colouring the horizon, and the freshness of the 
 breeze of dawn had insinuated itself into the lofty halls of the palace of 
 the Blacquernal, when a gentle tap at the door of the chamber awakened 
 Douban, who, undisturbed from the calm state of his patient, had indulged 
 himself in a brief repose. The door opened, and a figure appeared, dis¬ 
 guised in the robes worn by an ojfificer of the palace, and concealed, beneath 
 an artificial beard of great size, and of a white colour, the features of the 
 Emperor himself. “ Douban,” said Alexius, “ how fares it with thy patient, 
 whose safety is this day of such consequence to the Grecian state ?” 
 
 “Well, my lord,” replied the physician, “excellently well; and if he is 
 not now disturbed, I will wager whatever skill I possess, that nature. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 211 
 
 assisted by the art of the physician, •will triumph over the damps and the 
 unwholesome air of the impure dunp;eon. Only be prudent, my lord, and 
 let not an untimely haste bring this Ursel forward into the contest ere ho 
 has arranged the disturbed current of his ideas, and recovered, in some 
 degree, the spring of his mind, and the powers of his body/’ 
 
 “ I will rule my impatience,” said the Emperor, “ or rather, Douban, I 
 will be ruled by thee. Thinkest thou he is awake ?” 
 
 “ I am inclined to think so,” said the leech, “ but he opens not his eyes, 
 and seems to me as if he absolutely resisted the natural impulse to rouse 
 himself and look around him.” 
 
 “ Speak to him,” said the Emperor, “and let us know what is passing 
 in his mind.” 
 
 “ It is at some risk,” replied the physician, “ but you shall be obeyed.— 
 Ursel,” he said, approaching the bed of his blind patient, and then, in a 
 louder tone, he repeated again, “ Ursel! Ursel!” 
 
 “Peace—Hush 1” muttered the patient; “ disturb not the blest in their 
 ecstacy—nor again recall the most miserable of mortals to finish the draught 
 of bitterness which his fate had compelled him to commence.” 
 
 “ Again, again,” said the Emperor, aside to Douban, “ try him yet again ; 
 it is of importance for me to know in what degree he possesses his senses, 
 or in what measure they have disappeared from him.” 
 
 “ I would not, however,” said the physician, “ be the rash and guilty 
 person, who, by an ill-timed urgency, should produce a total alienation of 
 mind and plunge him back either into absolute lunacy, or produce a stupor 
 in which he might remain for a long period.” 
 
 “Surely not,” replied the Emperor; “my commands are those of one 
 Christian to another, nor do I wish them farther obeyed than as they are 
 consistent with the laws of God and man.” 
 
 He paused for a moment after tliis declaration, and yet but few minutes 
 had elapsed ere he again urged the leech to pursue the interrogation of his 
 patient. “If you hold me not competent,” said Douban, somewhat vain 
 of the trust necessarily reposed in him, “to judge of the treatment of my 
 patient, your Imperial Highness must take the risk and the trouble upon 
 yourself.” 
 
 “Marry, I shall,” said the Emperor, “for the scruples of leeches are not 
 to be indulged, when the fate of kingdoms and the lives of monarchs are 
 placed against them in the scales.—Rouse thee, my noble Ursel! hear a 
 voice, with which thy ears were once well acquainted, welcome thee back to 
 glory and command ! Look around thee, and see how the world smiles to 
 w’elcome thee back from imprisonment to empire!” 
 
 “ Cunning fiend !” said Ursel, “ who usest the most wily baits in order to 
 augment the misery of the wretched! Know, tempter, that I am conscious 
 of the whole trick of the soothing images of last night — thy baths — thy 
 beds — and thy bowers of bliss.—But sooner shalt thou be able to bring a 
 smile upon the cheek of St. Anthony the Eremite, than induce me to curl 
 mine after the fashion of earthly voluptuaries.” 
 
 “ Try it, foolish man,” insisted the Emperor, “ and trust to the evidence 
 of thy senses for the reality of the pleasures by which thou art now sur¬ 
 rounded ; or, if thou art obstinate in thy lack of faith, tarry as thou art for 
 a single moment, and I will bring with me a being so unparalleled in her 
 loveliness, that a single glance of her were worth the restoration of thine 
 eyes, were it only to look upon her for a moment.” So saying he left the 
 apartment. 
 
 “ Traitor,” said Ursel, “ and deceiver of old, bring no one hither! and 
 strive not, by shadowy and ideal forms of beauty, to increase the delusion 
 that gilds my prison-house for a moment, in order, doubtless, to destroy 
 totally the spark of reason, and then exchange this earthly hell for a dun¬ 
 geon in the infernal regions themselves.” 
 
212 
 
 WAVEELEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ Ills mind is somewhat shattered/' mused the physician, “ which is often 
 the consequence of a long solitary confinement. I marvel much," was his 
 farther thought, “if the Emperor can shape out any rational service which 
 this man can render him, after being so long immured in so horrible a dun¬ 
 geon.— Thou thinkest, then," continued he, addressing the patient, “that 
 the seeming release of last night, with its baths and refreshments, was only 
 a delusive dream, without any reality?" 
 
 “Ay — what else?" answered Ursel. 
 
 “ And that the arousing thyself, as we desire thee to do, would be but a 
 resigning to a vain temptation, in order to wake to more unhappiness than 
 formerly ?" 
 
 “ Even so," returned the patient. 
 
 “What, then, are thy thoughts of the Emperor by whose command thou 
 sufiferest so severe a restraint?" 
 
 Perhaps Douban wished he had forborne this question, for, in the very 
 moment when he put it, the door of the chamber opened, and the Emperor 
 entered, with his daughter hanging upon his arm, dressed with simplicity, 
 yet with becoming splendour. She had found time, it seems, to change her 
 dress for a white robe, which resembled a kind of mourning, the chief 
 ornament of which was a diamond chaplet, of inestimable value, which 
 surrounded and bound the long sable tresses, that reached from her head to 
 her waist. Terrified almost to death, she had boon surprised by her father 
 in the company of her husband the Caesar, and her mother; and the same 
 thundering mandate had at once ordered Briennius, in the character of a 
 more than suspected traitor, under the custody of a strong guard of Varan¬ 
 gians, and commanded her to attend her father to the bedchamber of Ursel, 
 in which she now stood; resolved, however, that she would stick by the 
 sinking fortunes of her husband, even in the last extremity, yet no less 
 determined that she would not rely upon her own entreaties or remon¬ 
 strances, until she should see whether her father's interference was likely 
 to reassume a resolved and positive character. Hastily as the plans of 
 Alexius had been formed, and hastily as they had been disconcerted by 
 accident, there remained no slight chance that he might be forced to come 
 round to the purpose on which his wife and daughter had fixed their heart, 
 the forgiveness, namely, of the guilty Nicephorus Briennius. To his aston¬ 
 ishment, and not perhaps greatly to his satisfaction, he heard the patient 
 deeply engaged with the physician in canvassing his OAvn character. 
 
 “ Think not," said Ursel in reply to him, “that though I am immured in 
 this dungeon, and treated as something worse than an outcast of humanity 
 — and although I am, moreover, deprived of my eyesight, the dearest gift 
 of Heaven — think not, I say, though I suffer all this by the cruel will of 
 Alexius Comnenus, that therefore I hold him to be mine enemy; on the 
 contrary, it is by his means that the blinded and miserable prisoner has 
 been taught to seek a liberty far more unconstrained than this poor earth can 
 afford, and a vision far more clear than any Mount Pisgah on this wretched 
 side of the grave can give us : Shall I therefore account the Emperor among 
 mine enemies? He who has taught me the vanity of earthly things — the 
 nothingness of earthly enjoyments —and the pure hope of a better world, 
 as a certain exchange for the misery of the present? No!" 
 
 The Emperor had stood somewhat disconcerted at the beginning of this 
 speech, but hearing it so very unexpectedly terminate, as he was willing to 
 suppose, much in his own favour, he threw himself into an attitude which 
 was partly that of a modest person listening to his own praises, and partly 
 that of a man highly struck with the commendations heaped upon him by 
 a generous adversary. 
 
 “ My friend," he said aloud, “ how truly do you read my purpose, when 
 you suppose that the knowledge which men of your disposition can extract 
 from evil, was all the experience which I wished you to derive from a cap- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 213 
 
 tivity protracted by adverse circumstances, far, very far, beyond my wishes! 
 
 Let me embrace the generous man who knows so well how to construe the 
 purpose of a perplexed, but still faithful friend/^ 
 
 Tlie patient raised himself in his bed. 
 
 “Hold there P' he said, “methinks my faculties begin to collect them¬ 
 selves. Yes,'’ he muttered, “ that is the treacherous voice which first bid 
 me welcome as a friend, and then commanded fiercely that I should be 
 deprived of the sight of my eyes ! — Increase thy rigour if thou wilt, Com- 
 nenus — add, if thou canst, to the torture of my confinement — but since I 
 cannot see thy hypocritical and inhuman features, spare me, in mercy, the 
 sound of a voice, more distressing to mine ear than toads, than serpents,— 
 than whatever nature has most offensive and disgusting \” 
 
 This speech was delivered with so much energy, that it was in vain that 
 the Emperor strove to interrupt its tenor; although he himself, as well as 
 Douban and his daughter, heard a great deal more of the language of 
 unadorned and natural passion than ho had counted upon. 
 
 “ liaise thy head, rash man," he said, “ and charm thy tongue, ere it pro¬ 
 ceed in a strain which may cost thee dear. Look at me, and see if I have 
 not reserved a reward capable of atoning for all the evil which thy folly 
 may charge to my account." 
 
 Hitherto the prisoner had remained with his eyes obstinately shut, re¬ 
 garding the imperfect recollection he had of sights which had been before 
 his eyes the foregoing evening, as the mere suggestion of a deluded imagi¬ 
 nation, if not actually presented by some seducing spirit. But now w^hen 
 his eyes fairly encountered the stately figure of the Emperor, and the grace¬ 
 ful form of his lovely daughter, painted in the tender rays of the morning 
 dawn, he ejaculated faintly, “ I see ! —I see !" — And with that ejaculation 
 fell back on the pillow in a swoon, which instantly found employment for 
 Douban and his restoratives. 
 
 “ A most wonderful cure indeed I" exclaimed the physician ; “ and the 
 height of my wishes would be to possess such another miraculous resto¬ 
 rative." 
 
 “Fool!" said the Emperor; “canst thou not conceive that what has never 
 been taken away is restored with little difficulty ? He was made," he said, 
 lowering his voice, “ to undergo a painful operation, which led him to be¬ 
 lieve that the organs of sight were destroyed; and as light scarcely ever 
 visited him, and when it did, only in doubtful and invisible glimmerings, 
 the prevailing darkness, both physical and mental, that surrounded him, 
 prevented him from being sensible of the existence of that precious faculty, 
 of which he imagined himself bereft. Perhaps thou wilt ask my reason for 
 inflicting upon him so strange a deception? — Simply it was, that being by 
 it conceived incapable of reigning, his memory might pass out of the minds 
 of the public, while, at the same time, I reserved his eyesight, that in case 
 occasion should call, it might be in my power once more to liberate him 
 from his dungeon, and employ, as I now propose to do, his courage and 
 talents in the service of the empire, to counterbalance those of other con¬ 
 spirators." 
 
 “ And can your imperial Highness," said Douban, “ hope that you have 
 acquired this man’s duty and affection by the conduct you have observed 
 to him?^ 
 
 “ I cannot tell," answered the Emperor; “that must be as futurity shall 
 determine. All I know is, that it is no fault of mine, if Ursel does not 
 reckon freedom and a long course of Empire — perhaps sanctioned by an 
 alliance with our own blood — and the continued enjoyment of the precious 
 organs of eyesight, of which a less scrupulous man would have deprived 
 him, against a maimed and darkened existence." 
 
 “ Since such is your Highness’s opinion and resolution," said Douban, ' 
 “it is for me to aid, and not to counteract it. Permit me, therefore, to pray 
 
214 
 
 WAVE Pt LEY NOVELS. 
 
 your Highness and the Princess to withdraw, that I may use such remedies 
 as may confirm a mind which has been so strangely shaken, and restore to 
 him fully the use of those eyes, of which he has been so long deprived/^ 
 
 “ I am content, Douban,^' said the Emperor; “ but take notice, Ursel is 
 not totally at liberty until he has expressed the resolution to become actually 
 mine. It may behove both him and thee to know, that although there is 
 no purpose of remitting him to the dungeons of the Blacquernal palace, 
 yet if he, or any on his part, should aspire to head a party in these feverish 
 times, —by the honour of a gentleman, to swear a Frankish oath, he shall 
 find that he is not out of the reach of the battle-axes of my Varangians. I 
 trust to thee to communicate this fact, which concerns alike him and all 
 who have interest in his fortunes.—Come, daughter, we will withdraw, and 
 leave the leech with his patient—Take notice, Douban, it is of importance 
 that you acquaint me the very first moment when the patient can hold 
 rational communication with me.^^ 
 
 Alexius and his accomplished daughter departed accordingly. 
 
 (Cjinptcr tliB €I^tIIllI-(^ig|Itfr. 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 
 B(!ars yet a precious jewel in its head. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 From a terraced roof of the Blacquernal palace, accessible by a sash-door, 
 which opened from the bed-chamber of Ursel, there was commanded one of 
 the most lovely and striking views which the romantic neighbourhood of 
 Constantinople afforded. 
 
 After suffering him to repose and rest his agitated faculties, it was to this 
 place that the physician led his patient; for when somewhat composed, he 
 had of himself requested to be permitted to verify the truth of his restored 
 eyesight, by looking out once more upon the majestic face of nature. 
 
 On the one hand, the scene which he beheld was a masterpiece of human 
 art. The proud city, ornamented with stately buildings, as became the 
 capital of the world, showed a succession of glittering spires and orders of 
 architecture, some of them chaste and simple, like those the capitals of 
 which were borrowed from baskets-full of acanthus; some deriving the flut¬ 
 ing of their shafts from the props made originally to support the lances of 
 the earlier Greeks — forms simple, yet ‘more graceful in their simplicity, 
 than any which human ingenuity has been able since to invent. With the 
 most splendid specimens which ancient art could afford of those strictly 
 classical models were associated those of a later age, where more modern 
 taste had endeavoured at improvement, and, by mixing the various orders, 
 had produced such as were either composite, or totally out of rule. The 
 size of the buildings in which they were displayed, however, procured them 
 respect; nor could even the most perfect judge of architecture avi^d being 
 struck by the grandeur of their extent and effect, although hurt by the 
 incorrectness of the taste in which they were executed. Arches of triumph, 
 towers, obelisks, and spires, designed for various purposes, rose up into the 
 air in confused magnificence ; while the lower view was filled by the streets 
 of the city, the domestic habitations forming long narrow alleys, on either 
 side of which the houses arose to various and unequal heights, but, being 
 generally finished with terraced coverings, thick set with plants and flowers, 
 and fountains, had, when seen from an eminence, a more noble and inte- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 215 
 
 resting aspect than is ever afforded by the sloping and uniform roofs of 
 streets in the capitals of the north of Europe. 
 
 It has taken us some time to give, in words, the idea which was at a 
 single glance conveyed to Ursel, and affected him at first with great pain. 
 His eyeballs had been long strangers to that daily exercise, which teaches 
 us the habit of correcting the scenes as they appear to our sight, by the 
 knowledge which we derive from the use of our other senses. Ilis idea of 
 distance was so confused, that it seemed as if all the spires, turrets, and 
 minarets which he beheld, were crowded forward upon his eyeballs, and 
 almost touching them. With a shriek of horror, Ursel turned himself to 
 the further side, and cast his eyes upon a different scene. Here also he 
 saw towers, steeples, and turrets, but they were those of the churches and 
 public buildings beneath his feet, reflected from the dazzling piece of water 
 which formed the harbour of Constantinople, and which, from the abun¬ 
 dance of wealth which it transported to the city, was well termed the Golden 
 Horn. In one place, this superb basin was lined with quays, where stately 
 dromonds and argosies unloaded their wealth, while, by the shore of the 
 haven, galleys, feluccas, and other small craft, idly flapped the singularly 
 shaped and snow-white pinions which served them for sails. In other 
 places the Golden Horn lay shrouded in a verdant mantle of trees, where 
 the private gardens of wealthy or distinguished individuals, or places of 
 public recreation, shot down upon and were bounded by the glassy waters. 
 
 On the Bosphorus, which might be seen in the distance, the little fleet of 
 Tancred was lying in the same station they had gained during the night, 
 which was fitted to command the opposite landing; this their general had 
 preferred to a midnight descent upon Constantinople, not knowing whether, 
 so coming, they might be received as friends or enemies. This delay, how¬ 
 ever, had given the Greeks an opportunity, either by the orders of Alexius, 
 or the equally powerful mandates of some of the conspirators, to tow six 
 ships of war, full of armed men, and provided with the maritime offensive 
 weapons peculiar to the Greeks at that period, which they had moored so as 
 exactly to cover the place where the troops of Tancred must necessarily 
 land. 
 
 This preparation gave some surprise to the valiant Tancred, who did not 
 know that such vessels had arrived in the harbour from Lemnos on the pre¬ 
 ceding night. The undaunted courage of that prince was, however, in no 
 respect to be shaken by the degree of unexpected danger with which his 
 adventure now appeared to be attended. 
 
 This splendid view, from the description of which we have in some degree 
 digressed, was seen by the physician and Ursel from a terrace, the loftiest 
 almost on the palace of the Blacquernal. To the city-ward, it was bounded 
 by a solid wall, of considerable height, giving a resting-place for the roof of a 
 lower building, which, sloping outward, broke to the view the vast height 
 unobscured otherwise save by a high and massy balustrade, composed of 
 bronze, which, to the havenward, sunk sheer down upon an uninterrupted 
 precipice. 
 
 No sooner, therefore, had Ursel turned his eyes that way, than, though 
 placed far from the brink of the terrace, he exclaimed, with a shriek, “ Save 
 me — save me! if you are not indeed the destined executors of the Em¬ 
 peror’s will.’^ 
 
 “We are indeed such,’^ said Douban, “to save, and if possible to bring 
 you to complete recovery; but by no means to do you injury, or to suffer it 
 to be offered by others.’^ 
 
 “ Guard me then from myself,’’ said Ursel, “ and save me from the reeling 
 and insane desire which I feel to plunge myself into the abyss, to the edge 
 of which you have guided me.” 
 
 “ Such a giddy and dangerous temptation is,” said the physician, “ com¬ 
 mon to those who have not for a long time looked down from precipitous 
 
216 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 heights, and are suddenly brought to them. Nature, however bounteous, 
 hath not provided for the cessation of our faculties for years, and for their 
 sudden resumption in full strength and vigour. An interval, longer or 
 shorter, must needs intervene. Can you not believe this terrace a safe 
 station while you have my support and that of this faithful slave 
 
 “Certainly,said Ursel; “but permit me to turn iny face towards this 
 stone wall, for I cannot bear to look at the flimsy piece of wire, which is 
 the only battlement of defence that interposes betwixt me and the preci¬ 
 pice.^^ He spoke of the bronze balustrade, six feet high, and massive in 
 proportion. Thus saying, and holding fast by the physician’s arm, Ursel, 
 though himself a younger and more able man, trembled, and moved his feet 
 as slowly as if made of lead, until he reached the sashed-door, where stood 
 a kind of balcony-seat, in which he placed himself.—“ Here,” he said, “ will 
 I remain.” 
 
 “ And here,” said Douban, “will I make the communication of the Em¬ 
 peror, which it is necessary you should be prepared to reply to. It places you, 
 you will observe, at your own disposal for liberty or captivity, but it condi¬ 
 tions for your resigning that sweet but sinful morsel termed revenge, which, 
 I must not conceal from you, chance appears willing to put into your hand. 
 You know the degree of rivalry in which you have been held by the Em¬ 
 peror, and you know the measure of evil you have sustained at his hand. 
 The question is. Can you forgive what has taken place ?” 
 
 “ Let me wrap my head round with my mantle,” said Ursel, “ to dispel 
 this dizziness which still oppresses my poor brain, and as soon as the power 
 of recollection is granted me, you shall know my sentiments.” 
 
 He sunk upon the seat, muffled in the way which he described, and after 
 a few minutes’ reflection, with a trepidation which argued the patient still 
 to be under the nervous feeling of extreme horror mixed with terror, he 
 addressed Douban thus: “ The operation of wrong and cruelty, in the 
 moment when they are first inflicted, excites, of course, the utmost resent¬ 
 ment of the sufferer; nor is there, perhaps, a passion which lives so long in 
 his bosom as the natural desire of revenge. If, then, during the first month, 
 when I lay stretched upon my bed of want and misery, you had offered me 
 an opportunity of revenge upon my cruel oppressor, the remnant of misera¬ 
 ble life which remained to me should have been willingly bestowed to pur¬ 
 chase it. But a suffering of weeks, or even months, must not be compared 
 in effect with that of years. For a short space of endurance, the body, as 
 well as the mind, retains that vigorous habit which holds the prisoner still 
 connected with life, and teaches him to thrill at the long-forgotten chain of 
 hopes, of wishes, of disappointments, and mortifications, which affected his 
 former existence. But the wounds become callous as they harden, and 
 other and better feelings occupy their place, while they gradually die away 
 in forgetfulness. The enjoyments, the amusements of this world, occupy 
 no part of his time upon whom the gates of despair have once closed. I 
 tell thee, my kind physician, that for a season, in an insane attempt to 
 effect my liberty, I cut through a large portion of the living rock. But 
 Heaven cured me of.so foolish an idea; and if I did not actually come to 
 love Alexius Comnenus — for how could that have been a possible effect in 
 any rational state of my intellects?—yet as I became convinced of my own 
 crimes, sins, and follies, the more and more I was also persuaded that 
 Alexius was but the agent through whom Heaven exercised a dearly-pur¬ 
 chased right of punishing me for my manifold offences and transgressions; 
 and that it was not therefore upon the Emperor that my resentment ought 
 to visit itself. And I can now say to thee, that so far as a man who has 
 undergone so dreadful a change can be supposed to know his own mind, I 
 feel no desire either to rival Alexius in a race for empire, or to avail myself 
 of any of the various proffers which he proposes to me as the price of with- 
 
\ 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 217 
 
 (Irawinfi; my claim. Let him keep unpurchased the crown, for which ho 
 has paid, in my opinion, a price which it is not worth.^^ 
 
 “ This is extraordinary stoicism, noble Ursel,’’ answered the physician 
 Douban. “ Am I then to understand that you reject the fair offers of Alexius, 
 and desire, instead of all which he is willing;—nay, anxious to bestow — to 
 be committed safely back to thy old blinded dungeon in the Blacquernal, 
 that you may continue at ease those pietistic meditations which have already 
 conducted thee to so extravagant a conclusion V’ 
 
 “ Physician,said Ursel, while a shuddering fit that affected his whole 
 body testified his alarm at the alternative proposed—“one would imagine 
 thine own profession might have taught thee, that no mere mortal man, 
 unless predestined to be a glorified saint, could ever prefer darkness to the 
 light of day; blindness itself to the enjoyment of the power of sight; the 
 pangs of starving to competent sustenance, or the damps of a dungeon to 
 the free air of God’s creation. No!—it may be virtue to do so, but to such 
 a pitch mine does not soar. All I require of the Emperor for standing by 
 him with all the power my name can give him at this crisis is, that he will 
 provide for my reception as a monk in some of those pleasant and well 
 endowed seminaries of piety, to which his devotion, or his fears, have given 
 rise. Let me not be again the object of his suspicion, the operation of 
 which is more dreadful than that of being the object of his hate. Forgot¬ 
 ten by power, as I have myself lost the remembrance of those that wielded 
 it, let me find my way to the grave, unnoticed, unconstrained, at liberty, 
 in possession of my dim and disused organs of sight, and, above all, at 
 peace.” 
 
 “ If such be thy serious and earnest wish, noble Ursel,” said the physician, 
 “ I myself have no hesitation to warrant to thee the full accomplishment of 
 thy religious and moderate desires. But, bethink thee, thou art once more 
 an inhabitant of the court, in which thou mayst obtain what thou wilt to-day; 
 while to-morrow, shouldst thou regret thy indifference, it may be thy utmost 
 entreaty will not suffice to gain for thee the slightest extension of thy present 
 conditions.” 
 
 “Be it so,” said Ursel; “I will then stipulate for another condition, 
 which indeed has only reference to this day. I will solicit his Imperial 
 Majesty, with all humility, to spare me the pain of a personal treaty 
 between himself and me, and that he will be satisfied with the solemn assu¬ 
 rance that I am most willing to do in his favour all that he is desirous of 
 dictating; while, on the other hand, I desire only the execution of those 
 moderate conditions of my future aliment which I have already told thee at 
 length.” 
 
 “ But wherefore,” said Douban, “ shouldst thou be afraid of announcing 
 to the Emperor thy disposition to an agreement, which cannot be esteemed 
 otherwise than extremely moderate on thy part ? Indeed, I fear the Emperor 
 wdll insist on a brief personal conference.” 
 
 “ I am not ashamed,” said Ursel, “ to confess the truth. It is true, that 
 I have, or think I have, renounced what the Scripture calls the pride of life ; 
 but the old Adam still lives within us, and maintains against the better part 
 of our nature an inextinguishable quarrel, easy to be aroused from its 
 slumber, but as difficult to be again couched in peace. While last night I 
 but half understood that mine enemy was in my presence, and while my 
 faculties performed but half their duty in recalling his deceitful and hated 
 accents, did not my heart throb in my bosom with all the agitation of a 
 taken bird, and shall I again have to enter into a personal treaty with the 
 man who, be his general conduct what it may, has been the constant and 
 unprovoked cause of my unequalled misery ? Douban, no ! — to listen to 
 his voice again, were to hear an alarm sounded to every violent and vindic¬ 
 tive passion of my heart; and though, may Heaven so help me as my inten- 
 
 T 
 
218 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 tions towards him are upright, yet it is impossible for me to listen to his 
 professions with a chance of safety either to him or to myself/^ 
 
 “ If you be so minded,^' replied Douban, “ I shall only repeat to him your 
 stipulation, and you must swear to him that you will strictly observe it. 
 Without this being done, it must be difficult, or perhaps impossible, to settle 
 the league of which both are desirous.’^ 
 
 “ Amen V’ said Ursel; “ and as I am pure in my purpose, and resolved to 
 keep it to the uttermost, so may Heaven guard me from the influence of 
 precipitate revenge, ancient grudge, or new quarrel V’ 
 
 An authoritative knock at the door of the sleeping chamber was now 
 heard, and Ursel, relieved by more powerful feelings, from the giddiness of 
 which he had complained, walked firmly into the bedroom, and seating him¬ 
 self, waited with averted eyes the entrance of the person who demanded 
 admittance, and who proved to be no other than Alexius Comnenus. 
 
 The Emperor appeared at the door in a warlike dress, suited for the deco¬ 
 ration of a prince who was to witness a combat in the lists fought out before 
 him. 
 
 “ Sage Douban,^^ he said, “ has our esteemed prisoner, Ursel, made his 
 choice between our peace and enmity 
 
 “ He hath, my lord,^^ replied the physician, “ embraced the lot of that 
 happy portion of mankind, whose hearts and lives are devoted to the service 
 of your Majesty’s government.” 
 
 “tie will then this day,” continued the Emperor, “render me the oflBce 
 of putting down all those who may pretend to abet insurrection in his name, 
 and under pretext of his wrongs?” 
 
 “ He will, my lord,” replied the physician, “ act to the fullest the part 
 which you require.” 
 
 “ And in what way,” said the Emperor, adopting his most gracious 
 tone of voice, “would our faithful Ursel desire that services like these, 
 rendered in the hour of extreme need, should be acknowledged by the 
 Emperor?” 
 
 “ Simply,” answered Douban, “ by saying nothing upon the subject. He 
 desires only that all jealousies between you and him may be henceforth for¬ 
 gotten, and that he may be admitted into one of your Highness’s monastic 
 institutions, with leave to dedicate the rest of his life to the worship of Heaven 
 and its saints.” 
 
 “ Hath he persuaded thee of this, Douban?”—said the Emperor, in a low 
 and altered voice. “ By Heaven ! when I consider from what prison he was 
 brought, and in what guise he inhabited it, I cannot believe in this gall-less 
 disposition. He must at least speak to me himself, ere I can believe, in 
 some degree, the transformation of the fiery Ursel into a being so little 
 capable of feeling the ordinary impulses of mankind.” 
 
 “ Hear me, Alexius Comnenus,” said the prisoner; “ and so may thine 
 own prayers to Heaven find access and acceptation, as thou believest the 
 words which I speak to thee in simplicity of heart. If thine empire of 
 Greece were made of coined gold, it would hold out no bait for my accept¬ 
 ance ; nor, I thank Heaven, have even the injuries I have experienced at thy 
 hand, cruel and extensive as they have been, impressed upon me the slightest 
 desire of requiting treachery with treachery. Think of me as thou wilt, so 
 thou seek’st not again to exchange words with me; and believe me, that 
 when thou hast put me under the most rigid of thy ecclesiastical foundations, 
 the discipline, the fare, and the vigils, will be far superior to the existence 
 falling to the share of those whom the King delights to honour, and who 
 therefore must afford the King theii* society w^henever they are summoned 
 to do so.” 
 
 “ It is hardly for me,” said the physician, “ to interpose in so high a 
 matter; yet, as trusted both by the noble Ursel, and by his Highness the 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 210 
 
 Emperor, I have made a brief abstract of these short conditions to be kept 
 by the high parties towards each other, sub crimine falsi.” 
 
 Tlie Emperor protracted the intercourse with Ursel, until he more fully 
 explained to him the occasion which he should have that very day for his 
 services. When they parted, Alexius, with a great show of affection, em¬ 
 braced his late prisoner, while it required all tl)e self-command and stoicism 
 of Ursel to avoid expressing in plain terms the extent to which he abhorred 
 the person who thus caressed him. 
 
 (Cjiapttr tjit 
 
 * * • * O, Conspiracy! 
 
 Sham’st thou to sliow thy dangerous brow by night, 
 
 Wlien evils are most free? O, then, by day, 
 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none. Conspiracy; 
 
 Hide it in smiles and affability; 
 
 For if thou path thy native semblance on. 
 
 Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 ' Julius CiESAB. 
 
 The important morning at last arrived, on which, by the Imperial pro¬ 
 clamation, the combat between the Cmsar and Count Robert of Paris was 
 appointed to take place. This was a circumstance in a great measure 
 foreign to the Grecian manners, and to which, therefore, the people annexed 
 different ideas from those which were associated with the same solemn de¬ 
 cision of God, as the Latins called it, by the Western nations. The conse¬ 
 quence was a vague, but excessive agitation among the people, who con¬ 
 nected the extraordinary strife which they were to witness, with the various 
 causes which had been whispered abroad as likely to give occasion to some 
 general insurrection of a great and terrible nature. 
 
 By the Imperial order, regular lists had been prepared for the combat, 
 with opposite gates, or entrances, as was usual, for the admittance of the 
 two champions; and it was understood that the appeal was to be made to 
 the Divinity by each, according to the forms prescribed by the Church of 
 which the combatants were respectively members. The situation of these 
 lists was on the side of the shore adjoining on the west to the continent. 
 
 At no great distance, the walls of the city were seen, of various architecture, 
 composed of lime and of stone, and furnished with no less than four-and- 
 twenty gates, or posterns, five of which regarded the land, and nineteen the 
 water. All this formed a beautiful prospect, much of which is still visible. 
 The town itself is about nineteen miles in circumference ; and as it is on all 
 sides surrounded with lofty cypresses, its general appearance is that of a 
 city arising out of a stately wood of these magnificent trees, partly shroud¬ 
 ing the pinnacles, obelisks, and minarets, which then marked the site of 
 many noble Christian temples; but now, generally speaking, intimate the 
 position of as many Mahornedan mosques. 
 
 These lists, for the convenience of spectators, were surrounded on all sides ' 
 by long rows of seats, sloping downwards. In the middle of these seats, and 
 exactly opposite the centre of the lists, was a high throne, erected for the 
 Emperor himself; and which was separated from the more vulgar galleries 
 by a circuit of wooden barricades, which an experienced eye could perceive, 
 might, in case of need, be made serviceable for purposes of defence. 
 
 The lists were sixty yards in length, by perhaps about forty in breadth, 
 
220 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 and these afforded ample space for the exercise of the combat, both on 
 horseback and on foot. Numerous bands of the Greek citizens began, with 
 the very break of day, to issue from the gates and posterns of the city, to 
 examine and wonder at the construction of the lists, pass their criticisms 
 upon the purposes of the peculiar parts of the fabric, and occupy places, to 
 secure them for the spectacle. Shortly after arrived a large band of those 
 soldiers who were called the Roman Immortals. These entered without 
 ceremony, and placed themselves on either hand of the wooden barricade 
 which fenced the Emperor’s seat. Some of them took even a greater liberty; 
 for, affecting to be pressed against the boundary, there were individuals who 
 approached the partition itself, and seemed to meditate climbing over it, and 
 placing themselves on the same side with the Emperor. Some old domestic 
 slaves of the household now showed themselves, as if for the purpose of 
 preserving this sacred circle for Alexius and his court; and, in proportion 
 as the Immortals began to show themselves encroaching and turbulent, the 
 strength of the defenders of the prohibited precincts seemed gradually to 
 increase. 
 
 There was, though scarcely to be observed, besides the grand access to the 
 Imperial seat from without, another opening also from the outside, secured 
 by a very strong door, by which different persons received admission beneath 
 the seats destined for the Imperial party. These persons, by their length 
 of limb, breadth of shoulders, by the fur of their cloaks, and especially by 
 the redoubted battle-axes which all of them bore, appeared to be Varangians; 
 but, although neither dressed in their usual habit of pomp, nor in their more 
 effectual garb of war, still, when narrowly examined, they might be seen to 
 possess their usual offensive weapons. These men, entering in separate and 
 straggling parties, might be observed to join the slaves of the interior of the 
 palace in opposing the intrusion of the Immortals upon the seat of the Em¬ 
 peror, and the benches around. Two or three Immortals, who had actually 
 made good their frolic, and climbed over the division, were flung back 
 again, very unceremoniously, by the barbaric strength and sinewy arms of 
 the Varangians. 
 
 The people around, and in the adjacent galleries, most of whom had the 
 air of citizens in their holyday dresses, commented a good deal on these 
 proceedings, and were inclined strongly to make part with the Immortals. 
 “ It was a shame to the Emperor,” they said, “to encourage'these British 
 barbarians to interpose themselves by violence between his person and the 
 Immortal cohorts of the city, who were in some sort his own children.” 
 
 Stephanos, the gymnastic, whose bulky strength and stature rendered 
 him conspicuous amid this party, said, without hesitation, “ If there are two 
 people here who will join in saying that the Immortals are unjustly deprived 
 of their right of guarding the Emperor’s person, here is the hand that shall 
 place them beside the Imperial chair.” 
 
 “ Not so,” quoth a centurion of the Immortals, whom we have already 
 introduced to our readers by the name of Harpax; “Not so, Stephanos; 
 that happy time may arrive, but it is not yet come, my gem of the circus. 
 Thou knowest that on this occasion it is one of these Counts, or western 
 Franks, who undertakes the combat; and the Varangians, who call these 
 people their enemies, have some reason to claim a precedency in guarding 
 the lists, which it might not at this moment be convenient to dispute with 
 them. Why, man, if thou wert half so witty as thou art long, thou wouldst 
 be sensible that it were bad woodmanship to raise the hollo upon the game, 
 ere it had been driven within compass of the nets.” 
 
 While the athlete rolled his huge grey eyes as if to conjure out the sense 
 of this intimation, his little friend Lysimachus, the artist, putting himself 
 to pain to stand upon his tiptoe, and look intelligent, said, approaching as 
 near as he could to Harpax’s ear, “ Thou mayst trust me, gallant centurion, 
 that this man of mould and muscle shall neither start like a babbling hound 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 001 
 X 
 
 on a false scent, nor become mute and inert, when the general signal is given. 
 But tell me,'' said he, speaking very low, and for that purpose mounting a 
 bench, which brought him on a level with the centurion's ear, “ would it 
 not have been better that a strong guard of the valiant Immortals had been 
 placed in this wooden citadel, to ensure the object of the day ?" 
 
 “Without question," said the centurion, “it was so meant; but these 
 strolling Varangians have altered their station of their own authority." 
 
 “Were it not well," said Lysimachus, “that you, who are greatly more 
 numerous than the barbarians, should begin a fray before more of these 
 strangers arrive ?" 
 
 “ Content ye, friend," said the centurion, coldly, “ we know our time. 
 An attack commenced too early would be worse than thrown away, nor 
 would an opportunity occur of executing our project in the fitting time, if 
 an alarm were prematurely given at this moment." 
 
 So saying, he shufiled off among his fellow-soldiers, so as to avoid suspi¬ 
 cious intercourse with such persons as were only concerned with the civic 
 portion of the conspirators. 
 
 As the morning advanced, and the sun took a higher station in the hori¬ 
 zon, the various persons whom curiosity, or some more decided motive, 
 brought to see the proposed combat, were seen streaming from different 
 parts of the town, and rushing to occupy such accommodation as the circuit 
 round the lists afforded them. In their road to the place where preparation 
 for combat was made, they had to ascend a sort of cape, which, in the form 
 of a small hill, projected into the Hellespont, and the butt of which, connect¬ 
 ing it with the shore, afforded a considerable ascent, and of course a more 
 commanding view of the strait between Europe and Asia, than either the 
 immediate vicinity of the city, or the still lower ground upon which the lists 
 were erected. In passing this height, the earlier visitants of the lists made 
 little or no halt; but after a time, when it became obvious that those who 
 had hurried forward to the place of combat were lingering there without 
 any object or occupation, they that followed them in the same route, with 
 natural curiosity, paid a tribute to the landscape, bestowing some attention 
 on its beauty, and paused to see what auguries could be collected from the 
 W’ater, which were likely to have any concern in indicating the fate of the 
 events that were to take place. Some straggling seamen were the first who 
 remarked that .a squadron of the Greek small craft (being that of Tancred) 
 W'ere in the act of making their way from Asia, and threatening a descent 
 upon Constantinople. 
 
 “ It is strange," said a person, by rank the captain of a galley, “ that 
 these small vessels, which were ordered to return to Constantinople as soon 
 as they disembarked the Latins, should have remained so long at Scutari, 
 and should not be rowing back to the imperial city until this time, on the 
 second day after tlieir departure from thence." 
 
 “ I pray to Heaven," said another of the same profession, “ that these 
 seamen may come alone. It seems to me as if their ensign-staffs, \)0w- 
 sprits, and topmasts were decorated with the same ensigns, or nearly the 
 same, with those which the Latins displayed upon them, when, by the 
 Emf)eror’s order, they were transported towards Palestine ; so methinks 
 the voyage back again resembles that of a fleet of merchant vessels, who 
 have been prevented from discharging their cargo at the place of their 
 destination." 
 
 “ There is little good," said one of the politicians whom we formerly 
 noticed, “ in dealing wdth such commodities, whether they are imported or 
 exported. Yon ample banner which streams over the foremost gaiW, inti¬ 
 mates the presence of a chieftain of no small rank among the Counts, 
 whether it be for valour or for nobility." 
 
 The seafaring leader added, with the voice of one who hints alarming 
 tidings, “ They seem to have got to a point in the straits as high as will enable 
 
 T 2 
 
999 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVEL S. 
 
 them to run down with the tide, and clear the cape which we stand on, al¬ 
 though with what purpose they aim to land so close beneath the walls of 
 the city, he is a wiser man than I who pretends to determine/^ 
 
 “ Assuredly,'^ returned his comrade, “ the intention is not a kind one. 
 The wealth of the city has temptations to a poor people, who only value the 
 iron which they possess as affording them the means of procuring the gold 
 which they covet.^^ 
 
 “Ay, brother,^' answered Demetrius the politician, “but see you not, 
 lying at anchor within this bay which is formed by the cape, and at the 
 very point where these heretics are likely to be carried by the tide, six 
 strong vessels, having the power of sending forth, not merely showers of 
 darts and arrows, but of Grecian fire, as it is called, from their hollow decks? 
 If these Frank gentry continue directing their course upon the Imperial 
 city, being, as they are, 
 
 -‘propago 
 
 Contemptrix Superum sane, ssevseque avidissima caedis 
 Et violenla;’* 
 
 we shall speedily see a combat better worth witnessing than that announced 
 by the great trumpet of the Varangians. If you love me, let us sit down 
 here for a moment, and see how this matter is to end.^^ 
 
 “ An excellent motion, my ingenious friend,^^ said Lascaris, which was 
 the name of the other citizen ; “ but bethink you, shall we not be in danger 
 from the missiles with which the audacious Latins will not fail to return the 
 Greek fire, if, according to your conjecture, it shall be poured upon them by 
 the Imperial squadron 
 
 “ That is not ill argued, my friend,’^ said Demetrius; “ but know that 
 you have to do with a man who has been in such extremities before now; 
 and if such a discharge should open from the sea, I would propose to you 
 to step back some fifty yards inland, and thus to interpose the very crest of 
 the cape between us and the discharge of missiles; a mere child might thus 
 learn to face them without any alarm.’^ 
 
 “You are a wise man, neighbour,'^ said Lascaris, “and possess such a 
 mixture of valour and knowledge as becomes a man whom a friend might 
 be supposed safely to risk his life with. There be those, for instance, who 
 cannot show jmu the slightest glimpse of what is going on, without bring¬ 
 ing you within peril of your life ; whereas you, my worthy friend Demetrius, 
 beWeen your accurate knowledge of military affairs, and your regard for 
 your friend, are sure to show him all that is to be seen without the least 
 risk to a person, who is naturally unwilling to think of exposing himself to 
 injury. But, Holy Virgin I what is the meaning of that red flag which the 
 Greek Admiral has this instant hoisted 
 
 “Why, you see, neighbour,^^ answered Demetrius, “yonder western 
 heretic continues to advance without minding the various signs which our 
 Admiral has made to him to desist, and now he hoists the bloody colours, 
 as if a man should clench his fist and say. If you persevere in your uncivil 
 intention, I will do so and so.^^ 
 
 “By St. Sophia,^^ said Lascaris, “and that is giving him fair warning. 
 But what is it the Imperial Admiral is about to do 
 
 “ Run ! run ! friend Lascaris,^^ said Demetrius, “ or you will see more of 
 that than perchance you have any curiosity for.^^ 
 
 Accordingly, to add the strength of example to precept, Demetrius him¬ 
 self girt up his loins, and retreated with the most edifying speed to the 
 opposite side of the ridge, accompanied by the greater part of the crowd, 
 who had tarried there to witness the contest which the newsmonger pro¬ 
 mised, and were determined to take his word for their own safety. The 
 sound and sight which had alarmed Demetrius, was the discharge of a largo 
 
 * (Jvid, Met. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 Oc,>Q 
 
 portion of Greek fire, which perhaps may be best compared to one of those 
 immense Congreve rockets of the present day, which takes on its shoulders 
 a small grapnel or anchor, and proceeds groaning through the air, like a 
 fiend overburdened by the mandate of some inexorable magician, and of 
 which the operation was so terrifying, that the crews of the vessels attacked 
 by this strange weapon frequently forsook every means of defence, and ran 
 themselves ashore. One of the principal ingredients of this dreadful fire 
 was supposed to be naphtha, or the bitumen which is collected on the banks 
 of the bead Sea, and which, when in a state of ignition, could only be ex¬ 
 tinguished by a very singular mixture, and which it was not likely to come 
 in contact with. It produced a thick smoke and loud explosion, and was 
 capable, says Gibbon, of communicating its flames Muth equal vehemence 
 in descent or lateral progress.* In sieges, it was poured from the ramparts, 
 or launched like our bombs, in red-hot balls of stone or iron, or it was 
 darted in flax twisted round arrows and in javelins. It was considered as a 
 state secret of the greatest importance; and for wellnigh four centuries it 
 was unknown to the Mahoniedans. But at length the composition was 
 discovered by the Saracens, and used by them for repelling the crusaders, 
 and overpowering the Greeks, upon whose side it had at one time been the 
 most formidable implement of defence. Some exaggeration we must allow 
 for a barbarous period; but there seems no doubt that the general descrip¬ 
 tion of the crusader Joinville should be admitted as correct: — “It came 
 flying through the air,^' says that good knight, “ like a winged dragon, 
 about the thickness of a hogshead, with the report of thunder and the speed 
 of lightning, and the darkness of the night was dispelled by this horrible 
 illumination.'^ 
 
 Not only the bold Demetrius and his pupil Lascaris, but all the crowd 
 whom they influenced, fled manfully when the commodore of the Greeks 
 fired the first discharge; and as the other vessels in the squadron followed 
 his example, the heavens were filled with the unusual and outrageous noise, 
 while the smoke was so thick as to darken the very air. As the fugitives 
 passed the crest of the hill, they saw the seaman, whom we formerly men¬ 
 tioned as a spectator, snugly reclining under cover of a dry ditch, where 
 he managed so as to secure himself as far as possible from any accident. 
 He could not, however, omit breaking his jest on the politicians. 
 
 “ What, ho !" he cried, “ my good friends," without raising himself above 
 the counterscarp of his ditch, “ will you not remain upon your station long 
 enough to finish that hopeful lecture upon battle by sea and land, which 
 you had so happy an opportunity of commencing? Believe me, the noise 
 is more alarming than hurtful; the fire is all pointed in a direction opposite 
 to yours, and if one of those dragons which you see does happen to fly 
 landward instead of seaward, it is but the mistake of some cabin-boy, who 
 has used his linstock with more willingness than ability." 
 
 Demetrius and Lascaris just heard enough of the naval hero's harangue, 
 to acquaint them with the new danger with which they might be assailed 
 by the possible misdirection of the weapons, and, rushing down towards 
 the lists at the head of a crowd half-desperate with fear, they hastily pro¬ 
 pagated the appalling news, that the Latins were coming back from Asia 
 with the purpose of landing in arms, pillaging, and burning the city. 
 
 The uproar, in the meantime, of this unexpected occurrence, was such as 
 altogether to vindicate, in public opinion, the reported cause, however ex¬ 
 aggerated. The thunder of the Greek fire came successively, one hard upon 
 the other, and each, in its turn, spread a blot of black smoke upon the face 
 of the landscape, which, thickened by so many successive clouds, seemed 
 at last, like that raised by a sustained fire of modern artillery to overshadow 
 the whole horizon. 
 
 * For u full account of the Greek fire, see Gibbon, chapter 63. 
 
224 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 The small squadron of Tancred were completely hid from view in the 
 surging volumes of darkness, which the breath of the weapons of the enemy 
 had spread around him; and it seemed by a red light, which began to show 
 itself among the thickest of the veil of darkness, that one of the flotilla at 
 least had caught fire. Yet the Latins resisted, with an obstinacy worthy of 
 their own courage, and the fame of their celebrated leader. Some advan¬ 
 tage they had, on account of their small size, and their lowness in the water, 
 as well as the clouded state of the atmosphere, which rendered them difficult 
 marks for the fire of the Greeks. 
 
 To increase these advantages, Tancred, as well by boats as by the kind 
 of rude signals made use of at the period, dispersed orders to his fleet, that 
 each bark, disregarding the fate of the others, should press forward indivi¬ 
 dually, and that the men from each should be put on shore wheresoever and 
 howsoever they could effect that manoeuvre. Tancred himself set a noble 
 example ; he was on board a stout vessel, fenced in some degree against the 
 efiect of the Greek fire by being in a great measure covered with raw hides, 
 which hides had also been recently steeped in water. This vessel contained 
 upwards of a hundred valiant warriors, several of them of knightly order, 
 who had all night toiled at the humble labours of the oar, and now in the 
 morning applied their chivalrous hands to the arblast and to the bow, which 
 were in general accounted the weapons of persons of a lower rank. Thus 
 armed, and thus manned. Prince Tancred bestowed upon his bark the full 
 velocity which wind, and tide, and oar, could enable her to obtain, and 
 placing her in the situation to profit by them as' much as his maritime skill 
 could direct, he drove with the speed of lightning among the vessels of 
 Lemnos, plying on either side, bows, crossbows, javelins, and military 
 missiles of every kind, with the greater advantage that the Greeks, trusting 
 to their artificial fire, had omitted arming themselves with other weapons; 
 so that when the valiant Crusader bore down on them with so much fury, 
 repaying the terrors of their fire with a storm of bolts and arrows no less 
 formidable, they began to feel that their own advantage was much less than 
 they had supposed, and that, like most other dangers, the maritime fire of 
 the Greeks, when undauntedly confronted, lost at least one-half of its ter¬ 
 rors. The Grecian sailors, too, when they observed the vessels approach so 
 near, filled with the steel-clad Latins, began to shrink from a contest to be 
 maintained hand to hand with so terrible an enemy. 
 
 By degrees, smoke began to issue from the sides of the great Grecian 
 argosy, and the voice of Tancred announced to his soldiers that the Grecian 
 AdmiraFs vessel had taken fire, owing to negligence in the management of 
 the means of destruction she possessed, and that all they had now to do 
 was to maintain such a distance as to avoid sharing her fate. Sparkles and 
 flashes of flame were next seen leaping from place to place on board of the 
 great hulk, as if the element had had the sense and purpose of spreading 
 wider the consternation, and disabling the few who still paid attention to 
 the commands of their Admiral, and endeavoured to extinguish the fire. 
 The consciousness of the combustible nature of the freight, began to add 
 despair to terror; from the boltsprit, the rigging, the yards, the sides, and 
 every part of the vessel, the unfortunate crew were seen dropping them¬ 
 selves, to exchange for the most part a watery death for one by the more 
 dreadful agency of fire. The crew of Tancred’s bark, ceasing, by that 
 generous princess commands, to offer any additional annoyance to an enemy 
 who was at once threatened by the perils of the ocean and of conflagration, 
 ran their vessel ashore in a smooth part of the bay, and jumping into the 
 shallow sea, made the land without difficulty; many of their steeds being, 
 by the exertions of the owners, and the docility of the animals, brought 
 ashore at the same time with their masters. Their commander lost no time 
 in forming their serried ranks into a phalanx of lancers, few indeed at first, 
 but perpetually increasing as ship after ship of the little flotilla ran ashore, 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 225 
 
 or, having more deliberately moored their barks, landed their men, and 
 joined their companions. 
 
 The cloud which had been raised by the conflict was now driven to lee- 
 M'ard before the wind, and the strait exhibited only the relics of the combat. 
 Here tossed upon the billows the scattered and broken remains of one or 
 two of the Latin vessels which had been burnt at the commencement of the 
 combat, though their crews, by the exertions of their comrades, had in 
 general been saved. Lower down were seen the remaining five vessels of 
 the Lemnos squadron, holding a disorderly and difiicult retreat, with the 
 purpose of gaining the harbour of Constantinople. In the place so late the 
 scene of combat, lay moored the hulk of the Grecian Admiral, burnt to the 
 water's edge, and still sending forth a black smoke from its scathed' beams 
 and planks. The flotilla of Tancred, busied in discharging its troops, lay 
 irregularly scattered along the bay, the men making ashore as they could, 
 and taking their course to join the standard of their leader. Various black 
 substances floated on the surface of the water, nearer, or more distant to 
 the shore; some proved to be the wreck of the vessels which had been 
 destroyed, and others, more ominous still, the lifeless bodies of mariners 
 who had fallen in the conflict. 
 
 The standard had been borne ashore by the Prince's favourite page, 
 Ernest of Apulia, so soon as the keel of Tancred's galley had grazed upon 
 the sand. It was then pitched on the top of that elevated cape between 
 Constantinople and the lists, where Lascaris, Demetrius, and other gossips, 
 had held their station at the commencement of the engagement, but from 
 which all had fled, between the mingled dread of the Greek fire and the 
 missiles of the Latin crusaders. 
 
 (f|iapttr tliE €j]irtiitli. 
 
 Sheathed in complete armour, and supporting with his right hand the 
 standard of his fathers, Tancred remained with his handful of warriors like 
 so many statues of steel, expecting some sort of attack from the Grecian 
 party which had occupied the lists, or from the numbers whom the city 
 gates began now to pour forth — soldiers some of them, and others citizens, 
 many of whom were arrayed as if for conflict. These persons, alarmed by 
 the various accounts which were given of the combatants, and the progress 
 of the fight, rushed towards the standard of Prince Tancred, with the in¬ 
 tention of beating it to the earth, and dispersing the guards who owed it 
 homage and defence. But if the reader shall have happened to have ridden 
 at any time through a pastoral country, with a dog of a noble race following 
 him, he must have remarked, in the deference ultimately paid to the high¬ 
 bred animal by the shepherd’s cur as he crosses the lonely glen, of which 
 the latter conceives himself the lord and guardian, something very similar 
 to the demeanour of the incensed Greeks, when they approached near to the 
 little band of Franks. At the first symptom of the intrusion of a stranger, 
 the dog of the shepherd starts from his slumbers, and rushes towards the 
 noble intruder with a clamorous declaration of war; but when the diminu¬ 
 tion of distance between them shows to the aggressor the size and strength 
 of his opponent, he becomes like a cruiser, who, in a chase, has, to his 
 surprise and alarm, found two tier of guns opposed to him instead of one. 
 lie halts — suspends his clamorous yelping, and, in fine, ingloriously 
 VoL. XII.—15 
 
22G WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 retreats to his master, with all the dishonourable marks of positively de¬ 
 clining the combat. 
 
 It was in this manner that the troops of the noisy Greeks, with much 
 hallooing and many a boastful shout, hastened both from the town and 
 from the lists, with the apparent intention of sweeping from the field the 
 few companions of Tancred. As they advanced, however, within the power 
 of remarking the calm and regular order of those men who had landed, 
 and arranged themselves under this noble chieftain’s banner, their minds 
 were altogether changed as to the resolution of instant combat; their 
 advance became an uncertain and staggering gait, their heads were more 
 frequently turned back to the point from which they came, than towards 
 the enemy; and their desire to provoke an instant scufile vanished totally, 
 when there did not appear the least symptom that their opponents cared 
 about the matter. 
 
 It added to the extreme confidence with which the Latins kept their 
 ground, that they were receiving frequent, though small reinforcements 
 from their comrades, who were landing by detachments all along the beach; 
 and that, in the course of a short hour, their amount had been raised, on 
 horseback and foot, to a number, allowing for a few casualties, not much 
 less than that which set sail from Scutari. 
 
 Another reason why the Latins remained unassailed, was certainly the 
 indisposition of the two principal armed parties on shore to enter into a 
 quarrel with them. The guards of every kind, who were faithful to the 
 Emperor, more especially the Varangians, had their orders to remain firm 
 at their posts, some in the lists, and others at various places of rendezvous 
 in Constantinople, where their presence was necessary to prevent the effects 
 of the sudden insurrection which Alexius knew to be meditated against him. 
 These, therefore, made no hostile demonstration towards the band of Latins, 
 nor was it the purpose of the Emperor they should do so. 
 
 On the other hand, the greater part of the Immortal Guards, and those 
 citizens who were prepared to play a part in the conspiracy, had been im¬ 
 pressed by the agents of the deceased Agelastes with thq opinion,, that this 
 band of Latins, commanded by Tancred, the relative of Bohemond, had 
 been despatched by the latter to their assistance. These men, therefore, 
 stood still, and made no attempt to guide or direct the popular efforts of 
 such as inclined to attack these unexpected visitors; in which purpose, 
 therefore, no very great party were united, while the majority were willing 
 enough to find an apology for remaining quiet. 
 
 In the meantime, the Emperor, from his palace of Blacquernal, observed 
 what passed upon the straits, and beheld his navy from Lemnos totally 
 foiled in their attempt, by means of the Greek fire, to check the intended 
 passage of Tancred and his men. He had no sooner seen the leading ship 
 of the squadron begin to beacon the darkness with its own fire, than the 
 Emperor formed a secret resolution to disown the unfortunate Admiral, and 
 make peace with the Latins, if that should be absolutely necessary, by 
 sending them his head. He had hardly, therefore, seen the flames burst 
 forth, and the rest of the vessels retreat from their moorings, than in his 
 own mind, the doom of the unfortunate Phraortes, for such was the name 
 of the Admiral, was signed and sealed. 
 
 Achilles Tatius, at the same instant, determining to keep a close eye upon 
 the Emperor at this important crisis, came precipitately into the palace, 
 with an appearance of great alarm. 
 
 “ My Lord! — my Imperial Lord ! I am unhappy to be the messenger of 
 such unlucky news; but the Latins have in great numbers succeeded in 
 crossing the strait from Scutari. The Lemnos squadron endeavoured to 
 stop them, as was last night determined upon in the Imperial Council of 
 War. By a heavy discharge of the Greek fire, one or two of the crusaders’ 
 vessels were consumed, but by far the greater number of them pushed on 
 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 227 
 
 their course, burnt the leading ship of the unfortunate Phraortes, and it is 
 strongly reported he has himself perished, -svith almost all his men. The 
 rest have cut their cables, and abandoned the defence of the passage of the 
 Hellespont.’^ 
 
 “And you, Achilles Tatius,” said the Emperor, “ with what purpose is it 
 that you now bring me this melancholy news, at a period so late, when I 
 cannot amend the consequences!” 
 
 “ Under favour, most gracious Emperor,” replied the conspirator, not 
 without colouring and stammering, “ such was not my intention — I had 
 hoped to submit a plan, by which I might easily have prepared the way for 
 correcting this little error.” 
 
 “Well, your plan, sir?” said the Emperor, dryly. 
 
 “ With your sacred Majesty’s leave,” said the Acolyte, “ I would myself 
 have undertaken instantly to lead against this Tancred and his Italians the 
 battle-axes of the faithful Varangian guard, who will make no more account 
 of the small number of Franks w'ho have come ashore, than the farmer 
 holds of the hordes of rats and mice, and such like mischievous vermin, 
 who have harboured in his granaries.” 
 
 “ And w'hat mean you,” said the Emperor, “ that I am to do, while my 
 Anglo-Saxons fight for my sake ?” 
 
 “ Your Majesty,” replied Achilles, not exactly satisfied with the dry and 
 caustic manner in which the Emperor addressed him, “ may put yourself at 
 the head of the Immortal cohorts of Constantinople ; and I am your security, 
 that you may either perfect the victory over the Latins, or at least redeem 
 the most distant chance of a defeat, by advancing at the head of this choice 
 body of domestic troops, should the day appear doubtful.” 
 
 “ You, yourself, Achilles Tatius,” returned the Emperor, “ have repeat¬ 
 edly assured us, that these Immortals retain a perverse attachment to our 
 rebel Ursel. IIow is it, then, you would have us intrust our defence to these 
 bands, when we have engaged our valiant Varangians in the proposed con¬ 
 flict with the flower of the western army?—Did you think of this risk. Sir 
 Follower?” 
 
 Achilles Tatius, much alarmed at an intimation indicative of his purpose 
 being known, answered, “ That in his haste he had been more anxious to 
 recommend the plan which should expose his own person to the greater 
 danger, than that perhaps which was most attended with personal safety to 
 his Imperial Master.” 
 
 “I thank you for so doing,” said the Emperor; “you have anticipated 
 my wishes, though it is not in my power at present to follow the advice you 
 have given me. I would have been well contented, undoubtedly, had these 
 Latins measured their way over the strait again, as suggested by last night’s 
 council; but since they have arrived, and stand embattled on our shores, it 
 is better that we pay them with money and with spoil, than with the lives 
 of our gallant subjects. We cannot, after all, believe that they come with 
 any serious intention of doing us injury; it is but the insane desire of wit¬ 
 nessing feats of battle and single combat, which is to them the breath of 
 their nostrils, that can have impelled them to this partial countermarch. I 
 impose upon you, Achilles Tatius, combining the Protospathaire in the same 
 commission with you, the duty of riding up to yonder standard, and learn¬ 
 ing of their chief, called the Prince Tancred, if he is there in person, the 
 purpose of his return, and the cause of his entering into debate with Phra¬ 
 ortes and the Lemnos squadron. If they send us any reasonable excuse, 
 we shall not be averse to receive it at their hands ; for we have not made so 
 many sacrifices for the preservation of peace, to break forth into war, if, 
 after all, so great an evil can be avoided. Thou wilt receive, therefore, with 
 a candid and complacent mind, such apologies as they may incline to bring 
 forward; and, be assured, that the sight of this puppet-show of a single 
 
 9 
 
228 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 combat, will be enough of itself to banish every other consideration from 
 the reflection of these giddy crusaders/' 
 
 A knock was at this moment heard at the door of the Emperor’s apart¬ 
 ment ; and upon the word being given to enter, the Protospathaire made his 
 appearance. He was arrayed in a splendid suit of ancient Roman fashioned 
 armour. The want of a visor left his countenance entirely visible ; which, 
 pale and anxious as it was, did not well become the martial crest and 
 dancing plume with which it was decorated. He received the commission 
 already mentioned with the less alacrity, because the Acolyte was added to 
 him as his colleague ; for, as the reader may have observed, these two officers 
 were of separate factions in the army, and on indifierent terms with each 
 other. Neither did the Acolyte consider his being united in commission 
 with the Protospathaire, as a mark either of the Emperor’s confidence, or 
 of his own safety. He was, however, in the meantime, in the Blacquernal, 
 where the slaves of the interior made not the least hesitation, when ordered, 
 to execute any officer of the court. The two generals had, therefore, no 
 other alternative, than that which is allowed to two greyhounds who are 
 reluctantly coupled together. The hope of Achilles Tatius was, that he 
 might get safely through his mission to Tancred, after which he thought the 
 successful explosion of the conspiracy might take place and have its course, 
 either as a matter desired and countenanced by those Latins, or passed over 
 as a thing in which they took no interest on either side. 
 
 By the parting order of the Emperor, they were to mount on horseback at 
 the sounding of the great Varangian trumpet, put themselves at the head of 
 those Anglo-Saxon guards in the court-yard of their barrack, and await the 
 Emperor’s further orders. 
 
 There was something in this arrangement which pressed hard on the con¬ 
 science of Achilles Tatius, yet he was at a loss to justify his apprehensions 
 to himself, unless from a conscious feeling of his own guilt. He felt, how¬ 
 ever, that in being detained, under pretence of an honourable mission, at 
 the head of the Varangians, he was deprived of the liberty of disposing of 
 himself, by which he had hoped to communicate with the Caesar and Here- 
 ward, whom he reckoned upon as his active accomplices, not knowing that 
 the first was at this moment a prisoner in the Blacquernal, where Alexius 
 had arrested him in the apartments of the Empress, and that the second 
 was the most important support of Comnenus during the whole of that 
 eventful day. 
 
 When the gigantic trumpet of the Varangian guards sent forth its deep 
 signal through the city, the Protospathaire hurried Achilles along with him 
 to the rendezvous of the Varangians, and on the way said to him, in an easy 
 and indififerent tone, “ As the Emperor is in the field in person, you, his 
 representative, or Follower, will of course transmit no orders to the body¬ 
 guard, except such as shall receive their origin from himself, so that you 
 will consider your authority as this day suspended.” 
 
 “ I regret,” said Achilles, “that there should have seemed any cause for 
 such precautions; I had hoped my own truth and fidelity—but — I am 
 obsequious to his imperial pleasure in all things.” 
 
 “ Such are his orders,” said the other officer, “ and you know under what 
 penalty obedience is enforced.” 
 
 “ If I did not,” said Achilles, “the composition of this body of guards 
 would remind me, since it comprehends not only great part of those Varan¬ 
 gians, who are the immediate defenders of the Emperor’s throne, but those 
 slaves of the interior, who are the executioners of his pleasure.” 
 
 To this the Protospathaire returned no answer, while the more closely 
 the Acolyte looked upon the guard which attended, to the unusual number 
 of nearly three thousand men, the more had he reason to believe that he 
 might esteem himself fortunate, if, by the intervention of either the Csesar, 
 Agelastos, or Hereward, he could pass to the conspirators a signal to sus- 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 229 
 
 pend the intended explo55ion, which seemed to be provided against by the 
 Emperor with unusual caution. He would have given the full dream of 
 empire, with which he had been for a short time lulled to sleep, to have 
 seen but a glimpse of the azure plume of Nicephorus, the white mantle of 
 the philosopher, or even a glimmer of Ilereward’s battle-axe. No such 
 objects could be seen anywhere, and not a little was the faithless Follower 
 displeased to see that whichever way he turned his eyes, those of the Pro- 
 tospathaire, but especially of the trusty domestic officers of the empire, 
 seemed to follow and watch their occupation. 
 
 Amidst the numerous soldiers whom he saw on all sides, his eye did not 
 recognise a single man with whom he could exchange a friendly or confi¬ 
 dential glance, and he stood in all that agony of terror, which is rendered 
 the more discomfiting, because the traitor is conscious that, beset by various 
 foes, his own fears are the most likely of all to betray him. Internally, as 
 the danger seemed to increase, and as his alarmed imagination attempted 
 to discern new reasons for it, he could only conclude that either one of the 
 three principal conspirators, or at least some of the inferiors, had turned in¬ 
 formers ; and his doubt was, whether he should not screen his own share 
 of what had been premeditated, by flinging himself at the feet of the 
 Emperor, and making a full confession. But still the fear of being pre¬ 
 mature in having recourse to such base means of saving himself, joined to 
 the absence of the Emperor, united to keep within his lips a secret, which 
 concerned not only all his future fortunes, but life itself. lie "was in the 
 meantime, therefore, plunged as it were in a sea of trouble and uncertainty, 
 while the specks of land, which seemed to promise him refuge, were distant, 
 dimly seen, and extremely difficult of attainment. 
 
 Cjinpttr tilt €j)irii|-.lir3t. 
 
 To-morrow — oh, that’s sudden! Spare him, spare him ! 
 
 He’s not prepared to die. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 At the moment when Achilles Tatius, with a feeling of much insecurity, 
 awaited the unwinding of the perilous skein of state politics, a private 
 council of the Imperial family was held in the hall termed the Temple of 
 the Muses, repeatedly distinguished as the apartment in which the Princess 
 Anna Comnena was wont to make her evening recitations to those who 
 were permitted the honour of hearing prelections of her history. The 
 council consisted of the Empress Irene, the Princess herself, and the 
 Emperor, with the Patriarch of the Greek Church, as a sort of mediator 
 between a course of severity and a dangerous degree of lenity. 
 
 “ Tell not me, Irene,’^ said the Emperor, “ of the fine things attached to 
 the praise of mercy. Here have I sacrificed my just revenge over my rival 
 Ursel, and what good do I obtain by it? Why, the old obstinate man, 
 instead of being tractable, and sensible of the generosity which has spared 
 his life and eyes, can be wdth difficulty brought to exert himself in favour 
 of the Prince to whom he owes them. I used to think that eyesight and 
 the breath of life were things which one would preserve at any sacrifice ; 
 but, on the contrary, I now believe men value them like mere toys. Talk 
 not to me, therefore, of the gratitude to be excited by saving this ungrateful 
 Cub; and believe me, girl,'^ turning to Anna, “that not only will all my 
 subjects, should I follow your advice, laugh at me for sparing a man so 
 
 u 
 
230 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 predetermined to work my ruin, but even thou thyself wilt be the first to 
 upbraid me with the foolish kindness thou art now so anxious to extort 
 from me/^ 
 
 “Your Imperial pleasure, then,” said the Patriarch, “is fixed that your 
 unfortunate son-in-law shall suffer death for his accession to this con¬ 
 spiracy, deluded by that heathen villain Agelastes, and the traitorous 
 Achilles Tatius ?” 
 
 “ Such is my purpose,” said the Emperor; “ and in evidence that I 
 mean not again to pass over a sentence of this kind with a seeming 
 execution only, as in the case of Ursel, this ungrateful traitor of ours 
 shall be led from the top of the staircase, or ladder of Acheron, as it 
 is called, through the large chamber named the Hall of Judgment, at 
 the upper end of which are arranged the apparatus for execution, by 
 which I swear”- 
 
 “ Swear not at all!” said the Patriarch ; “ I forbid thee, in the name of 
 that Heaven whose voice (though unworthy) speaks in my person, to 
 quench the smoking flax, or destroy the slight hope which there may 
 remain, that you may finally be persuaded to alter your purpose? respecting 
 your misguided son-in-law, within the space allotted to him to sue for your 
 mercy. Remember, I pray you, the remorse of Constantine.” 
 
 “ What means your reverence?” said Irene. 
 
 “A trifle,” replied the Emperor, “not worthy being quoted from such a 
 mouth as the Patriarch’s, being, as it probably is, a relic of paganism.” 
 
 “What is it?” exclaimed the females anxiously, in the hope of hearing 
 something which might strengthen their side of the argument, and some¬ 
 thing moved, perhaps, by curiosity, a motive which seldom slumbers in a 
 female bosom, even when the stronger passions are in arms. 
 
 “ The Patriarch will tell you,” answered Alexius, “ since you must needs 
 know; though I promise you, you will not receive any assistance in your 
 argument from a silly legendary tale.” 
 
 “ Hear it, however,” said the Patriarch; “ for though it is a tale of the 
 olden time, and sometimes supposed to refer to the period when heathenism 
 predominated, it is no less true, that it was a vow made and registered in 
 the chancery of the rightful Deity, by an Emperor of Greece.” 
 
 “ What I am now to relate to you,” continued he, “ is, in truth, a tale not 
 only of a Christian Emperor, but of him who made the whole empire 
 Christian ; and of that very Constantine, who was also the first who declared 
 Constantinople to be the metropolis of the empire. This hero, remarkable 
 alike for his zeal for religion and for his warlike achievements, was crowned 
 by Heaven with repeated victory, and with all manner of blessings, save 
 that unity in his family which wise men are most ambitious to possess. 
 Not only was the blessing of concord among brethren denied to the family 
 of this triumphant Emperor, but a deserving son of mature age, who had 
 been supposed to aspire to share the throne with his father, was suddenly, 
 and at midnight, called upon to enter his defence against a capital charge 
 of treason. You will readily excuse my referring to the arts by which the 
 son was rendered guilty in the eyes of the father. Be it enough to say, 
 that the unfortunate young man fell a victim to the guilt of his stop-mother, 
 Eausta, and that he disdained to exculpate himself from a charge so gross 
 and so erroneous. It is said, that the anger of the Emperor was kept up 
 against his son by the sycophants who called upon Constantine to observe 
 that the culprit disdained even to supplicate for mercy, or vindicate his 
 innocence from so foul a charge. 
 
 “ But the death-blow had no sooner struck the innocent youth, than his 
 father obtained proof of the rashness with which he had acted. He had at 
 this period been engaged in constructing the subterranean parts of the 
 Blacquernal palace, which his remorse appointed to contain a record of 
 his paternal grief and contrition. At the upper part of the staircase, called 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 231 
 
 the Pit of Acheron, he caused to be constructed a large chamber, still called 
 the Hall of J-udgment, for the purpose of execution. A passage through 
 an archway in the upper wall leads from the hall to the place of misery, 
 where the axe, or other engine, is disposed for the execution of state 
 prisoners of consequence. Over this archway was placed a species of 
 marble altar, surmounted by an image of the unfortunate Crispus — the 
 materials were gold, and it bore the memorable inscription, To my son, 
 WHOM I RASHLY CONDEMNED, AND TOO HASTILY EXECUTED. When Construct¬ 
 ing this passage, Constantine made a vow, that he himself and his pos¬ 
 terity, being reigning Emperors, would stand beside the statue of Crispus, 
 at the time when any individual of their family should be led to execution, 
 and before they suffered him to pass from the Hall of Judgment to the 
 Chamber of Death, that they should themselves be personally convinced of 
 the truth of the charge under which he suffered. 
 
 “Time rolled on — the memory of Constantine was remembered almost 
 like that of a saint, and the respect paid to it threw into shadow the anec¬ 
 dote of his son’s death. The exigencies of the state rendered it difficult to 
 keep so large a sum in specie invested in a statue, which called to mind the 
 unpleasant failings of so great a man. Your Imperial Highness’s prede¬ 
 cessors applied the metal which formed the statue to support the Turkish 
 wars ; and the remorse and penance of Constantine died away in an obscure 
 tradition of the Church or of the palace. Still, however, unless your Impe¬ 
 rial Majesty has strong reasons to the contrary, I shall give it as my opinion, 
 that you will hardly achieve what is due to the memory of the greatest of 
 your predecessors, unless you give this unfortunate criminal, being so near 
 a relation of your own, an opportunity of pleading his cause before pass¬ 
 ing by the altar of refuge; being the name which is commonly given to the 
 monument of the unfortunate Crispus, son of Constantine, although now 
 deprived both of the golden letters which composed the inscription, and the 
 golden image which represented the royal sufferer.” 
 
 A mournful strain of music was now heard to ascend the stair so often 
 mentioned. 
 
 “ If I must hear the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius, ere he pass the altar 
 of refuge, there must be no loss of time,” said the Emperor; “ for these 
 melancholy sounds announce that he has already approached the Hall of 
 Judgment.” 
 
 Both the Imperial ladies began instantly, with the utmost earnestness, to 
 deprecate the execution of the Caesar’s doom, and to conjure Alexius, as he 
 hoped for quiet in his household, and the everlasting gratitude of his wife 
 and daughter, that he would listen to their entreaties in behalf of an unfor¬ 
 tunate man, who had been seduced into guilt, but not from his heart. 
 
 “ I will at least see him,” said the Emperor, “ and the holy vow of Con¬ 
 stantine shall be in the present instance strictly observed. But remember, 
 you foolish women, that the state of Crispus and the present Csesar, is as 
 different as guilt from innocence, and that their fates, therefore, may be 
 justly decided upon opposite principles, and with opposite results. But I 
 will confront this criminal; and you. Patriarch, may be present to render 
 wffiat help is in your power to a dying man ; for you, the wife and mother 
 of the traitor, you will, methinks, do well to retire to the church, and pray 
 God for the soul of the deceased, rather than disturb his last moments with 
 unavailing lamentations.” 
 
 “ Alexius,” said the Empress Irene, “ I beseech you to be contented ; be 
 assured that we will not leave you in this dogged humour of blood-shedding, 
 lest you make such materials for history as are fitter for the time of Nero 
 than of Constantine.” 
 
 The Emperor, without reply, led the way into the Hall of Judgment, 
 where a much stronger light than usual was already shining up the stair of 
 Acheron, from which were heard to sound, by sullen and intermitted fits. 
 
232 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the penitential psalms which the Greek Church has appointed to he sung at 
 executions. Twenty mute slaves, the pale colour of whose turbans gave a 
 ghastly look to the withered cast of their features, and the glaring white¬ 
 ness of their eyeballs, ascended two by two, as it were from the bowels of 
 the earth, each of them bearing in one hand a naked sabre, and in the other 
 a lighted torch. After these came the unfortunate Nicephorus ; his looks 
 were those of a man half-dead from the terror of immediate dissolution, and 
 what he possessed of remaining attention, was turned successively to two 
 black-stoled monks, who were anxiously repeating religious passages to him 
 alternately from the Greek scripture, and the form of devotion adopted by 
 the court of Constantinople. The Caesar’s dress also corresponded to his 
 mournful fortunes; His legs and arms were bare, and a simple white tunic, 
 the neck of which was already open, showed that he had assumed the gar¬ 
 ments which were to serve his last turn. A tall muscular Nubian slave, 
 who considered himself obviously as the principal person in the procession, 
 bore on his shoulder a large heavy headsman’s axe, and, like a demon wait¬ 
 ing on a sorcerer, stalked step for step after his victim. The rear of the 
 procession was closed by a band of four priests, each of whom chanted from 
 time to time the devotional psalm which was thundered forth on the occa¬ 
 sion ; and another of slaves, armed with bows and quivers, and with lances, 
 to resist any attempt at rescue, if such should be offered. 
 
 It would have required a harder heart than that of the unlucky princess 
 to have resisted this gloomy apparatus of fear and sorrow, surrounding, at 
 the same time directed against, a beloved object, the lover of her youth, and 
 the husband of her bosom, within a few minutes of the termination of his 
 mortal career. 
 
 As the mournful train approached towards the altar of refuge, half-en¬ 
 circled as it now was by the two great and expanded arms which projected 
 from the wall, the Emperor, who stood directly in the passage, threw upon 
 the flame of the altar some chips of aromatic wood, steeped in spirit of 
 wine, which, leaping at once into a blaze, illuminated the doleful procession, 
 the figure of the principal culprit, and the slaves, who had most of them 
 extinguished their flambeaux so soon as they had served the purpose of light¬ 
 ing them up the staircase. 
 
 The sudden light spread from the altar failed not to make the Emperor 
 and the Princess visible to the mournful group which approached through 
 the hall. All halted — all were silent. It was a meeting, as the Princess 
 has expressed herself in her historical work, such as took place betwixt 
 Ulysses and the inhabitants of the other world, who, when they tasted of 
 the blood of his sacrifices, recognised him indeed, but with empty lamen¬ 
 tations, and gestures feeble and shadowy. The hymn of contrition sunk also 
 into silence ; and, of the whole group, the only figure rendered more distinct,' 
 was the gigantic executioner, whose high and furrowed forehead, as well 
 as the broad steel of his axe, caught and reflected back the bright gleam 
 from the altar. Alexius saw the necessity of breaking the silence which 
 ensued, lest it should give the intercessors for the prisoner an opportunity 
 of renewing their entreaties. 
 
 “ Nicephorus Briennius,” he said, with a voice which, although generally 
 interrupted by a slight hesitation, which procured him, among his enemies, 
 the nickname of the Stutterer, yet, upon important occasions like the 
 present, was so judiciously tuned and balanced in its sentences, that no such 
 defect was at all visible—“Nicephorus Briennius,” he said, “late Caesar, 
 the lawful doom hath been spoken, that, having conspired against the life 
 of thy rightful sovereign and affectionate father, Alexius Comnenus, thou 
 shalt suffer the appropriate sentence, by having thy head struck from thy 
 body. Here, therefore, at the last altar of refuge, I meet thee, according to 
 the vow of the immortal Constantine, for the purpose of demanding whether 
 thou hast any thing to allege why this doom should not be^ executed ? Even 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 233 
 
 at this eleventh hour, thy tongue is unloosed to speak with freedom what 
 may concern thy life. All is prepared in this world and in the next. Look 
 forward beyond yon archway—the block is fixed. Look behind thee, thou 
 seest the axe already sharpened — thy place for good or evil in the next 
 world is already determined—time flies—eternity approaches. If thou hast 
 aught to say, speak it freely—if nought, confess the justice of thy sentence, 
 and pass on to death.^’ 
 
 The Emperor commenced this oration, with those looks described by his 
 daughter as so piercing, that they dazzled like lightning, and his periods, if 
 not precisely flowing like burning lava, were yet the accents of a man having 
 the power of absolute command, and as such produced an effect not only on 
 the criminal, but also upon the Prince himself, whose watery eyes and fal¬ 
 tering voice acknowledged his sense and feeling of the fatal import of the 
 present moment. 
 
 Kousing himself to the conclusion of what he had commenced, the Em¬ 
 peror again demanded whether the prisoner had any thing to say in his own 
 defence. 
 
 Nicephorus was not one of those hardened criminals who may be termed 
 the very prodigies of history, from the coolness with which they contem¬ 
 plated the consummation of their crimes, whether in their own punishment, 
 or the misfortunes of others. “I have been tempted,'^ he said, dropping on 
 his knees, “ and I have fallen. I have nothing to allege in excuse of my 
 folly and ingratitude ; but 1 stand prepared to die to expiate my guilt.^^ A 
 deep sigh, almost amounting to a scream, was here heard, close behind the 
 Emperor, and its cause assigned by the sudden exclamation of Irene,—“ My 
 lord ! my lord ! your daughter is gone And in fact Anna Comnena had 
 sunk into her mother’s arms without either sense or motion. The father’s 
 attention was instantly called to support his swooning child, wLile the un¬ 
 happy husband strove with the guards to be permitted to go to the assistance 
 of his wife. “Give me but five minutes of that time which the law has 
 abridged—let my efforts but assist in recalling her to a life which should be 
 as long as her virtues and her talents deserve ; and then let me die at her 
 feet, for I care not to go an inch beyond.” 
 
 The Emperor, who in fact had been more astonished at the boldness and 
 rashness of Nicephorus, than alarmed by his power, considered him as a man 
 rather misled than misleading others, and felt, therefore, the full effect of 
 this last interview. He was, besides, not naturally cruel, where severities 
 were to be enforced under his own eye. 
 
 “The divine and immortal Constantine,” he said, “did not, I am per¬ 
 suaded, subject his descendants to this severe trial, in order further to search 
 out the innocence of the criminals, but rather to give to those who came 
 after him an opportunity of generously forgiving a crime which could not, 
 without pardon—the express pardon of the Prince—escape unpunished. I 
 rejoice that I am born of the willow rather than of the oak, and I acknow¬ 
 ledge my weakness, that not even the safety of my own life, or resentment 
 of this unhappy man’s treasonable machinations, have the same effect with 
 me as the tears of my wife, and the swooning of my daughter. Rise up, 
 Nicephorus Briennius, freely pardoned, and restored even to the rank of 
 Cmsar. We will direct thy pardon to be made out by the great Logothete, 
 and sealed with the golden bull. For four-and-twenty hours thou art a 
 prisoner, until an arrangement is made for preserving the public peace. 
 Meanwhile, thou wilt remain under the charge of the Patriarch, who will be 
 answerable for thy forthcoming. — Daughter and wife, you must now go 
 hence to your owm apartment; a future time will come, during which you 
 may have enough of weeping and embracing, mourning and rejoicing. Pray 
 Heaven that 1, who, having been trained on till 1 have sacrificed justice and 
 true policy to uxorious compassion and paternal tenderness ot heart, may 
 
234 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 not have cause at last for grieving in good earnest for all the events of this 
 miscellaneous drama/^ 
 
 The pardoned Caesar, who endeavoured to regulate his ideas according to 
 this unexpected change, found it as difficult to reconcile himself to the reality 
 of his situation as Ursel to the face of nature, after having been long deprived 
 of enjoying it; so much do the dizziness and confusion of ideas, occasioned 
 by moral and physical causes of surprise and terror, resemble each other in 
 their effects on the understanding. 
 
 At length he stammered forth a request that he might be permitted to go 
 to the field with the Emperor, and divert, by the interposition of his own 
 body, the traitorous blows which some desperate man might aim against 
 that of his Prince, in a day which was too likely to be one of danger and 
 bloodshed. 
 
 “ Hold there I” said Alexius Comnenus ;—“ we will not begin thy newly- 
 redeemed life by renewed doubts of thine allegiance; yet it is but fitting to 
 remind thee, that thou art still the nominal and ostensible head of those who 
 expect to take a part in this day’s insurrection, and it will be the safest 
 course to trust its pacification to others than to thee. Go, sir, compare notes 
 with the Patriarch, and merit your pardon by confessing to him any traitor¬ 
 ous intentions concerning this foul conspiracy with which we may be as yet 
 unacquainted. — Daughter and wife, farewell! I must now depart for the 
 lists, where I have to speak with the traitor Achilles Tatius and the heathen¬ 
 ish infidel Agelastes, if he still lives, but of whose providential death I hear 
 a confirmed rumour.” 
 
 “ Yet do not go, my dearest father !” said the Princess ; “ but let me rather 
 go to encourage the loyal subjects in your behalf. The extreme kindness 
 which you have extended towards my guilty husband, convinces me of the 
 extent of your affection towards your unworthy daughter, and the greatness 
 of the sacrifice which you have made to her almost childish affection for an 
 ungrateful man who put your life in danger.” 
 
 “ That is to say, daughter,” said the Emperor, smiling, “ that the pardon 
 of your husband is a boon which has lost its merit when it is granted. 
 Take my advice, Anna, and think otherwise; wives and their husbands 
 ought in prudence to forget their offences towards each other as soon as 
 human nature will permit them. Life is too short, and conjugal tran¬ 
 quillity too uncertain, to admit of dwelling long upon such irritating 
 subjects. To your apartments. Princesses, and prepiire the scarlet-buskins, 
 and the embroidery which is displayed on the cuffs and collars of the 
 Caesar’s robe, indicative of his high rank. lie must not be seen without 
 them on the morrow. — Reverend father, I remind you once more that the 
 Caesar is in your personal custody from this moment until to-morrow at the 
 same hour.” 
 
 They parted; the Emperor repairing to put himself at the head of his 
 Varangian guards—the Caesar, under the superintendence of the Patriarch, 
 withdrawing into the interior of the Blacquernal Palace, where Nicephorus 
 Briennius was under the necessity of “ unthreading the rude eye of rebel¬ 
 lion,” and throwing such lights as were in his power upon the progress of 
 the conspiracy. 
 
 “Agelastes,” he said, “Achilles Tatius, and Hereward the Varangian, 
 were the persons principally entrusted in its progress. But whether they 
 had been all true to their engagements, he did not pretend to be assured.” 
 
 In the female apartments, there was a violent discussion betwixt Anna 
 Comnena and her mother. The Princess had undergone during the day 
 many changes of sentiment and feeling; and though they had finally united 
 themselves into one strong interest in her husband’s favour, ^mt no sooner 
 was the fear of his punishment removed, than the sense of his ungrateful 
 behaviour began to revive. She became sensible also that a woman of her 
 extraordinary attainments, who had been by a universal course of flattery 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 235 
 
 disposed to entertain a very high opinion of her own consequence, mado 
 rather a poor figure w'hen she had been the passive subject of a long series 
 of intrigues, by wdiich she w’as destined to be disposed of in one way or the 
 other, according to the humour of a set of subordinate conspirators, who 
 never so much as dreamed of regarding her as a being capable of forming 
 a wish in her own behalf, or even yielding or refusing a consent. Her 
 father’s authority over her, and right to dispose of her, w'as less questionable; 
 but even then it was something derogatory to the dignity of a Princess born 
 in the purple—an authoress besides, and giver of immortality—to be, without 
 her own consent, throwm, as it were, at the head now of one suitor, now of 
 another, how'ever mean or disgusting, whose alliance could for the time 
 benefit the Emperor. The consequence of these moody reflections, was that 
 Anna Comnena deeply toiled in spirit for the discovery of some means by 
 which she might assert her sullied dignity, and various were the expedients 
 which she revolved. 
 
 Cjinptcr tljt 
 
 But now the hand of fate is on the curtain. 
 
 And brings the scene to ligiit. 
 
 Don Sebastian. 
 
 The gigantic trumpet of the Varangians sounded its loudest note of 
 march, and the squadrons of the fliithful guards, sheathed in complete mail, 
 and enclosing in their centre the person of their Imperial master, set forth 
 upon their procession through the streets of Constantinople. The form of 
 Alexius, glittering in his splendid armour, seemed no unmeet central point 
 for the force of an empire; and while the citizens crowded in the train of 
 him and his escort, there might be seen a visible difference between those 
 ■who came with the premeditated intention of tumult, and the greater part, 
 who, like the multitude of every great city, thrust each other and shout for 
 rapture on account of any cause for which a crowd may be collected 
 together. The hope of the conspirators was lodged chiefly in the Immortal 
 Guards, who were levied principally for the defence of Constantinople, par¬ 
 took of the general prejudices of the citizens, and had been particularly 
 influenced by those in favour of Ursel, by whom, previous to his imprison¬ 
 ment, they had themselves been commanded. The conspirators had deter¬ 
 mined that those of this body who were considered as most discontented, 
 should early in the morning take possession of the posts in the lists most 
 favourable for their purpose of assaulting the Emperor’s person. But, in 
 spite of all efforts short of actual violence, for which the time did not seem 
 to be come, they found themselves disappointed in this purpose, by parties 
 of the Varangian guards, planted with apparent carelessness, but in fact, 
 with perfect skill, for the prevention of tlieir enterprise. Somewhat con¬ 
 founded at perceiving that a design, which they could not suppose to be 
 suspected, was, nevertheless, on every part controlled and counter-checked, 
 the conspirators began to look for the principal persons of their own party, 
 on whom they depended for orders in this emergency; but neither the • 
 Caesar nor Agelastes was to be seen, whether in the lists or on the military r 
 march from Constantinople; and though Achilles Tatius rode in the latter 
 assembly, yet it might be clearly observed that he was rather attending 
 upon the Protospathaire, than assuming that independence as an ofiicer 
 which he loved to affect. 
 
23G 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 In this manner, as the Emperor with his glittering bands approached the 
 phalanx of Tancred and his followers, who were drawn up, it will be remem¬ 
 bered, upon a rising cape between the city and the lists, the main body of 
 the Imperial procession deflected in some degree from the straight road, in 
 order to march past them without interruption ; while the Protospathaire 
 and the Acolyte passed under the escort of a band of Varangians, to bear 
 the Emperor’s inquiries to Prince Tancred, concerning the purpose of his 
 being therewith his band. The short march was soon performed — the 
 large trumpet which attended the two otficers sounded a parley, and Tan¬ 
 cred himself, remarkable for that personal beauty which Tasso has preferred 
 to any of the crusaders, except Ilinaldo d’Este, the creatures of his own 
 poetical imagination, advanced to parley with them. 
 
 “ The Emperor of Greece,” said the Protospathaire to Tancred, “ requires 
 the Prince of Otranto to show, by the two high officers who shall deliver 
 him this message, with what purpose he has returned, contrary to his oath, 
 to the right side of these straits ; assuring Prince Tancred at the same 
 time, that nothing will so much please the Emperor, as to receive an answer 
 not at variance with his treaty with the Duke of Bouillon, and the oath 
 which was taken by the crusading nobles and their soldiers; since that 
 would enable the Emperor, in conformity to his own wishes, by his kind 
 reception of Prince Tancred and his troop, to show how high is his estima¬ 
 tion of the dignity of the one, and* the bravery of both—We wait an 
 answer.” 
 
 The tone of the message had nothing in it very alarming, and its substance 
 cost Prince Tancred very little trouble to answer. “ The cause,” he said, 
 “ of the Prince of Otranto appearing here with fifty lances, is this cartel, 
 in which a combat is appointed betwixt Nicephorus Briennius, called the 
 Caesar, a high member of this empire, and a worthy knight of great fame, 
 the partner of the Pilgrims who have taken the Cross, in their high vow to 
 rescue Palestine from the infidels. The name of the said Knight is the 
 redoubted Bobert of Paris. It becomes, therefore, an obligation, indispen¬ 
 sable upon the Holy Pilgrims of the Crusade, to send one chief of their 
 number, with a body of men-at-arms, sufficient to see, as is usual, fair play 
 between the combatants. That such is their intention, may be seen from 
 their sending no more than fifty lances, with their furniture and following; 
 whereas it would have cost them no trouble to have detached ten times the 
 number, had they nourished any purpose of interfering by force, or dis¬ 
 turbing the fair combat which is about to take place. The Prince of Otranto, 
 therefore, and his followers, will place themselves at the disposal of the 
 Imperial Court, and witness the proceedings of the combat, with the most 
 perfect confidence that the rules of fair battle will be punctually observed.” 
 
 The two Grecian officers transmitted this reply to the Emperor, who heard 
 it with pleasure, and immediately proceeding to act upon the principle 
 which he had laid down, of maintaining peace, if possible, with the cru¬ 
 saders, named Prince Tancred with the Protospathaire as Field Marshals 
 of the lists, fully empowered, under the Emperor, to decide all the terms 
 of the combat, and to have recourse to Alexius himself where their opinions 
 disagreed. This was made known to the assistants, who were thus pre¬ 
 pared for the entry into the lists of the Grecian officer and the Italian 
 Prince in full armour, while a proclamation announced to all the spectators 
 their solemn office. The same annunciation commanded the assistants of 
 every kind to clear a convenient part of the seats which surrounded the 
 lists on one side, that it might serve for the accommodation of Prince Tan- 
 cred’s followers. 
 
 Achilles Tatius, who was a heedful observer of all these passages, saw 
 with alarm, that by the last collocation the armed Latins were interposed 
 between the Immortal Guards and the discontented citizens, which madf* it 
 most probable that the conspiracy was discovered, and that Alexius I'uuud 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 237 
 
 he had a good right to reckon upon the assistance of Tancred and his forces 
 in the task of suppressing it. This, added to the cold and caustic manner 
 in which the Emperor communicated his commands to him, made the 
 Acolyte of opinion, that his best chance of escape from the danger in which 
 he was now placed, was, that the whole conspiracy should fall to the ground, 
 and that the day should pass without the least attempt to shake the throne 
 of Alexius Comnenus. Even then it continued highly doubtful, whether a 
 despot, so wily and so suspicious as the Emperor, would think it sufficient 
 to rest satisfied with the private knowledge of the undertaking, and its 
 failure, with which he appeared to be possessed, without putting into exer¬ 
 cise the bow-strings and the blinding-irons of the mutes of the interior. 
 There was, however, little possibility either of flight or of resistance. The 
 least attempt to withdraw himself from the neighbourhood of those faithful 
 followers of the Emperor, personal foes of his own, by whom he was 
 gradually and more closely surrounded, became each moment more perilous, 
 and more certain to provoke a rupture, which it was the interest of the 
 weaker party to delay, with whatever difficulty. And while the soldiers 
 under Achilles’s immediate authority seemed still to treat him as their 
 superior officer, and appeal to him for the word of command, it became 
 more and more evident that the slightest degree of suspicion which should 
 be excited, would be the instant signal for his being placed under arrest. 
 With a trembling heart, therefore, and eyes dimmed b^ the powerful idea 
 of soon parting with the light of day, and all that it made visible, the 
 Acolyte saw himself condemned to watch the turn of circumstances over 
 which he could have no influence, and to content himself with waiting the 
 result of a drama, in which his own life was concerned, although the piece 
 was played by others. Indeed, it seemed as if through the whole assembly 
 some signal was waited for, which no one was in readiness to give. 
 
 The discontented citizens and soldiers looked in vain for Agelastes and 
 the Caesar, and when they observed the condition of Achilles Tatius, it 
 seemed such as rather to express doubt and consternation, than to give en¬ 
 couragement to the hopes they had entertained. Many of the lower classes, 
 however, felt too secure in their own insignificance to fear the personal con¬ 
 sequences of a tumult, and were desirous, therefore, to provoke the disturb¬ 
 ance, which seemed hushing itself to sleep. 
 
 A hoarse murmur, which attained almost the importance of a shout, 
 exclaimed,—“Justice, justice !—Ursel, Ursel!—The rights of the Immortal 
 Guards!” &c. At this the trumpet of the Varangians awoke, and its tre¬ 
 mendous tones were heard to peal loudly over the whole assembly, as the 
 voice of its presiding deity. A dead silence prevailed in the multitude, and 
 the voice of a herald announced, in the name of Alexius Comnenus, his 
 sovereign will and pleasure. 
 
 “ Citizens of the Roman Empire, your complaints, stirred up by factious 
 men, have reached the ear of. your Emperor; you shall yourselves be wit¬ 
 ness to his power of gratifying his people. At your request, and before 
 your own sight, the visual ray which hath been quenched shall be re-illu¬ 
 mined— the mind whose efforts were restricted to the imperfect supply of 
 individual wants shall be again extended, if such is the owner’s will, to the 
 charge of an ample Theme or division of the empire. Political jealousy, 
 more hard to receive conviction than the blind to receive sight, shall yield 
 itself conquered, by the Emperor’s paternal love of his people, and his 
 desire to give them satisfaction. Ursel, the darling of your wishes, sup¬ 
 posed to be long dead, or at least believed to exist in blinded seclusion, is 
 restored to you well in health, clear in eyesight, and possessed of every 
 faculty necessary to adorn the Emperor’s favour, or merit the affection of 
 the people.” 
 
 As the herald thus spoke, a figure, which had hitherto stood shrouded 
 behind some officers of the interior, now stepped forth, and flinging from 
 
238 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 him a dusky veil, in -which he was wrapt, appeared in a dazzling scarlet 
 garment, of which the sleeves and buskins displayed those ornaments which 
 expressed a rank nearly adjacent to that of the Emperor himself. He held 
 in his hand a silver truncheon, the badge of delegated command over the 
 Immortal Guards, and kneeling before the Emperor, presented it to his 
 hands, intimating a virtual resignation of the command which it implied. 
 The whole assembly were electrified at the appearance of a person long 
 supposed either dead, or by cruel means rendered incapable of public trust. 
 Some recognised the man, whose appearance and features were not easily 
 forgot, and gratulated him upon his most unexpected return to the service 
 of his country. Others stood suspended in amazement, not knowing whether 
 to trust their eyes, while a few determined malecontents eagerly pressed 
 upon the assembly an allegation that the person presented as Ursel was only 
 a counterfeit, and the -whole a trick of the Emperor. 
 
 “ Speak to them, noble Ursel,said the Emperor. “ Tell them, that if I 
 have sinned against thee, it has been because I was deceived, and that my 
 disposition to make thee anfends is as ample as ever was my purpose of 
 doing thee wrong.^^ 
 
 “Friends and countrymen,’^ said Ursel, turning himself to the assem¬ 
 bly, “ his Imperial Majesty permits me to offer my assurance, that if in any 
 former part of my life I have suffered at his hand, it is more than wiped 
 out by the feelings of a moment so glorious as this; and that I am well 
 satisfied, from the present instant, to spend what remains of my life in the 
 service of the most generous and beneficent of sovereigns, or, with his per¬ 
 mission, to bestow it in preparing, by devotional exercises, for an infinite 
 immortality to be spent in the society of saints and angels. Whichever 
 choice I shall make, I reckon that you, my beloved countrymen, who have 
 remembered me so kindly during years of darkness and captivity, will not 
 fail to afford me the advantage of your prayers.” 
 
 This sudden apparition of the long-lost Ursel had too much of that which 
 elevates and surprises not to captivate the multitude, and they sealed their 
 reconciliation with three tremendous shouts, which are said to have shaken 
 the air, that birds, incapable of sustaining themselves, sunk down exhausted 
 out of their native element. 
 
 Cljnptn tilt 
 
 “ What, leave the combat out!” exclaimed the knight. 
 
 “Yea! or we must renounce the Stagyrite. 
 
 So large a crowd the stage will ne’er contain.” 
 
 — “Then build a new, or act it on a plain.” 
 
 Pope. 
 
 The sounds of the gratulating shout had expanded over the distant shores 
 of the Bosphorus by mountain and forest, and died at length in the farthest 
 echoes, when the people, in the silence which ensued, appeared to ask each 
 other what next scene was about to adorn a pause so solemn and a stage so 
 august. The pause would probably have soon given place to some new 
 clamour, for a multitude, from whatever cause assembled, seldom remains 
 long silent, had not a new signal from the Varangian trumpet given notice 
 of a fresh purpose to solicit their attention. The blast had something in its 
 tone spirit-stirring and yet melancholy, partaking both of the character of 
 a point of war, and of the doleful sounds which might be chosen to announce 
 an execution of peculiar solemnity. Its notes were high and widely extended. 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 239 
 
 and prolonged and long dwelt upon, as if the brazen clamour had been 
 waked by something more tremendous than the lungs of mere mortals. 
 
 The multitude appeared to acknowledge these awful sounds, which were 
 indeed such as habitually solicited their attention to Imperial edicts, of 
 melancholy import, by which rebellions were announced, dooms of treason 
 discharged, and other tidings of a great and affecting import intimated to 
 the people of Constantinople. When the trumpet had in its turn ceased, 
 with its thrilling and doleful notes, to agitate the immense assembly, the 
 voice of the herald again addressed them. 
 
 It announced in a grave and affecting strain, that it sometimes chanced 
 how” the people failed in their duty to a sovereign, who was unto them as 
 a father, and how it became the painful duty of the prince to use the rod of 
 correction rather than the olive sceptre of mercy. 
 
 “ Fortunate,” continued the herald, “ it is, wdien the supreme Deity having 
 taken on himself the preservation of a throne, in beneficence and justice 
 resembling his own, has also assumed the most painful task of his earthly 
 delegate, by punishing those whom his unerring judgment acknowledges 
 as most guilty, and leaving to his substitute the more agreeable task of 
 pardoning such of those as art has misled, and treachery hath involved in 
 its snares. 
 
 “ Such being the case, Greece and its accompanying Themes are called 
 upon to listen and learn that a villain, namely Agelastes, who had 
 insinuated himself into the favour of the Emperor, by affection of deep 
 knowledge and severe virtue, had formed a treacherous plan for the murder 
 of the Emperor Alexius Comnenus, and a revolution in the state. This 
 person, who, under pretended wisdom, hid the doctrines of a heretic and 
 the vices of a sensualist, had found proselytes to his doctrines even among 
 the Emperor’s household, and those persons who were most bound to him, 
 and down to the lower order, to excite the last of whom were dispersed a 
 multitude of forged rumours, similar to those concerning Ursel’s death and 
 blindness, of which your own eyes have witnessed the falsehood.” 
 
 The people, W”ho had hitherto listened in silence, upon this appeal broke 
 forth in a clamorous assent. They had scarcely been again silent, ere the 
 iron-voiced herald continued his proclamation. 
 
 “Not Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,” he said, “had more justly, or more 
 directly fallen under the doom of an offended Deity, than this villain, Age¬ 
 lastes. The steadfiist earth gaped to devour the apostate sons of Israel, but 
 the termination of this wretched man’s existence has been, as fiir as can 
 now be known, by the direct means of an evil spirit, whom his own arts had 
 evoked into the upper air. By the spirit, as w'ould appear by the testimony 
 of a noble lady, and other females, who wdtnessed the termination of his 
 life, Agelastes was strangled, a fate well-becoming his odious crimes. Such 
 a death, even of a guilty man, must, indeed, be most painful to the humane 
 feelings of the Emperor, because it involves sufiering beyond this world. 
 But the aw”ful catastrophe carries with it this comfort, that it absolves the 
 Emperor from the necessity of carrying any farther a vengeance which 
 Heaven itself seems to have limited to the exemplary punishment of the 
 principal conspirator. Some changes of offices and situations shall be made, 
 for the sake of safety and good order; but the secret who had or who had 
 not, been concerned in this awful crime, shall sleep in the bosoms of the 
 persons themselves implicated, since the Emperor is determined to dismiss 
 their offence from his memory, as the effect of a transient delusion. Let all, 
 therefore, who now hear me, whatever consciousness they may possess of a 
 knowledge of what was this day intended, return to their houses, assured 
 that their own thoughts will be their only punishment. Let them rejoice 
 that Almighty goodness has saved them from the meditations of their own 
 hearts, and, according to the affecting language of Scri])ture, — ‘ Lot them 
 repent and sin no more, lest a worse thing befiill them.’ ” 
 
240 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 The voice of the herald then ceased, and was again answered by the shouts 
 of the audience. These were unanimous; for circumstances contributed to 
 convince the malecontent party that they stood at the Sovereign's mercy, 
 and the edict that they heard having shown his acquaintance with their 
 guilt, it lay at his pleasure to let loose upon them the strength of the 
 Varangians, while, from the terms on which it had pleased him to receive 
 Tancred, it was probable that the Apuleian forces were also at his disposal. 
 
 The voices, therefore, of the bulky Stephanos, of Ilarpax the centurion, 
 and other rebels, both of the camp and city, were the first to thunder forth 
 their gratitude for the clemency of the Emperor, and their thanks to 
 Heaven for his preservation. 
 
 The audience, reconciled to the thoughts of the discovered and frustrated 
 conspiracy, began meantime, according to their custom, to turn themselves 
 to the consideration of the matter which had more avowedly called them 
 together, and private whispers, swelling by degrees into murmurs, began to 
 express the dissatisfaction of the citizens at being thus long assembled, 
 without receiving any communication respecting the announced purpose of 
 their meeting. 
 
 Alexius was not slow to perceive the tendency of their thoughts; and, 
 on a signal from his hand, the trumpets blew a point of war, in sounds far 
 more lively than those which had prefaced the Imperial edict. “ Robert, 
 Count of Paris,^^ then said a herald, “ art thou here in thy place, or by 
 knightly proxy, to answer the challenge brought against thee by his Impe¬ 
 rial Highness Nicephorus Briennius, Csesar of this empire?’^ 
 
 The Emperor conceived himself to have equally provided against the 
 actual appearance at this call of either of the parties named, and had pre¬ 
 pared an exhibition of another kind, namely, certain cages, tenanted by 
 wild animals, which being now loosened should do their pleasure with each 
 other in the eyes of the assembly. His astonishment and confusion, there¬ 
 fore, were great, when, as the last note of the proclamation died in the echo. 
 Count Robert of Paris stood forth, armed cap-a-pie, his mailed charger led 
 behind him from within the curtained enclosure, at one end of the lists, as 
 if ready to mount at the signal of the marshal. 
 
 The alarm and the shame that were visible in every countenance near the 
 Imperial presence when no Caesar came forth in like fashion to confront the 
 formidable Frank, were not of long duration. Hardly had the style and 
 title of the Count of Paris been duly announced by the heralds, and their 
 second summons of his antagonist uttered in due form, when a person, 
 dressed like one of the Varangian Guards, sprung into the lists, and an¬ 
 nounced himself as ready to do battle in the name and place of the Caesar 
 Nicephorus Briennius, and for the honour of the empire. 
 
 Alexius, with the utmost joy, beheld this unexpected assistance, and 
 readily gave his consent to the bold soldier who stood thus forward in the 
 hour of utmost need, to take upon himself the dangerous ofl&ce of champion. 
 He the more readily acquiesced, as, from the size and appearance of the 
 soldier, and the gallant bearing he displayed, he had no doubt of his indi¬ 
 vidual person, and fully confided in his valour. But Prince Tancred inter¬ 
 posed his opposition. 
 
 “ The lists,he said, “ were only open to knights and nobles; or, at any 
 rate, men were not permitted to meet therein who were not of some equality 
 of birth and blood; nor could he remain a silent witness where the laws of 
 chivalry are in such respects forgotten. 
 
 “ Let Count Robert of Paris,^^ said the Varangian, “look upon my counte¬ 
 nance, and say whether he has not, by promise, removed all objection to 
 our contest which might be founded upon an inequality of condition, and 
 let him be judge himself, whether, by meeting me in this field, he will 
 do more than comply with a compact which he has long since become 
 bound by.^^ 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 241 
 
 Count Robert, upon this appeal, advanced and acknowled^^ed, Muthout 
 further debate, that, notwithstanding their difference of rank, he held him¬ 
 self bound by his solemn word to give this valiant soldier a meeting in the 
 field. That he regretted, on account of this gallant man’s eminent virtues, 
 and the high services he had received at his hands, that they should now 
 stand upon terms of such bloody arbitration ; but since nothing was more 
 common, than that the fate of war called on friends to meet each other in 
 mortal combat, he would not shrink from the engagement he had pledged 
 himself to; nor did he think his quality in the slightest degree infringed or 
 diminished, by meeting in battle a wairrior so well known and of such good 
 account as llereward, the brave Varangian. lie added, that “he willingly 
 admitted that the combat should take place on foot, and with the battle-axe, 
 w'hich was the ordinary w'eapon of the Varangian guard.” 
 
 llereward had stood still, almost like a statue, while this discourse passed; 
 but when the Count of Paris had made this speech, he inclined himself to¬ 
 wards him with a grateful obeisance, and expressed himself honoured and 
 gratified by the manly manner in wdiich the Count acquitted himself, accord¬ 
 ing to his promise, with complete honour and fidelity. 
 
 “ What we are to do,” said Count Robert, with a sigh of regret, which 
 even his love of battle could not prevent, “let us do quickly; the heart may 
 be afiected, but the hand must do its duty.” 
 
 llereward assented, wdth the additional remark, “ Let us then lose no 
 more time, which is already flying fast.” And, grasping his axe, he stood 
 prepared for combat. 
 
 “ I also am ready,” said Count Robert of Paris, taking the same weapon 
 from a Varangian soldier, who stood by the lists. Both were immediately 
 upon the alert, nor did further forms or circumstances put off the intended 
 duel. 
 
 The first blows were given and parried with great caution, and Prince 
 Tancred and others thought that on the part of Count Robert the caution 
 was much greater than usual; but, in combat as in food, the appetite in¬ 
 creases with the exercise- The fiercer passions began, as usual, to awaken 
 with the clash of arms and the sense of deadly blows, some of w'hich were 
 made with great fury on either side, and parried with considerable difficulty, 
 and not so completely but that blood flowed on both their parts. The Greeks 
 looked with astonishment on a single combat, such as they had seldom wit¬ 
 nessed, and held their breath as they beheld the furious blows dealt by either 
 W'arrior, and expected with each stroke the annihilation of one or other of 
 the combatants. As yet their strength and agility seemed somewhat equally 
 matched, although those who judged with more pretension to knowledge, 
 were of opinion, that Count Robert spared putting forth some part of the 
 military skill for which he was celebrated; and the remark was generally 
 made and allowed that he had surrendered a great advantage by not insist¬ 
 ing upon his right to fight upon horseback- On the other hand, it w’as the 
 general opinion that the gallant Varangian omitted to take advantage of 
 one or two opportunities afforded him by the heat of Count Robert’s temper, 
 who obviously was incensed at the duration of the combat. 
 
 Accident at length seemed about to decide wdiat had been hitherto an 
 equal contest. Count Robert, making a feint on one side of his antagonist, 
 struck him on the other, which was uncovered, with the edge of his Aveapon, 
 so that the Varangian reeled, and seemed in the act of falling to the earth. 
 The usual sound made by spectators at the sight of any painful or unplea¬ 
 sant circumstance, by drawing the breath betw'een the teeth, was suddenly 
 heard to pass through the assembly, while a female voice loud and eagerly 
 exclaimed,—“ Count Robert of Paris!—forget not this day that thou ow^est 
 a life to Heaven and me.” The Count w*as in the act of again seconding his 
 blow, wdth what effect could hardly be judged, when this cry reached his 
 ears, and apparently took away his disposition for farther combat. 
 
 VoL. XII. —10 V 
 
242 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ I acknowledge the debt/’ he said, sinking his battle-axe, and retreating 
 two steps from his antagonist, who stood in astonishment, scarcely recovered 
 from the stunning effect of the blow by which he was so nearly prostrated. 
 He sank the blade of his battle-axe in imitation of his antagonist, and 
 seemed to wait in suspense what was to be the next process of the combat. 
 “I acknowledge my debt,” said the valiant Count of Paris, “alike to Bertha 
 of Britain and to the Almighty, who has preserved me from the crime of un¬ 
 grateful blood-guiltiness.—You have seen the fight, gentlemen,” turning to 
 Tancred and his chivalry, “and can testify, on your honour, that it has been 
 maintained fairly on both sides, and without advantage on either. I pre¬ 
 sume my honourable antagonist has by this time satisfied the desire which 
 brought me under his challenge, and which certainly had no taste in it of 
 personal or private quarrel. On my part, I retain towards him such a sense 
 of personal obligation as would render my continuing this combat, unless 
 compelled to it by self-defence, a shameful and sinful action.” 
 
 Alexius gladly embraced the terms of truce, which he was far from ex¬ 
 pecting, and threw down his warder, in signal that the duel was ended. 
 Tancred, though somewhat surprised, and perhaps even scandalized, that a 
 private soldier of the Emperor’s guard should have so long resisted the 
 utmost efforts of so approved a knight, could not but own that the combat 
 had been fought with perfect fairness and equality, and decided upon terms 
 dishonourable to neither party. The Count’s character being well known 
 and established amongst the crusaders, they were compelled to believe that 
 some motive of a most potent nature formed the principle upon which, very 
 contrary to his general practice, he had proposed a cessation of the combat 
 before it was brought to a deadly, or at least to a decisive conclusion. The 
 edict of the Emperor upon the occasion, therefore, passed into a law, acknow¬ 
 ledged by the assent of the chiefs present, and especially affirmed and gratu- 
 lated by the shouts of the assembled spectators. 
 
 But perhaps the most interesting figure in the assembly was that of the 
 bold Varangian, arrived so suddenly at a promotion of military renown, 
 which the extreme difficulty he had experienced in keeping his ground 
 against Count Robert had prevented him from anticipating, although his 
 modesty had not diminished the indomitable courage wdth which he main¬ 
 tained the contest. Pie stood in the middle of the lists, his face ruddy with 
 the exertion of the combat, and not less so from the modest consciousness 
 proper to the plainness and simplicity of his character, which was discon¬ 
 certed by finding himself the central point of the gaze of the multitude. 
 
 “ Speak to me, my soldier,” said Alexius, strongly affected by the grati¬ 
 tude which he felt wms due to Hereward upon so singular an occasion, 
 “ speak to thine Emperor as his superior, for such thou art at this moment, 
 and tell him if there is any manner, even at the expense of half his king¬ 
 dom, to atone for his own life saved, and, what is yet dearer, for the honour 
 of his country, which thou hast so manfully defended and preserved?” 
 
 “ My Lord,” answered Hereward, “your Imperial Highness values my 
 poor services over highly, and ought to attribute them to the noble Count 
 of Paris, first, for his condescending to accept of an antagonist so mean in 
 quality as myself; and next, in generously relinquishing victory when he 
 might have achieved it by an additional blow; for I here confess before 
 your Majesty, my brethren, and the assembled Grecians, that my power of 
 protracting the combat was ended, when the gallant Count, by his gene¬ 
 rosity, put a stop to it.” 
 
 “Do not thyself that wrong, brave man,” said Count Robert; “for I vow 
 to our Lady of the Broken Lances, that the combat was yet within the 
 undetermined doom of Providence, when the pressure of my own feelings 
 rendered me incapable of continuing it, to the necessary harm, perhaps to 
 the mortal damage, of an antagonist to whom I owe so much kindness. 
 Choose, therefore, the recompense which the generosity of thy Emperor 
 
COUNT ROUE 11T OF PARIS. 
 
 248 
 
 offers in a manner so just and grateful, and fear not lest mortal voice pro¬ 
 nounces that reward unmerited which Robert of Paris shall avouch with 
 his sword to have been gallantly won upon his own crest.’' 
 
 “ You are too great, my lord, and too noble,” answered the Anglo-Saxon, 
 “to be gainsaid by such as I am, and I must not awaken new strife be¬ 
 tween us by contesting the circumstances under which our combat so 
 suddenly closed, nor would it be wise or prudent in me further to contradict 
 you. iNIy noble Emperor generously offers me the right of naming what 
 he calls my recompense; but let not his generosity be dispraised, although 
 it is from you, my lord, and not from his Imperial Highness, that I am to 
 ask a boon, to me the dearest to which my voice can give utterance.” 
 
 “ And that,” said the Count, “ has reference to Bertha, the faithful 
 attendant of my wife ?” 
 
 “Even so,” said llereward; “ it is my proposal to request my discharge 
 from the Varangian guard, and permission to share in your lordship’s 
 pious and honourable vow for the recovery of Palestine, with liberty to 
 fight under your honoured banner, and permission from time to time to re¬ 
 commend my love-suit to Bertha, the attendant of the Countess of Paris, 
 and the hope that it may find favour in the eyes of her noble lord and lady. 
 I may thus finally hope to be restored to a country, which I have never 
 ceased to love over the rest of the world.” 
 
 “ Thy service, noble soldier,” said the Count, “ shall be as acceptable to 
 me as that of a born earl; nor is there an opportunity of acquiring honour 
 which I can shape for thee, to which, as it occurs, I will not gladly prefer 
 thee. I 'will not boast of what interest I have with the King of England, 
 but something I can do with him, and it shall be strained to the uttermost 
 to settle thee in thine own beloved native country.” 
 
 The Emperor then spoke. “ Bear witness, heaven and earth, and you 
 my faithful subjects, and you my gallant allies; above all, you my bold 
 and true Varangian Guard, that we would rather have lost the brightest 
 jewel from our Imperial crown, than have relinquished the service of this 
 true and faithful Anglo-Saxon. But since go he must and will, it shall be 
 my study to distinguish him by such mai’ks of beneficence as may make it 
 known through his future life, that he is the person to whom the Emperor 
 Alexius Comnenus acknowledged a debt larger than his empire could dis¬ 
 charge. You, my Lord Tancred, and your principal leaders, will sup with 
 us this evening, and to-morrow resume your honourable and religious pur¬ 
 pose of pilgrimage. We trust both the combatants will also oblige us by 
 their presence.—Trupipets, give the signal for dismission.” 
 
 The trumpets sounded accordingly, and the difierent classes of spectators, 
 armed and unarmed, broke up into various parties, or formed into their 
 military ranks, for the purpose of their return to the city. 
 
 The screams of women suddenly and strangely raised, was the first thing 
 that arrested the departure of the multitude, when those wdio glanced their 
 eyes back, saw Sylvan, the great ourang-outang, produce himself in the 
 lists, to their surprise and astonishment. The women, and many of the 
 men who were present, unaccustomed to the ghastly look and savage ap¬ 
 pearance of a creature so extraordinary, raised a yell of terror so loud, 
 that it discomposed the animal who was the occasion of its being raised. 
 Sylvan, in the course of the night, having escaped over the garden-wall of 
 Agelastes, and clambered over the rampart of the city, found no difficulty 
 in hiding himself in the lists which were in the act of being raised, having 
 found a lurking-place in some dark corner under the seats of the spectators. 
 From this he was probably dislodged by the tumult of the dispersing multi¬ 
 tude, and had been compelled, therefore, to make an appearance in public 
 when he least desired it, not unlike that of the celebrated Puliccinello, at 
 the conclusion of his own drama, when he enters in mortal strife with the 
 foul fiend himself, a scene which scarcely excites more terror among the 
 
244 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 juvenile audience, than did the unexpected apparition of Sylvan among 
 the spectators of the duel. Bows were bent, and javelins pointed by the 
 braver part of the soldiery, against an animal of an appearance so am¬ 
 biguous, and whom his uncommon size and grizzly look caused most who 
 beheld him to suppose either the devil himself, or the apparition of some 
 fiendish deity of ancient days, whom the heathens worshipped. Sylvan 
 had so far improved such opportunities as had been afibrded him, as to be¬ 
 come sufficiently aware that the attitudes assumed by so many military 
 men, inferred immediate danger to his person, from which he hastened to 
 shelter himself by flying to the protection of Hereward, with whom he 
 had been in some degree familiarized. lie seized him, accordingly, by the 
 cloak, and, by the absurd and alarmed look of his fantastic features, and a 
 certain wild and gibbering chatter, endeavoured to express his fear and to 
 ask protection. Hereward understood the terrified creature, and turning to 
 the Emperor’s throne, said aloud, — “ Poor frightened being, turn thy 
 petition, and gestures, and tones, to a quarter which, having to-day pardoned 
 so many offences which were wilfully and maliciously schemed, will not be, 
 
 I am sure, obdurate to such as thou, in thy half-reasoning capacity, may 
 have been capable of committing.” 
 
 The creature, as is the nature of its tribe, caught from Hereward him¬ 
 self the mode of applying with most effect his gestures and pitiable sup¬ 
 plication, while the Emperor, notwithstanding the serious scene which had 
 just past, could not help laughing at the touch of comedy flung into it by 
 this last incident. 
 
 “My trusty Hereward,” — he said aside, (“ I will not again call him 
 Edward if I can help it)—thou art the refuge of the distressed, whether it 
 be man or beast, and nothing that sues through thy intercession, while 
 thou remainest in our service, shall find its supplication in vain. Do thou, 
 good Hereward,” for the name was now pretty well established in his Im¬ 
 perial memory, “ and such of thy companions as know the habits of the 
 creature, lead him back to his old quarters in the Blacquernal; and that 
 done, my friend, observe that we request thy company, and that of thy 
 faithful mate Bertha, to partake supper at our court, with our wife and 
 daughter, and such of our servants and allies as we shall request to share 
 the same honour. Be assured, that while thou remainest with us, there is 
 no point of dignity which shall not be willingly paid to thee.—And do thou 
 approach, Achilles Tatius, as much favoured by thine Emperor as before 
 this day dawned. What charges are against thee have been- only whispered 
 in a friendly ear, which remembers them not, unless (which Heaven fore- 
 fend!) their remembrance is renewed by fresh offences.” 
 
 Achilles Tatius bowed till the plume of his helmet mingled with the 
 mane of his fiery horse, but held it wisest to forbear any answer in words, 
 leaving his crime and his pardon to stand upon those general terms in 
 which the Emperor had expressed them. 
 
 Once more the multitude of all ranks returned on their way to the city, 
 nor did any second interruption arrest their march. Sylvan, accompanied 
 by one or two Varangians, who led him in a sort of captivit}^ took his way 
 to the vaults of the Blacquernal, which were in fact his proper habitation. 
 
 Upon the road to the city, Harpax, the notorious corporal of the Immortal 
 Guards, held a discourse with one or two of his own soldiers, and of the 
 citizens who had been members of the late conspiracy. 
 
 “ So,” said Stephanos, the prize-fighter, “ a fine affair we have made of 
 it, to suffer ourselves to be all anticipated and betrayed by a thick-sculled 
 Varangian ; every chance turning against us as they would against Corydon, 
 the shoemaker, if he were to defy me to the circus. Ursel, whose death 
 made so much work, turns out not to be dead after all; and what is worse, 
 he lives not to our advantage. This fellow Hereward, who was yesterday 
 no better than myself—What do I say? — better! — he M'as a great deal 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 245 
 
 worse — an insignificant nobody in every respect! — is now crammed with 
 honours, praises, and gifts, till he wellnigh returns what they have given 
 him, and the Coesar and the Acolyte, our associates, have lost the Emperor's 
 love and confidence, and if they are sufiered to survive, it must be like the 
 tame domestic poultry, whom we pamper with food, one day, that upon the 
 next their necks may be twisted for spit or spot." 
 
 “ Stephanos," replied the centurion, “ thy form of body fits thee well for 
 the Palaestra, but thy mind is not so acutely formed as to detect that which 
 is real from that which is only probable, in the political world, of which 
 thou art now judging. Considering the risk incurred by lending a man's 
 ear to a conspiracy, thou oughtest to reckon it a saving in every particular, 
 w'here he escapes with his life and character safe. This has been the case 
 with Achilles Tatius, and wdth the Cmsar. They have remained also in 
 their high places of trust and power, and may be confident that the Emperor 
 will hardly dare to remove them at a future period, since the possession of 
 the full knowledge of their guilt has not emboldened him to do so. Their 
 power, thus left with them, is in fact ours ; nor is there a circumstance to 
 be supposed, which can induce them to betray their confederates to the 
 government. It is much more likely that they will remember them with 
 the probability of renewing, at a finer time, the alliance which binds them 
 together. Cheer up thy noble resolution, therefore, my Prince of the Circus, 
 and think that thou shalt still retain that predominant influence which the 
 favourites of the amphitheatre are sure to possess over the citizens of Con¬ 
 stantinople." 
 
 “ I cannot tell," answered Stephanos ; “ but it gnaws at my heart like the 
 worm that dieth not, to see this beggarly foreigner betray the noblest blood 
 in the land, not to mention the best athlete in the Palaestra, and move off 
 not only without punishment for his treachery, but with praise, honour, and 
 preferment." 
 
 “True," said Harpax; “but observe, my friend, that he does move off to 
 purpose, lie leaves the land, quits the corps in which he might claim pre¬ 
 ferment and a few vain honours, being valued at what such trifles amount 
 to. llereward, in the course of one or two days, shall be little better than 
 a disbanded soldier, subsisting by the poor bread which he can obtain as a 
 follower of this beggarly Count, or which he is rather bound to dispute with the 
 infidel, by encountering with his battle-axe the Turkish sabres. What will 
 it avail him amidst the disasters, the slaughter, and the famine of Palestine, 
 that he once upon a time was admitted to supper with the Emperor? We 
 know Alexius Comnenus — he is willing to discharge, at the highest cost, 
 such obligations as are incurred to men like this llereward ; and, believe 
 me, I think that I see the wily despot shrug his shoulders in derision, when 
 one morning he is saluted with the news of a battle in Palestine lost by the 
 crusaders in which his old acquaintance has fallen a dead man. I will not 
 insult thee, by telling thee how easy it might be to acquire the favour of a 
 gentlewoman in waiting upon a lady of quality; nor do I think it would 
 be difficult, should that be the object of the prize-fighter, to acquire the 
 property of a large baboon like Sylvan, which no doubt would set up as a 
 juggler any Frank who had meanness of spirit to propose to gain his bread 
 in such a capacity, from the alms of the starving chivalry of Europe. But 
 he who can stoop to envy the lot of such a person, ought not to be one whose 
 chief personal distinctions are sufficient to place him first in rank over all 
 the fixvourites of the amphitheatre." 
 
 There was something in this sophistical kind of reasoning, which was but 
 half satisfactory to the obtuse intellect of the prize-fighter, to whom it was 
 addressed, although the only answer which he attempted was couched in 
 this observation: — 
 
 “ Ay, but, noble centurion, you forget that, besides empty honours, this 
 
 V 2 
 
246 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Varangian Hereward, or Edward, whichever is his name, is promised a 
 mighty donative of gold.” 
 
 “ Marry, you touch me there,” said the centurion; “ and when you tell 
 me that the promise is fulfilled, I will willingly agree that the Anglo-Saxon 
 hath gained something to be envied for; but while it remains in the shape 
 of a naked promise, you shall pardon me, my worthy Stephanos, if I hold 
 it of no more account than the mere pledges which are distributed among 
 ourselves as well as to the Varangians, promising upon future occasions 
 mints of money, which we are likely to receive at the same time with the 
 last year’s snow. Keep up your heart, therefore, noble Stephanos, and 
 believe not that your affairs are worse for the miscarriage of this day; and 
 let not thy gallant courage sink, but remembering those principles upon 
 w'hich it was called into action, believe that thy objects are not the less secure 
 because fate has removed their acquisition to a more distant day.” The 
 veteran and unbending conspirator, Harpax, thus strengthened for some 
 future renewal of their enterprise the failing spirits of Stephanos. 
 
 After this, such leaders as were included in the invitation given by the 
 Emperor, repaired to the evening meal, and, from the general content and 
 complaisance expressed by Alexius and his guests of every description, it 
 could little have been supposed that the day just passed over was one which 
 had inferred a purpose so dangerous and treacherous. 
 
 The absence of the Countess Brenhilda, during this eventful day, created 
 no small surprise to the Emperor and those in his immediate confidence, 
 who knew her enterprising spirit, and the interest she must have felt in the 
 issue of the combat. Bertha had made an early communication to the 
 Count, that his lady, agitated with the many anxieties of the few preceding 
 days, was unable to leave her apartment. The valiant knight, therefore, 
 lost no time in acquainting his faithful Countess of his safety; and after¬ 
 wards joining those who partook of the banquet at the palace, he bore him¬ 
 self as if the least recollection did not remain on his mind of the perfidious 
 conduct of the Emperor at the conclusion of the last entertainment. He 
 knew, in truth, that the knights of Prince Tancred not only maintained a 
 strict watch round the house where Brenhilda remained, but also that they 
 preserved a severe ward in the neighbourhood of the Blacquernal, as well 
 for the safety of their heroic leader, as for that of Count Robert, the respected 
 companion of their military pilgrimage. 
 
 It was the general principle of the European chivalry, that distrust was 
 rarely permitted to survive open quarrels, and that whatever was forgiven, 
 was dismissed from their recollection, as unlikely to recur; but on the pre¬ 
 sent occasion there was a more than usual assemblage of troops, which the 
 occurrences of the day had drawn together, so that the crusaders were 
 called upon to be particularly watchful. 
 
 It may be believed that the evening passed over without any attempt to 
 renew the ceremonial in the council chamber of the Lions, which had been 
 upon a former occasion terminated in such misunderstanding. Indeed it 
 would have been lucky if the explanation between the mighty Emperor of 
 Greece and the chivalrous Knight of Paris had taken place earlier; for re¬ 
 flection on what had passed, had convinced the Emperor that the Franks 
 were not a people to be imposed upon by pieces of clockwork, and similar 
 trifles, and that what they did not understand, w'as sure, instead of pro¬ 
 curing their awe or admiration, to excite their anger and defiance. Nor 
 had it altogether escaped Count Robert, that the manners of the Eastern 
 people were upon a different scale from those to which he had been accus¬ 
 tomed ; that they neither were so deeply affected by the spirit of chivalry, 
 nor, in his own language, was the worship of the Lady of the Broken Lances 
 so congenial a subject of adoration. This notwithstanding, Count Robert 
 observed, that Alexius Comnenus was a wise and politic prince ; his wisdom 
 perhaps too much allied to cunning, but yet aiding him to maintain with 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 247 
 
 great address that empire over the minds of his subjects, which was neces¬ 
 sary for their good, and for maintaining his own authority. lie therefore 
 resolved to receive with equanimity whatever should be offered by the Em¬ 
 peror, either in civility or in the way of jest, and not again to disturb an 
 understanding which might be of advantage to Christendom, by a quarrel 
 founded upon misconception of terms or misapprehension of manners. To 
 this prudent resolution tho^ Count of Paris adhered during the whole 
 evening; with some difficulty, however, since it was somewhat inconsistent 
 with his own fiery and inquisitive temper, which was equally desirous to 
 know the precise amount of whatever was addressed to him, and to take 
 umbrage at it, should it appear in the least degree offensive, whether so 
 intended or not. 
 
 (ClinptBr tliE '®ljirtii-/Diirtli. 
 
 It was not until after the conquest of Jerusalem that Count Kobert of 
 Paris returned to Constantinople, and with his wife, and such proportion 
 of his followers as the sword and pestilence had left after that bloody war¬ 
 fare, resumed his course to his native kingdom. Upon reaching Italy, the 
 first care of the noble Count and Countess was to celebrate in princely style 
 the marriage of Ilereward and his faithful Bertha, who had added to their 
 other claims upon their master and mistress, those acquired by Ilereward’s 
 faithful services in Palestine, and no less by Bertha’s affectionate ministry 
 to her lady in Constantinople. 
 
 As to the fate of Alexius Comnenus, it may be read at large in the his¬ 
 tory of his daughter Anna, who has represented him as the hero of many 
 a victory, achieved, says the purple-born, in the third chapter and fifteenth 
 book of her history, sometimes by his arms and sometimes by his prudence. 
 
 “ Ilis boldness alone has gained some battles, at other times his success 
 has been won by stratagem. He has erected the most illustrious of his 
 trophies by confronting danger, by combating like a simple soldier, and 
 throwing himself bareheaded into the thickest of the foe. But there are 
 others,” continues the accomplished lady, “ which he gained an opportunity 
 of erecting by assuming the appearance of terror, and even of retreat. 
 In a word, he knew alike how to triumph either in flight or in pursuit, and 
 remained upright even before those enemies who appeared to have struck 
 him down; resembling the military implement termed the calthrop, which 
 remains always upright in whatever direction it is thrown on the ground.” 
 
 It would be unjust to deprive the Princess of the defence she herself 
 makes against the obvious charge of partiality. 
 
 “ I must still once more repel the reproach which some bring against me, 
 as if my history was composed merely according to the dictates of the 
 natural love for parents which is engraved in the hearts of children. In 
 truth, it is not the effect of that affection which I bear to mine, but it is the 
 evidence of matter of fact, which obliges me to speak as I have done. Is 
 it not possible that one can have at the same time an affection for the me¬ 
 mory of a father and for truth? For myself, I have never directed my 
 attempt to write history, otherwise than for the ascertainment of the matter 
 of fact. With this purpose, I have taken for my subject the history of a 
 worthy man. Is it just, that, by the single accident of his being the author 
 of my birth, his quality of my father ought to form a prejudice against me, 
 which would ruin my credit with my readers? I have given, upon other 
 occasions, proofs sufficiently strong of the ardour which 1 had fur the de- 
 
248 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 fence of my father’s interests, •which those that know me can never doubt; 
 but, on the present, I have been limited by the inviolable fidelity with which 
 I respect the truth, which I should have felt conscience to have veiled, 
 under pretence of serving the renown of my father.”— Alexiad, chap. iii. 
 book XV. 
 
 This much we have deemed it our duty to quote, in justice to the fair 
 historian ; we will extract also her description of the Emperor’s death, and 
 are not unwilling to allow, that the character assigned to the Princess by 
 our own Gibbon, has in it a great deal of fairness and of truth. 
 
 Notwithstanding her repeated protests of sacrificing rather to the exact 
 and absolute truth than to the memory of her deceased parent. Gibbon re¬ 
 marks truly, that “ instead of the simplicity of style and narrative which 
 wins a belief, an elaborate afiectation of rhetoric and science betrays in 
 every page the vanity of a female author. The genuine character of Alexius 
 is lost in a vague constellation of virtues ; and the perpetual strain of pane¬ 
 gyric and apology awakens our jealousy to question the veracity of the his¬ 
 torian, and the merit of the hero. We cannot, however, refuse her judicious 
 and important remark, that the disorders of the times were the misfortune 
 and the glory of Alexius; and that every calamity which can afflict a de¬ 
 clining empire was accumulated on his reign by the justice of Heaven and 
 the vices of his predecessors.” — Gibbon’s Roman Empire, vol. ix. p. 83, 
 foot-note. 
 
 The Princess accordingly feels the utmost assurance, that a number of 
 signs which appeared in heaven and on earth, were interpreted by the sooth¬ 
 sayers of the day as foreboding the death of the Emperor. By these means, 
 Anna Comnena assigned to her father those indications of consequence, 
 which ancient historians represent as necessary intimations of the sympathy 
 of nature, with the removal of great characters from the world ; but she 
 fails not to inform the Christian reader that her father’s belief attached to 
 none of these prognostics, and that even on the following remarkable occa¬ 
 sion he maintained his incredulity:—A splendid statue, supposed generally 
 to be a relic of paganism, holding in its hand a golden sceptre, and stand¬ 
 ing upon a base of porphyry, was overturned by a tempest, and was gene¬ 
 rally believed to be an intimation of the death of the Emperor. This, how¬ 
 ever, he generously repelled. Phidias, he said, and other great sculptors 
 of antiquity, had the talent of imitating the human frame with surprising 
 accuracy; but to suppose that the power of foretelling future events was 
 reposed in these master-pieces of art, would be to ascribe to their makers 
 the faculties reserved by the Deity for himself, when he says, “ It is I who 
 kill and make alive.” During his latter days, the Emperor was greatly 
 afflicted with the gout, the nature of which has exercised the wit of many 
 persons of science as well as of xinna Comnena. The poor patient was so 
 much exhausted, that when the Empress was talking of most eloquent per¬ 
 sons who should assist in the composition of his history, he said, with a 
 natural contempt of such vanities, “ The passages of my unhappy life call 
 rather for tears and lamentation than for the praises you speak of.” 
 
 A species of asthma having come to the assistance of the gout, the reme¬ 
 dies of the physicians became as vain as the intercession of the monks and 
 clergy, as well as the alms which were indiscriminately lavished. Two or 
 three deep successive swoons gave ominous warning of the approaching 
 blow; and at length was terminated the reign and life of Alexius Cora- 
 nenus, a prince who, with all the faults which may be imputed to him, still 
 possesses a real right, from the purity of his general intentions, to be ac¬ 
 counted one of the best sovereigns of the Lower Empire. 
 
 For some time, the historian forgot her pride of literary rank, and, like 
 an ordinary person, burst into tears and shrieks, tore her hair, and defaced 
 her countenance, while the Empress Irene cast from her her princely habits, 
 cut off her hair, changed her purple buskins for black mourning shoes, and 
 
COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
 249 
 
 her daughter Mary, who had herself been a widow, took a black robe from 
 one of her own wardrobes, and presented it to her mother. “ Even in the 
 moment when she put it on,^' says Anna Comnena, “the Emperor gave up 
 the ghost, and in that moment the sun of my life set.^^ 
 
 AVe shall not pursue her lamentations farther. She upbraids herself that, 
 after the death of her father, that light of the world, she had also survived 
 Irene, the delight alike of the east and of the west, and survived her hus¬ 
 band also. “ I am indignant,'^ she said, “ that my soul, suffering under 
 such torrents of misfortune, should still deign to animate my body. Have 
 I not,’^ said she, “ been more hard and unfeeling than the rocks themselves ; 
 and is it not just that one, who could survive such a father and mother, and 
 such a husband, should be subjected to the influence of so much calamity? 
 But let me finish this history, rather than any longer fatigue my readers 
 with my unavailing and tragical lamentation.^’ 
 
 Having thus concluded her history, she adds the following two lines: — 
 
 “The learned Comnena lays her pen aside. 
 
 What lime her subject and her father died.”* 
 
 These quotations will probably give the readers as much as they wish to 
 know of the real character of this Imperial historian. Fewer words will 
 suffice to dispose of the other parties who have been selected from her pages, 
 as persons in the foregoing drama. 
 
 There is very little doubt that the Count Robert of Paris, whose audacity 
 in seating himself upon the throne of the Emperor gives a peculiar interest 
 to his character, w'as in fact a person of the highest rank; being no other, 
 as has been conjectured by the learned Du Cange, than an ancestor of the 
 house of Bourbon, which has so long given Kings to France. He was a 
 successor, it has been conceived, of the Counts of Paris, by whom the city 
 was valiantly defended against the Normans, and an ancestor of Hugh 
 Capet. There are several hypotheses upon this subject, deriving the well- 
 known Hugh Capet, first, from the family of Saxony; secondly, from St. 
 Arnoul, afterwards Bishop of Altex; third, from NibiJong; fourth, from 
 the Duke of Bavaria; and fifth, from a natural son of the Emperor Char¬ 
 lemagne. Variously placed, but in each of these contested pedigrees, ap¬ 
 pears this Robert surnamed the Strong, wdio w^as Count of that district, of 
 which Paris was the capital, most peculiarly styled the County, or Isle of 
 France. Anna Comnena, who has recorded the bold usurpation of the 
 Emperor’s seat by this haughty chieftain, has also acquainted us with bis 
 receiving a severe, if not a mortal Avound, at the battle of Dorylceum, owing 
 to his neglecting the warlike instructions with wdiich her father had favoured 
 him on the subject of the Turkish wars. The antiquary who is disposed to 
 investigate this subject, may consult the late Lord Ashburnham’s elaborate 
 Genealogy of the Royal House of France; also a note of Du Cange’s on 
 the Princess’s history, p. 362, arguing for the identity of her “ Robert of 
 Paris, a haughty barbarian,” with the “ Robert called the Strong,” men¬ 
 tioned as an ancestor of Hugh Capet. Gibbon, vol. xi. p. 52, may also be 
 consulted. The French antiquary and the English historian seem alike dis¬ 
 posed to find the church, called in the tale that of the Lady of the Broken 
 Lances, in that dedicated to St. Drusas, or Drosin of Soissons, Avho was 
 supposed to have peculiar influence on the issue of combats, and to be in 
 the habit of determining them in favour of such champions as spent the 
 night preceding at his shrine. 
 
 In consideration of the sex of one of the parties concerned, the author 
 has selected our Lady of the Broken Lances as a more appropriate patroness 
 than St. Drusas himself, for the Amazons, who were not uncommon in that 
 age. Gaita, for example, the wife of Robert Guiscard, a redoubted hero. 
 
 * [A.r}^tv Inrov pioroio h Ko^vrjvog 
 
 El 0a tfaXr) OvyaTijp Xij^cv AAf^ia<5of.J 
 
250 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 and the parent of a most heroic race of sons, was herself an Amazon, 
 fought in the foremost ranks of the Normans, and is repeatedly commemo¬ 
 rated by our Imperial historian, Anna Comnena. 
 
 The reader can easily conceive to himself that Robert of Paris distin¬ 
 guished himself among his brethren-at-arms and fellow-crusaders. His 
 fame resounded from the walls of Antioch; but at the battle of Dorylaeum, 
 he was so desperately wounded, as to be disabled from taking a part in the 
 grandest scene of the expedition. His heroic Countess, however, enjoyed 
 the great satisfaction of mounting the walls of Jerusalem, and in so far 
 discharging her own vows and those of her husband. This was the more 
 fortunate, as the sentence of the physicians pronounced that the wounds of 
 the Count had been inflicted by a poisoned weapon, and that complete reco¬ 
 very was only to be hoped for by having recourse to his native air. After 
 some time spent in the vain hope of averting by patience this unpleasant 
 alternative. Count Robert subjected himself to necessity, or what was repre¬ 
 sented as such, and, with his wife and the faithful Hereward, and all others 
 of his followers who had been like himself disabled from combat, took the 
 way to Europe by sea. 
 
 A light galley, procured at a high rate, conducted them safely to Venice, 
 and from that then glorious city, the moderate portion of spoil which had 
 fallen to the Count's share among the conquerors of Palestine, served to con¬ 
 vey them to his own dominions, which, more fortunate than those of most 
 of his fellow-pilgrims, had been left uninjured by their neighbours during 
 the time of their proprietor's absence on the Crusade. The report that the 
 Count had lost his health, and the power of continuing his homage to the 
 Lady of the Broken Lances, brought upon him the hostilities of one or tAvo 
 ambitious or envious neighbours, whose covetousness was, however, suffi¬ 
 ciently repressed by the brave resistance of the Countess and the resolute 
 Hereward. Less than a twelvemonth was required to restore the Count of 
 Paris to his full health, and to render him, as formerly, the assured protector 
 of his own vassals, and the subject in whom the possessors of the French 
 throne reposed the utmost confidence. This latter capacity enabled Count 
 Robert to discharge his debt towards Hereward in a manner as ample as he 
 could have hoped or expected. Being now respected alike for his wisdom 
 and his sagacity, as much as he always was for his intrepidity and his cha¬ 
 racter as a successful crusader, he was repeatedly employed by the Court 
 of France in settling the troublesome and intricate affairs in which the Nor¬ 
 man possessions of the English crown involved the rival nations. William 
 Rufus was not insensible to his merit, nor blind to the importance of gaining 
 his good will; and finding out his anxiety that Hereward should be restored 
 to the land of his fathers, he took, or made an opportunity, by the forfeiture 
 of some rebellious noble, of conferring upon our Varangian a large district 
 adjacent to the New Forest, being part of the scenes which his father chiefly 
 frequented, and where it is said the descendants of the valiant squire and 
 his Bertha have subsisted for many a long year, surviving turns of time 
 and chance, which are in general fatal to the continuance of more distin¬ 
 guished families. 
 
 END OF COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS. 
 
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CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower, 
 
 Where the wn'flower scents the dewy air, 
 Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
 And tells tlie midnight moon her care: 
 
 The winds were laid, the air was still. 
 The stare they shot along the sky; 
 
 The Fox was howling on the hill. 
 
 And the distant echoing glens reply. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 INTRODUCTION.— (1832.) 
 
 [The following Introduction ‘to “Castle Dangerous” was forwarded by Sir Walter 
 Scott from N.aples in February 1832, together with some corrections of the text, and 
 notes on localities mentioned in the Novel. 
 
 The materials for the Introduction must have been collected before he left Scotland 
 in September 1831; but in the hurry of preparing for his voyage, he had not been 
 able to arrange them so as to accompany the first edition of this Romance. 
 
 A few notes, supplied by the Editor, are placed within brackets.] 
 
 The incidents on which the ensuing Novel mainly turns, are derived from 
 the ancient Metrical Chronicle of “ The Bruce,by Archdeacon Barbour, 
 and from the “ History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus,’’ by David 
 Hume of Godscroft; and are sustained by the immemorial tradition of the 
 western parts of Scotland. They are so much in consonance with the spirit 
 and manners of the troubled age to which they are referred, that I can see 
 no reason for doubting their being founded in fact; the names, indeed, of 
 numberless localities in the vicinity of Douglas Castle, appear to attest, 
 beyond suspicion, many even of the smallest circumstances embraced in the 
 story of Godscroft. 
 
 Among all the associates of Robert the Bruce, in his great enterprise of 
 rescuing Scotland from the power of Edward, the first place is universally 
 conceded to James, the eighth Lord Douglas, to this day venerated by his 
 countrymen as “ the Good Sir James 
 
 “ The Gud Schyr James of Douglas, 
 
 That in his time sa- worthy was. 
 
 That off his price and his bounte, 
 
 In far landis renownyt was he.” 
 
 Barbour. 
 
 “ The Good Sir James, the dreadful blacke Douglas, 
 
 That in liis daves so wise and worthie was, 
 
 Wha here, and on the infidels of Spain, 
 
 Such honour, praise, and triumphs did obtain.” 
 
 Gordon. 
 
 From the time when the King of England refused to reinstate him, on his 
 return from France, where he had received the education of chivalry, in the 
 extensive possessions of his family,—which had been held forfeited by the 
 exertions of his father, AVilliam the Hardy—the young knight of Douglas 
 appears to have embraced the cause of Bruce with enthusiastic ardour, and 
 to have adhered to the fortunes of his sovereign with unwearied fidelity and 
 devotion. “ The Douglasse,” says Hollinshed, “was right joyfully received 
 
 (253) 
 
 w 
 
254 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 of King Robert, in whose service he faithfully continued, both in peace and 
 war, to his life's end. Though the surname and familie of the Douglasses 
 was in some estimation of nobilitie before those daies, yet the rising thereof 
 to honour chanced through this James Douglasse; for, by meanes of his 
 advancement, others of that lineage tooke occasion, by their singular man¬ 
 hood and noble prowess, shewed at sundrie times in defence of the realme, 
 to grow to such height in authoritie and estimation, that their mightie 
 puissance in mainrent,* lands, and great possessions, at length was (through 
 suspicion conceived by the kings that succeeded) the cause in part of their 
 ruinous decay." 
 
 In every narrative of the Scottish war of independence, a considerable 
 space is devoted to those years of perilous adventure and suffering which 
 were spent by the illustrious friend of Bruce, in harassing the English 
 detachments successively occupying his paternal territory, and in repeated 
 and successful attempts to wrest the formidable fortress of Douglas Castle 
 itself from their possession. In the English, as well as Scotch Chronicles, 
 and in Rymer’s Foedera, occur frequent notices of the different officers 
 intrusted by Edward with the keeping of this renowned stronghold; especially 
 Sir Robert de Clifford, ancestor of the heroic race of the Cliffords, Earls of 
 Cumberland; his lieutenant. Sir Richard de Thurlewalle, (written some¬ 
 times Thruswall,) of Thirwall Castle, on the Tippal, in Northumberland; 
 and Sir John de Walton, the romantic story of whose love pledge, to hold 
 the Castle of Douglas for a year and day, or surrender all hope of obtaining 
 his mistress's favour, with the tragic consequences, softened in the Novel, 
 is given at length in Godscroft, and has often been pointed out as one of 
 the affecting passages in the chronicles of chivalry.f 
 
 The Author, before he had made much progress in this, probably the last 
 of his Novels, undertook a journey to Douglasdale, for the purpose of ex¬ 
 amining the remains of the famous Castle, the Kirk of St. Bride of Douglas, 
 the patron saint of that great family, and the various localities alluded to 
 by Godscroft, in his account of the early adventures of good Sir James ; but 
 though he was fortunate enough to find a zealous and well-informed cicerone 
 in Mr. Thomas Iladdow, and had every assistance from the kindness of 
 Mr. Alexander Finlay, the resident Chamberlain of his friend Lord Douglas, 
 the state of his health at the time was so feeble, that he found himself inca¬ 
 pable of pursuing his researches, as in better days he would have delighted 
 to do, and was obliged to be contented with such a cursory view of scenes, 
 in themselves most interesting, as could be snatched in a single morning, 
 when any bodily exertion was painful. Mr. Haddow was attentive enough 
 to forward subsequently some notes on the points which the Author had 
 seemed desirous of investigating; but these did not reach him until, being 
 obliged to prepare matters for a foreign excursion in quest of health and 
 strength, he had been compelled to bring his work, such as it is, to a con¬ 
 clusion. 
 
 The remains of the old Castle of Douglas are inconsiderable. They con¬ 
 sist indeed of but one ruined tower, standing at a short distance from the 
 modern mansion, which itself is only a fragment of the design on which 
 the Duke of Douglas meant to reconstruct the edifice, after its last acci¬ 
 dental destruction by fire.J His Grace had kept in view the ancient pro- 
 
 * Vassalage. 
 
 t [The reader will find both this story, and that of Robert of Paris, in Sir W. Scott’s Essay on Chivalry, pub¬ 
 lished in 1818, in the Supplement to the EncyclopiEdia Britannica.—£.] 
 
 t r'l'he followin;^ notice of Douglas Castle, <kc., is from the Description of the Sheriffdom of Lanark, by 
 William Hamilton of Wishavv, written in the beginning of the last century, and printed by the Maitland Club 
 of Glasgow in 1831 ;]— 
 
 “ Douglass parish, and baronie and lordship, heth very long appertained to the family of Douglass, and 
 continued with the Earles of Douglass untill their fatall forfeiture, anno Ido.*!; daring which tyme there are 
 many noble and important actions recorded in histories performed by them, by tlie lords and earls of that 
 great family. It was thereafter given to Douglass, Earle of Anguse, and continued with them untill William, 
 Earle of Anguse, was created Marquess of Douglass, anno 1633; and is now the principal seat of the Mar¬ 
 quess of Douglass his family. It is a large baronie and parish, and ane laick patronage ; and the Marquess 
 
INTRODUCTION TO CASTLE DANGEROUS. 255 
 
 pbecy, that as often as Douglas Castle might be destroyed, it should rise 
 again in enlarged dimensions and improved splendour, and projected a pile 
 of building, which, if it had been completed, would have much exceeded 
 any nobleman’s residence then existing in Scotland — as, indeed, Mdiat has 
 been finished, amounting to about one-eighth part of the plan, is sufficiently 
 extensive for the accommodation of a large establishment, and contains 
 some apartments the dimensions of which are magnificent. The situation 
 is commanding; and though the Duke’s successors have allowed the mansion 
 to continue as he left it, great expense has been lavished on the environs, 
 which now present a vast sweep of richly undulated woodland, stretching 
 to the borders of the Cairntable mountains, repeatedly mentioned as the 
 favourite retreat of the great ancestor of the family in the days of his hard¬ 
 ship and persecution. There remains at the head of the adjoining bourg, 
 the choir of the ancient church of St. Bride, having beneath it the vault 
 which was used till lately as the burial-place of this princely race, and 
 only abandoned when their stone .and leaden coffins had accumulated, in 
 the course of five or six hundred years, in such a way that it could accom¬ 
 modate no more. Here a silver case, containing the dust of what was once 
 the brave heart of Good Sir James, is still pointed out; and in the dilapi¬ 
 dated choir above appears, though in a sorely ruinous state, the once mag¬ 
 nificent tomb of the warrior himself. After detailing the well-known 
 circumstances of Sir James’s death in Spain, 20th August, 1330, where he 
 fell, assisting the King of Arragon in an expedition against the Moors, 
 when on his way back to Scotland from Jerusalem, to which he had con¬ 
 veyed the heart of Bruce,—the old poet Barbour tells us that— 
 
 “ Quhen his men lan^ had mad murnyn, 
 
 Thai debowalyt him, and syne 
 
 Gert scher liim swa, that mycht be tane 
 
 The flesch all haly frae the bane. 
 
 And the carioune thar in haly place 
 Erdyt, with rycht gret worschip, was. 
 
 “The banys haue thai with them tane; 
 
 And syne ar to thair schippis gane; 
 
 Syne towart Scotland held thair way, 
 
 And thar ar cummyn in full gret hy. 
 
 And the banys honorabilly 
 In till the Kyrk of Douglas war 
 Erdyt, with dole and mekill car. 
 
 Schyr Archebald his sone gert syn 
 Off alabastre, bath fair and fyne, 
 
 Ordane a tuinlte sa richly 
 As It behowyt to swa worthy.” 
 
 The monument is supposed to have been wantonly mutilated and defaced 
 by a detachment of Cromwell’s troops, who, as was their custom, converted 
 the kirk of St. Bride of Douglas into a stable for their horses. Enough, 
 however, remains to identify the resting-place of the great Sir James. The 
 effigy, of dark stone, is crossed-legged, marking his character as one who 
 had died after performing the pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, and in 
 actual conflict with the infidels of Spain ; and the introduction of the heart, 
 adopted as an addition to the old arms of Douglas, in consequence of the 
 knight’s fulfilment of Bruce’s dying injunction, appears, when taken in 
 connexion with the posture of the figure, to set the question at rest. The 
 monument, in its original state, must have been not inferior in any respect 
 to the best of the same period in Westminster Abbey; and the curious 
 reader is referred for farther particulars of it to “ The Sepulchral Antiqui¬ 
 ties of Great Britain, by Edward Blore, F.S.A.” London, 4to, 1826: where 
 
 is both titular ami patron. He heth there, near to the church, a very considerable great house, called the 
 Castle of Douglas; and near the church is a fyne village called the town of Douglass, long since erected in a 
 burgh of baronie. It heth ane handsome cliurch, with many ancient monuments and inscriptions on the old 
 mterments of the Earles of this place. 
 
 “The water of Douglas runs quyte through the whole length of this parish, and upon either side of the 
 water it is called Douglasdale. it toucheth Clyde towards the north, and is bounded by Lesmahagow to the 
 west, Kyle to the soulhwe.st, Crawford John and Carmichaell to the south and southeast. It is a pleasant 
 strath, plcntifull in grass and corn, and coal; and the minister is well provided. 
 
 “ The lands of Heysleside belonging to Samuel Douglass, has a good house and pleasant seat, close by a 
 wood,” Ac.—P. 65.] 
 
'256 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 may also bo found interesting details of some of the other tombs and effigies 
 in the cemetery of the first house of Douglas. 
 
 As considerable liberties have been taken with the historical incidents on 
 which this novel is founded, it is due to the reader to place before him such 
 extracts from Godscroft and Barbour as may enable him to correct any 
 mis-impression. The passages introduced in the Appendix, from the ancient 
 poem of “ The Bruce,^^ will moreover gratify those who have not in their 
 possession a copy of the text of Barbour, as given in the valuable quarto 
 edition of my learned friend Dr. Jamieson, as furnishing on the whole a 
 favourable specimen of the style and manner of a venerable classic, who 
 wrote when Scotland was still full of the fame and glory of her liberators 
 from the yoke of Plantagenet, and especially of Sir James Douglas, “of 
 whom,^^ says Godscroft, “we will not omit here, (to shut up all,) the judg¬ 
 ment of those times concerning him, in a rude verse indeed, yet such as 
 beareth witness of his true magnanimity and invincible mind in either 
 fortune:— 
 
 “ Good Sir James Douglas (who wise, and wight, and worthy was,) 
 
 Was never over glad in no winning, nor yet oversad for no lineing; 
 
 Good fortune and evil chance he weighed both in one balance.” 
 
 w. s. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM “THE HISTORY OF THE HOUSES OP DOUGLAS AND ANGUS. BY 
 MASTER DAVID HUME OP GODSCROFT.” Fol. Edit. 
 
 * * * jjej .0 indeed the course of the King’s misfortunes begins to 
 make some halt and stay by thus much prosperous successe in his own 
 person ; but more in the person of Sir James, by the reconquests of his 
 owne castles and countries. From hence he went into Douglasdale, where, 
 by the means of his father’s old servant, Thomas Dickson, he took in the 
 Castle of Douglas, and not being able to keep it, he caused burn it, con¬ 
 tenting himself with this, that his enemies had one strength fewer in that 
 country than before. The manner of his taking of it is said to have beene 
 thus :—Sir James taking only with him two of his servants, went to Thomas 
 Dickson, of whom he was received with tears, after he had revealed himself 
 to him, for the good old man knew him not at first, being in mean and 
 homely apparel. There he kept him secretly in a quiet chamber, and 
 brought unto him such as had been trusty servants to his father, not all at 
 once, but apart by one and one, for fear of discoverie. Their advice was, 
 that on Palm-Sunday, when the English would come forth to the church, 
 and his partners were conveened, that then he should give the word, and 
 cry the Douglas slogan, and presently set upon them that should happen to 
 be there, who being despatched, the Castle might be taken easily. This 
 being concluded, and they come, so soon as the English were entered into 
 the church with palms in their hands, (according to the costume of that 
 day,) little suspecting or fearing any such thing. Sir James, according to 
 their appointment, cryed too soon (a Douglas, a Douglas!) which being 
 heard in the church, (this was Saint Bride’s church of Douglas,) Thomas 
 Dickson, supposing he had beene hard at hand, drew out his sword, and 
 ran upon them, having none to second him but another man, so that, op¬ 
 pressed by the number of his enemies, he was beaten downe and slaine. 
 In the meantime. Sir James being come, the English that were in the 
 chancel kept off the Scots, and having the advantage of the strait and 
 
APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 
 
 257 
 
 narrow entrie, defended themselves manfully. But Sir James encouraging 
 his men, not so much by words as by deeds and good example, and having 
 slain the boldest resisters, prevailed at last, and entring the place, slew 
 some twenty-six of their number, and took the rest, about ten or twelve 
 persons, intending by them to get the Castle upon composition, or to enter 
 with them when the gates should be opened to let them in: but it needed 
 not, for they of the Castle were so secure, that there was none left to keep 
 it save the porter and the cooke, who knowing nothing of what had hapned 
 at the church, which stood a large quarter of a mile from thence, had left 
 the gate wide open, the porter standing without, and the cooke dressing the 
 dinner within. They entered without resistance, and meat being ready, 
 and the cloth laid, they shut the gates, and tooke their refection at good 
 leasure. 
 
 Now that he had gotten the Castle into his hands, considering with him- 
 selfe (as he was a man no lesse advised than valiant) that it was hard for 
 him to keep it, the English being as yet the stronger in that countrey, who 
 if they should besiege him, he knewe of no reliefe, he thought better to 
 carry away such things as be most easily transported, gold, silver, and 
 apparell, with ammunition and armour, whereof he had greatest use and 
 need, and to destroy the rest of the provision, together with the Castle 
 itselfe, then to diminish the number of his followers for a garrison there 
 where it could do no good. And so he caused carrie the meale and malt, 
 and other comes and graine, into the cellar, and laid altogether in one 
 heape: then he took the prisoners and slew them, to revenge the death of 
 his trustie and valiant servant, Thomas Dickson, mingling the victuals with 
 their bloud, and burying their carkasses in the heap of come: after that he 
 struck out the heads of the barrells and puncheons, and let the drink runn 
 through all; and then he cast the carkasses of dead horses and other 
 carrion amongst it, throwing the salt above all, so as to make altogether 
 unuseful to the enemie; and this cellar is called yet the Douglas Lairder. 
 Last of all, he set the house on fire, and burnt all the timber, and what 
 else the fire could overcome, leaving nothing but the scorched walls behind 
 him. And this seemes to be the first taking of the Castle of Douglas, for it 
 is supposed that he took it twice. For this service, and others done to 
 Lord William his father. Sir James gave unto Thomas Dickson the lands 
 of Ilisleside, which hath beene given him before the Castle was taken as 
 an encouragement to whet him on, and not after, for he was slain in the 
 church ; which was both liberally and wisely done of him, thus to hearten 
 and draw men to his' service by such a noble beginning. The Castle being 
 burnt, Sir James retired, and parting his men into divers companies, so as 
 they might be most secret, he caused cure such as were wounded in the 
 fight, and he himselfe kept as close as he could, waiting ever for an occa¬ 
 sion to enterprise something against the enemie. So soone as he was gone, 
 the Lord Clifford being advertised of what had happened, came himselfe in 
 person to Douglas, and caused re-edifie and repair the Castle in a very short 
 time, unto which he also added a Tower, which is yet called Harries Tower 
 from him, and so returned into England, leaving one Thurswall to be 
 Captain thereof. — Pp. 26-28. 
 
 ******** 
 
 He (Sir James Douglas) getting him again into Douglasdale, did use this 
 stratagem against Thurswall, Captain of the Castle, under the said Lord 
 Clifford. He caused some of his folk drive away the cattle that fed near 
 unto the Castle, and when the Captain of the garrison followed to rescue, 
 gave orders to his men to leave them and to flee away. Thus he did often 
 to make the Captain slight such frays, and to make him secure, that he 
 might not suspect any further end to 1)6 on it; which when he had wrought 
 sufficiently (as he thought), he laid some men in ambuscade, and sent 
 others away to drive such beasts as they should find in the view of the 
 VoL. XU. —17 w2 
 
258 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Castle, as if they had been thieves and robbers, as they had done often 
 before. The Captain hearing of it, and supposing there was no greater 
 danger now than had been before, issued forth of the Castle, and followed 
 after them with such haste that his men (running who should be first) were 
 disordered and out of their ranks. The drivers also fled as fast as they 
 could till they had drawn the Captain a little way beyond the place of 
 ambuscado, which when they perceived, rising quickly out of their covert, 
 they set fiercely upon him and his company, and so slew himself and chased 
 his men back to the Castle, some of whom were overtaken and slain, others 
 got into the Castle and so were saved. Sir James, not being able to 
 force the house, took what booty he could get.without in the fields, and 
 so deprrted. By this means, and such other exploits, he so affrighted the 
 enemy, that it was counted a matter of such great jeopardy to keep this 
 Castle, that it began to be called the adventurous (or hazardous) Castle of 
 Douglas: Whereupon Sir John Walton being in suit of an English lady, 
 she wrote to him that when he had kept the adventurous Castle of Douglas 
 seven years, then he might think himself worthy to be a suitor to her. 
 Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it, and succeeded 
 to Thurswall; but he ran the same fortune with the rest that were before 
 him. 
 
 For, Sir James having first dressed an ambuscado near unto the place, 
 he made fourteen of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with grass, 
 as though it had been corn, which they carried in the way toward Lanark, 
 the chief market town in that county: so hoping to draw forth the Captain 
 by that bait, and either to take him or the Castle, or both. 
 
 Neither was this expectation frustrate, for the Captain did bite, and came 
 forth to have taken this victual (as he supposed). But ere he could reach 
 these carriers. Sir James, with his company, had gotten between the Castle 
 and him; and these disguised carriers, seeing the Captain following after 
 them, did quickly cast off their upper garments, wherein they had masked 
 themselves, and throwing off their sacks, mounted themselves on horseback, 
 and met the Captain with a sharp encounter, he being so much the more 
 amazed that it was unlooked for: wherefore, when he saw these carriers 
 metamorphosed into warriors, and ready to assault him, fearing (that which 
 was) that there was some train laid for them, he turned about to have retired 
 into the Castle; but there also he met with his enemies; between which 
 two companies he and his followers were slain, so that none escaped; the 
 Captain afterwards being searched, they found (as it is reported) his mis¬ 
 tress’s letters about him. Then he went and took in the Castle, but it is 
 uncertain (say our writers) whether by force or composition ; but it seems 
 that the Constable, and those that were within, have yielded it up without 
 force; in regard that he used them so gently, which he would not have 
 done if he had taken it at utterance. For he sent them all safe home to 
 the Lord Clifford, and gave them also provision and money for their enter¬ 
 tainment by the way. The Castle, which he had burnt only before, now 
 he razeth, and casts down the walls thereof to the ground. By these and 
 the like proceedings, within a short while he freed Douglasdale, Attrict 
 Forest, and Jedward Forest, of the English garrisons and subjection.— 
 Ibid. p. 29. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 TO INTRODUCTION 
 
 259 
 
 No. II. ^ 
 
 [Extracts from The Bruce. — “Liber compositus per Maj];istrum Johannem 
 Jiarber Arcliidiaconum Abyrdonensem, de gestis, bellis, et vertutibus, 
 Domini lloberti Brwyss, Kegis Scocie illustrissimi, et de conquestil regni 
 Scocie per eundem, et de Domino Jacobo de Douglas.— Edited by John 
 Jamieson, D.D. F.R.S.F. &c. &c. Edinburgh, 1820.] 
 
 Now takis James his waige 
 Towart Dowplas, his hereta«;e, 
 
 Witli twa yemeii, for his owlyii ma; 
 Tliat wes a symple stuff to ta, 
 
 A latul or a castell to win. 
 
 The quhethir he yarnyt to be^yn 
 Till bring purposs till ending; 
 
 For gud help is in gad begynnyng, 
 
 For gud begynning, and hardy, 
 
 Gyff it be nilwit wittily, 
 
 May ger oflsyss unlikly thing 
 Cum to full conabill eiidhig. 
 
 Swa did it here : but he wes wyss 
 And saw he mycht, on nakyn wyss, 
 Werray his fa with evyn mycht; 
 
 Tharfiir he thocht to wyrk with slycht. 
 And in Uowglas daile, his countre| 
 
 Upon an evynnyng entryt he. 
 
 And than a man wonnyt tharby. 
 
 That was off fieyndis weill mychty. 
 
 And ryohe of moble, and off cateili; 
 
 And had bene till his fadyr leyll; 
 
 And till him selff. in his yowthed. 
 
 He haid done mony a thankfull deid. 
 'I'liom Dioson wes his name perlay. 
 
 Till him he send; and gan him pray, 
 That he wald cum all anerly 
 For to spek with him priuely. 
 
 And he but daunger till him gais: 
 
 Bot fra he tauld him quhat he wais, 
 
 He gret for joy, and for pit6; 
 
 And him rycht till his houss had he; 
 Quhar in a chambre priuely 
 He held him, and his cumpany, 
 
 That nane had off him persaving. 
 
 Off mete, and drynk, and olhyr thing, 
 That mycht thaim eyss. that had plent6. 
 Sa wrocht he thoiow suteltA, 
 
 That all the lele men off that land, 
 
 I'hat with his fadyr war duelland, 
 
 'I'his gud man gert cum, ane and ane. 
 And mak him manrent euir ilkane; 
 
 And he him selff fyrst homage maid. 
 Oowglas in part gret glaidschip haid. 
 That the gud men off' his cuntr6 
 Wald swagate till him buudyn be. 
 
 He speryt the conwyne off the land. 
 
 And qiiha the castell had in hand 
 And thai him tauld all halily; 
 
 And syne aniang them priuely 
 Thai ordanyt, that he still suld bo 
 In hiddillis, and in priwet6, 
 
 'I'lll I’alme Sonday, tliat wes tier hand, 
 'I’he thud day eftyr folowand. 
 
 For than the folk off that countr6 
 AssemblyC at the kyrk wald be; 
 
 And thai, that in the castell wer, ' 
 
 Wald als be thar, thar palmys to ber. 
 
 As folk that had na dreid oil’ ill; 
 
 For thai thoucht all wes at thair will. 
 ’I'lian suld he cum with his twa men. 
 Bot, for that men suld nocht him ken, 
 He suld ane mantill haiff auld and bur. 
 And a llaill, as he a thresscher war. 
 Uiidyr the mantill nocht for tlii 
 He suld be armyt priuely. 
 
 And quhen the men oif his countrd, 
 
 That suld all boune befor him be, 
 
 His ensenye mycht her hym cry. 
 
 Then suld thai, full c.ifor\oly, 
 
 Hycht ymyddys the kyrlc assaill 
 The liighss men with, hard hataill 
 Swa that nane mycht e.schap them fra; 
 For thar throwch trowyt thai to ta 
 I'lie castell, that besid wes ner. 
 
 And quhen tins, that I tell you her, 
 
 Wes diuisyt and undertaiie, 
 llKane till his howss liame is gane; 
 
 And held this speK in priuetd,' 
 
 Till the day off thar assembly. 
 
 The folk upon the Sonounday 
 Held to Saynct Bridis kyrk thair way. 
 And tha that in the castell war 
 Isotiyt owt, hath les and mar. 
 
 And went thair palmys for to ber; 
 Owtane a cuk and a porter. 
 
 James off Dowglas off thair curnmyng. 
 And quhat thai war, had witting; 
 
 And sped him till the kyrk m hy 
 Bot or he come, too hastily 
 Ane oft his criyt, “Dowglas! Dowglas I” 
 Thomas Dicson, that nerrest was 
 Till thaim that war off the castell, 
 
 That war all innouth the chancell, 
 
 Quhen he “Dowglas!” swa hey herd cry, 
 Drew owt his swerd; and fellely 
 Ruschyl amang thaim to and fra. 
 
 Bot ane or twa, for owtyn ma, 
 
 Than in hy war left lyaiid 
 Quhill Dowglas come rycht at hand. 
 
 And then enforcyt on thaim the cry. 
 
 Bot thai the chaiisell sturdely 
 Held, and thaim defendyt wele, 
 
 Till off thair men war slayiie sumdell. 
 Bot the Dowglace sa weill him bar. 
 
 That all the men, that with him war. 
 Had comfort off his wele doyng; 
 
 And he him sparyt nakyn thing, 
 
 Bot provyt swa his force in fycht, 
 
 7'hal throw his worschip, and his mycht, 
 His men sa keyiily helpyt than, 
 
 That thai the chaiisell on thaim wan. 
 Than dang thai on swa hardyly, 
 
 'I'hat ill schort tyme men mycht se ly 
 The twa part dede, or then deand. 
 
 The lave war sesyt sone in hand, 
 
 Swa that off' thretty levyt nane. 
 
 That thai ne war slayne ilkaii, or tane. 
 
 Janies off Dowglas, quhen this wes dohe. 
 The presoneris has he tane alsone; 
 
 And, with thaim off his cumpany, , 
 Towart the castell went in hy. 
 
 Or noyiss, or cry, suld ryss. 
 
 And tor he widd thaim sone suppnss. 
 That levyt in the castell war. 
 
 That war but twa for owtyn mar, 
 
 Fyve men or sex Irefor send he, 
 
 'I'hat fund all opyii the entr6; 
 
 And entryt, and the porter tuk 
 Rycht at the gate, and syne the cuk. 
 
 With that Dowglas come to the gat. 
 
 And entryt in for owtyn debate; 
 
 And faiid the mete all ready grathit, 
 
 With burdys set, and clathis layit. 
 
 'I'lie gaitis then he gert sper, 
 
 And sat, and eyt all at layser. 
 
 Syne all the gudis turssyt thai 
 
 I'hat thaim thocht thai mycht haiff away; 
 
 And namly wapnys, and arniyng, 
 
 Siluer, and tresour, and clethyng. 
 
 Vyctallis, that mycht nocht tursyt be. 
 
 On this manner destroyit he. 
 
 All the victalis, owtane salt, 
 
 Als quheyt, and llour, and meill, and malt 
 In the wyne sellar gert he bring; 
 
 And samyn on the flur all flyng. 
 
 And the presoneris that he had tane 
 Rycht thar in gert he held ilkane; 
 
 Syne off the towiiiiys he hedis outstrak: 
 
 A foule melld thar gaiie he mak. 
 
 For nieile, and malt, and bluid, and wyne, 
 Ran all to gidder in a mellyne, 
 
 'I hat was unsemly for to se. 
 
 Tharfor the men of that countrd, 
 
 For swa fele thar mellyt wer, 
 
 Caliit it the “Dowglas Ixirdner.” 
 
 Syne tuk he salt, us Ic hard tell, 
 
 And ded horss, and sordid the well; 
 
260 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS 
 
 And brynt all, owtakyn stane; 
 
 And is forth, with his nieiiye, gayne 
 'I'ill his resett; for him thoucht weill, 
 
 Giff he had haldyn the castell, 
 
 It had bene assegyt raith; 
 
 And that him thoucht to mekill waith. 
 
 For he ne had hop of reskewyug. 
 
 And it is to peralous thing 
 In castell assegyt to be, 
 
 Qnhar want is off thir thingis thre; 
 Victaill, or men with their armyng. 
 
 Or than gud hop off rescuyng. 
 
 And for he dred thir thingis suld faile. 
 
 He chesyt furthwart to trawaill, 
 
 Quhar he mycht at his larges be; 
 
 And swa dryve furth his destan6. 
 
 On this wise wes the castell tan, 
 
 And slayne that war tharin ilkan. 
 
 The Dowglas syne all his menye 
 Gert in ser placis depertyt be; 
 
 For men suld wyt quhar thai war. 
 
 That yeid depertyt her and thar. 
 
 Thaim that war woundyt gert he ly 
 In till hiddillis, all priuely; 
 
 And gert gud leechis t^l thaim bring 
 Quhdl that thai war in till heling. 
 
 And him selff, with a few menye, 
 
 Quhile ane, quhile twa, and quhile thre, 
 And umquhill all him allane. 
 
 In hiddillis throw the land is gane. 
 
 Sa dred he Inglis men his mycht. 
 
 That he durst nocht wele cum in sycht. 
 For thai war that tyme all weldand 
 As maist loi'dis, our all the land. 
 
 Bot tythandis, that scabs sone. 
 
 Off this deid that Dowglas has done. 
 
 Come to the Clifford his ere, in hy. 
 
 That for his tynsaill wes sary ; 
 
 And menyt his men that thai had slayne, 
 And syne has to purpos tane. 
 
 To big the castell up agayne. 
 
 I’har for, as man of mekill rnayne. 
 
 He assemblit gret company. 
 
 And till Dowglas he went in hy. 
 
 And biggyt wp the castell swyth; 
 
 And maid it rycht stalwart and styth 
 And put thariii victallis and men 
 Ane off the Thyrwallys then 
 He left behind him Capitane, 
 
 And syne tiU Ingland went agayne. 
 
 Book IV. V. 255—460. 
 
 Box yeit than James of Dowglas 
 In Dowglas Dade travaillaiid was; 
 
 Or ellys weill ner hand tharby, 
 
 In hyddillys sumdeill priuely. 
 
 For he wald se his gouernyng. 
 
 That had the castell in keping; 
 
 And gert mak mony jupertv. 
 
 To sc quhethyr he wald ische blythly. 
 
 And quhen he persavyt that he 
 Wald blythly ische with his menye, 
 
 He maid a gadring priuely 
 Off thaim that war on his party; 
 
 That war sa fele, that thai durst fych 
 With Thyrwall. and all the mycht 
 Off thaim that in the castell war. 
 
 He schupe him in the nycht so far 
 To Sandylandis: and thar ner by 
 He him enbuschyt priuely. 
 
 And send a few a trane to ma; 
 
 That sone in the mornyng gan ga, , 
 
 And tuk catell, that wes the castell by, 
 And syne withdrew thaim hastely 
 Towart thaim that enbuschit war. 
 
 Than Thyrwall, for owtyn mar, 
 
 Gert arme his men, forowtyn baid; 
 
 And ischyt with all the men he haid: 
 
 And folowyt fast eftir the cry. 
 
 He wes armyt at poynt clenly, 
 
 Owtane [that] his hede wes bar. 
 
 Than, with the men that with him war. 
 The catell folowit he gud speid, 
 
 Bycht as a man that had na dreid. 
 
 Till that he gat off thaim a sycht. 
 
 I'han prekyt thai with all thar mycht, 
 Folowand thaim owt off aray: 
 
 And thai sped thaim fleand, quhill thai 
 Fer by thair buschement war past; 
 
 And Thyrwall ay chassyt fast. 
 
 And than thai that enbuschyt war 
 Ischyt till him, bath les and mar 
 And rayssyt sudanly the cry. 
 
 And thai that saw sa sudanly 
 That folk come egyrly prikaiid 
 Rycht betuix thaim and thair warank, 
 
 Thai war in to full grei^ effray. 
 
 And, for thai war owt off aray. 
 
 Sum off thaim fled, and some abad. 
 
 And Dowglas, that thar with him had 
 A gret mengye, full egrely 
 Assaylyt, and scalyt thaim ha.styly: 
 
 And in schort tyme ourraid thaim swa. 
 That weile nane eschapyt thaim fra. 
 Thyrwall, that wes thair capitane, 
 
 W’es thar in the bargane slane: 
 
 And off his men the mast party. 
 
 The lave fled full effraytly. 
 
 Book V. V. 10—60. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 Clmiittr tjiB 
 
 Hosts have been known at that dread sound to yield, 
 
 And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the hehU 
 
 John Home. 
 
 It was at the close of an early spring day, when nature, in a cold province 
 of Scotland, was reviving from her winter’s sleep, and the air at least, though 
 not the vegetation, gave promise of an abatement of the rigour of the 
 season, that two travellers, whose appearance at that early period sufficiently 
 announced their wandering character, which, in general, secured a free 
 passage even through a dangerous country, were seen coming from the south- 
 w'estward, within a few miles of the Castle of Douglas, and seemed to be 
 holding their course in the direction of the river of that name, wdiose dale 
 afforded a species of approach to that memorable feudal fortress. The 
 stream, small in comparison to the extent of its fame, served as a kind of 
 drain to the country m its neighbourhood, and at the same time afforded 
 the means of a rough road to the castle and village. The high lords to 
 whom the castle had for ages belonged, might, had they chosen, have made 
 this access a great deal smoother and more convenient; but there had been 
 as yet little or no exercise for those geniuses, who have taught all the world 
 that it is better to take the more circuitous road round the base of a hill, 
 than the direct course of ascending it on the one side, and descending it 
 directly on the other, without yielding a single step to render the passage 
 more easy to the traveller; still less were those mysteries dreamed of which 
 M‘Adam has of late days expounded. But, indeed, to what purpose should 
 the ancient Douglasses have employed his principles, even if they had known 
 them in ever so much perfection? Wheel-carriages, except of the most 
 clumsy description, and for the most simple operations of agriculture, were 
 totally unknown. Even the most delicate female had no resource save a 
 horse, or, in case of sore infirmity, a litter. The men used their own sturdy 
 limbs, or 'hardy horses, to transport themselves from place to place; and 
 travellers, females in particular, experienced no small inconvenience from 
 the rugged nature of the country. A swollen torrent sometimes crossed 
 their path, and compelled them to wait until the waters had abated their 
 frenzy. The bank of a small river was occasionally torn away by the effects 
 of a thunder-storm, a recent inundation, or the like convulsions of nature; 
 and the wayfarer relied upon his knowledge of the district, or obtained the 
 best local information in his power, how to direct his path so as to surmount 
 such untoward obstacles. 
 
 The Douglas issues from an amphitheatre of mountains which bounds 
 
 ( 261 ) 
 
262 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the valley to the south-west, from whose contributions, and the aid of sudden 
 storms, it receives its scanty supplies. The general aspect of the country 
 is that of the pastoral hills of the south of Scotland, forming, as is usual, 
 bleak and wild farms, many of which had, at no great length of time from 
 the date of the story, been covered with trees; as some of them still attest 
 by bearing the name of shaw, that is, wild natural wood. The neighbour¬ 
 hood of the Douglas water itself was flat land, capable of bearing strong 
 crops of oats and rye, supplying the inhabitants with what they required 
 of these productions. At no great distance from the edge of the river, a 
 few special spots excepted, the soil capable of agriculture was more and 
 more mixed with the pastoral and woodland country, till both terminated in 
 desolate and partly inaccessible moorlands. 
 
 Above all, it was war-time, and of necessity all circumstances of mere 
 convenience were obliged to give way to a paramount sense of danger; the 
 inhabitants, therefore, instead of trying to amend the paths which connected 
 them with other districts, were thankful that the natural difficulties which 
 surrounded them rendered it unnecessary to break up or to fortify the access 
 from more open countries. Their wants, with a very few exceptions, were 
 completely supplied, as we have already said, by the rude and scanty pro¬ 
 duce of their own mountains and holms* the last of which served for the 
 exercise of their limited agriculture, while the better part of the mountains 
 and forest glens produced pasture for their herds and flocks. The recesses 
 of the unexplored depths of these sylvan retreats being seldom disturbed, 
 especially since the lords of the district had laid aside, during this time of 
 strife, their constant occupation of hunting, the various kinds of game had 
 increased of late very considerably ; so that not only in crossing the rougher 
 parts of the hilly and desolate country we are describing, difierent varieties 
 of deer were occasionally seen, but even the wild cattle peculiar to Scot¬ 
 land sometimes showed themselves, and other animals, which indicated the 
 irregular and disordered state of the period. The wild-cat was frequently 
 surprised in the dark ravines or the swampy thickets ; and the wolf, already 
 a stranger to the more populous districts of the Lothians, here maintained 
 his ground against the encroachments of man, and was still himself a terror 
 to those by whom he was finally to be extirpated. In winter especially, and 
 winter was hardly yet past, these savage animals were wont to be driven 
 to extremity for lack of food, and used to frequent, in dangerous numbers, 
 the battle-field, the deserted churchyard — nay, sometimes the abodes of 
 living men, there to watch for children, their defenceless prey, with as much 
 familiarity as the fox now-a-days will venture to prowl near the mistress’s f 
 poultry-yard. 
 
 From what we have said, our readers, if they have made — as who in 
 these days has not — the Scottish tour, will be able to form a tolerably just 
 idea of the wilder and upper part of Douglas Dale, during the earlier period 
 of the fourteenth century. The setting sun cast his gleams along a moor¬ 
 land country, which to the westward broke into larger swells, terminating 
 in the mountains called the Larger and Lesser Cairntable. The first of 
 these is, as it were, the father of the hills in the neighbourhood, the source 
 of an hundred streams, and by far the largest of the ridge, still holding in 
 his dark bosom, and in the ravines with which his sides are ploughed, con¬ 
 siderable remnants of those ancient forests with which all the high grounds 
 of that quarter were once covered, and particularly the hills, in which the 
 rivers — both those which run to the east, and those which seek the west to 
 discharge themselves into the Solway — hide, like so many hermits, their 
 original and scanty sources. 
 
 The landscape was still illuminated by the reflection of the evening sun, 
 
 * Holms, or flat plains, by the sides of the brooks and rivers, termed in the south, Ings. 
 t The good dame, or wife of a respectable farmer, is almost universally thus designated in Scotland. 
 
CASTLE DAN(}EROUS. 
 
 203 
 
 sometimes thrown back from pool or stream ; sometimes restinj^ on grey 
 rocks, huge cuinberers of the soil, which labour and agriculture have since 
 removed, and sometimes contenting itself with gilding the banks of the 
 stream, tinged, alternately grey, green, or ruddy, as the ground itself con¬ 
 sisted of rock, or grassy turf, or bare earthen mound, or looked at a distance 
 like a rampart of dark red porphyry. Occasionally, too, the eye rested on 
 the steep brown extent of moorland as the sunbeam glanced back from the 
 little tarn or mountain pool, whose lustre, like that of the eye in the human 
 countenance, gives a life and vivacity to every feature around. 
 
 The elder and stouter of the two travellers whom we have mentioned, was 
 a person well, and even showily dressed, according to the finery of the times, 
 and bore at his back, as wandering minstrels were wont, a case, containing 
 a small harp, rote or viol, or some such species of musical instrument for 
 accompanying the voice. The leathern case announced so much, although 
 it proclaimed not the exact nature of the instrument. The colour of the 
 traveller’s doublet was blue, and that of his hose violet, with slashes which 
 showed a lining of the same colour with the jerkin. A mantle ought, 
 according to ordinary custom, to have covered this dress; but the heat of 
 the sun, though the season was so early, had induced the wearer to fold up 
 his cloak in small compass, and form it into a bundle, attached to the 
 shoulders like the military greatcoat of the infantry soldier of the present 
 day. The neatness with which it was made up, argued the precision of a 
 practised traveller, who had been long accustomed to every resource which 
 change of weather required. A great profusion of narrow ribands or points, 
 constituting the loops with which our ancestors connected their doublet and 
 hose, formed a kind of cordon, composed of knots of blue or violet, which 
 surrounded the traveller’s person, and thus assimilated in colour with the 
 two garments which it was the office of these strings to combine. The 
 bonnet usually worn with this showy dress, was of that kind with which 
 Henry the Eighth and his son, Edward the Sixth, are usually represented. 
 It was more fitted, from the gay stuff of w^hich it was composed, to appear 
 in a public place, than to encounter a storm of rain. It was party-coloured, 
 being made of different stripes of blue and violet; and the wearer arrogated 
 a certain degree of gentility to himself, by wearing a plume of considerable 
 dimensions of the same favourite colours. The features over which this 
 feather drooped w^ere in no degree remarkable for peculiarity of expression. 
 Yet in so desolate a country as the west of Scotland, it w^ould not have been 
 easy to pass the man without more minute attention than he would have met 
 with where there was more in the character of the scenery to arrest the gaze 
 of the passengers. 
 
 A quick eye, a sociable look, seeming to say, “ Ay, look at me, I am a 
 man worth noticing', and not unworthy your attention,” carried with it, 
 nevertheless, an interpretation which might be thought favourable or other¬ 
 wise, according to the character of the person whom the traveller met. A 
 knight or soldier would merely have thought that he had met a merry fellow, 
 who could sing a wild song, or tell a wild tale, and help to empty a flagon, 
 with all the accomplishments necessary for a boon companion at an hostelry, 
 except perhaps an alacrity at defraying his share of the reckoning. A 
 churchman, on the other hand, might have thought he of the blue and violet 
 was of too loose habits, and accustomed too little to limit himself within 
 the boundaries of beseeming mirth, to be tit society for one of his sacred 
 calling. Yet the Man of Song had a certain steadiness of countenance, 
 whitdi seemed fitted to hold place in scenes of serious business as well as of 
 gaiety. A wayfaring passenger of wealth (not at that time a numerous 
 class) might have feared in him a professional robber, or one whom oppor¬ 
 tunity was very likely to convert into such; a female might have been 
 apprehensive of uncivil treatment; and a youth, or timid person, might 
 have thought of murder, or such direful doings. Unless privately armed. 
 
264 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 however, the minstrel was ill-accoutred for any dangerous occupation. 
 His only visible weapon was a small crooked sword, like what we now 
 call a hanger; and the state of the times would have justified any man, 
 however peaceful his intentions, in being so far armed against the perils of 
 the road. 
 
 If a glance at this man had in any respect prejudiced him in the opinion 
 of those whom he met on his journey, a look at his companion would, so far 
 as his character could be guessed at — for he was closely muffled up — have 
 passed for an apology and warrant for his associate. The younger traveller 
 was apparently in early youth, a soft and gentle boy, whose Sclavonic gown, 
 the appropriate dress of the pilgrim, he wore more closely drawn about him 
 than the coldness of the weather seemed to authorize or recommend. His 
 features, imperfectly seen under the hood of his pilgrim’s dress, were pre¬ 
 possessing in a high degree ; and though he wore a walking sword, it seemed 
 rather to be in compliance with general fashion than from any violent pur¬ 
 pose he did so. There were traces of sadness upon his brow, and of tears 
 upon his cheeks ; and his weariness was such, as even his rougher companion 
 seemed to sympathize with, while he privately participated also in the sorrow 
 which left its marks upon a countenance so lovely. They spoke together, 
 and the elder of the two, while he assumed the deferential air proper to a 
 man of inferior rank addressing a superior, showed in tone and gesture, 
 something that amounted to interest and affection. 
 
 “ Bertram, my friend,” said the younger of the two, “ how far are we still 
 from Douglas Castle? We have already come farther than the twenty miles, 
 which thou didst say was the distance from Cammock — or how didst thou 
 call the last hostelry which we left by daybreak ?” 
 
 “ Cumnock, my dearest lady—I beg ten thousand excuses—my gracious 
 young lord.” 
 
 “ Call me Augustine,” replied his comrade, “ if you mean to speak as 
 fittest for the time.” 
 
 “Nay, as for that,” said Bertram, “if your ladyship can condescend to 
 lay aside your quality, my own good breeding is not so firmly sewed to me 
 but that I can doff it, and resume it again without its losing a stitch ; and 
 since your ladyship, to whom I am sworn in obedience, is pleased to com¬ 
 mand that I should treat you as my own son, shame it were to me if I were 
 not to show you the affection of a father, more especially as I may well swear 
 my great oath, that I owe you the duty of such, though well I wot it has, in 
 our case, been the lot of the parent to be maintained by the kindness and 
 liberality of the child; for when was it that I hungered or thirsted, and the 
 black stock^ of Berkley did not relieve my wants?” 
 
 “ I would have it so,” answered the young pilgrim ; “ I would have it so. 
 What use of the mountains of beef, and the oceans of beer, which they say 
 our domains produce, if there is a hungry heart among our vassalage, or 
 especially if thou, Bertram, who hast served as the minstrel of our house for 
 more than twenty years, shouldst experience such a feeling?” 
 
 “ Certes, lady,” answered Bertram, “ it would be like the catastrophe 
 which is told of the Baron of Fastenough, when his last mouse was starved 
 to death in the very pantry; and if I escape this journey without such a 
 calamity, I shall think myself out of reach of thirst or famine for the whole 
 of my life.” 
 
 “ Thou hast suffered already once or twice by these attacks, my poor 
 friend,” said the lady. 
 
 “ It is little,” answered Bertram, “ any thing that I have suffered ; and I 
 were ungrateful to give the inconvenience of missing a breakfast, or making 
 an untimely dinner, so serious a name. But then I hardly see how your 
 ladyship can endure this gear much longer. You must yourself feel, that 
 
 * The table dormant, which stood in a baron’s hall, was often so designated. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 2G5 
 
 tlie plodding along these high lands, of which the Scots give us such good 
 measure in their miles, is no jesting matter; and as for Douglas Castle, why 
 it is still three good miles ofiV' 
 
 “ The question then is,’’ quoth the lady, heaving a sigh, “ what we are to 
 do when we have so far to travel, and when the castle gates must be locked 
 long before we arrive there ?” 
 
 “ For that I will pledge my word,” answered Bertram. “ The gates of 
 Douglas, under the care of Sir John de Walton, do not open so easily 
 as those of the buttery hatch at our own castle, when it is well oiled; and 
 if your ladyship take my advice, you will turn southward ho! and in two 
 days at farthest, we shall be in a land where men’s wants are provided for, 
 as the inns proclaim it, with the least possible delay, and the secret of this 
 little journey shall never be known to living mortal but ourselves, as sure 
 as 1 am sworn minstrel, and man of faith.” 
 
 “ I thank thee for thy advice, mine honest Bertram,” said the lady, “but 
 I cannot profit by it. Should thy knowledge of these parts possess thee 
 with an acquaintance with any decent house, whether it belong to rich or 
 poor, I would willingly take quarters there, if I could obtain them from this 
 time until to-morrow morning. The gates of Douglas Castle will then be 
 open to guests of so peaceful an appearance as we carry with us, and—and 
 —it will out—we might have time to make such applications to our toilet 
 as might ensure us a good reception, by drawing a comb through our locks, 
 or such like foppery.” 
 
 “ Ah, madam !” said Bertram, “ were not Sir John de Walton in question, 
 methinks I should venture to reply, that an unwashed brow, an unkempt 
 head of hair, and a look far more saucy than your ladyship ever wears, or 
 can wear, were the proper disguise to trick out that minstrel’s boy, whom 
 you wish to represent in the present pageant.” 
 
 “ Do you suffer your youthful pupils to be indeed so slovenly and so saucy, 
 Bertram ?” answered the lady. “ I for one will not imitate them in that 
 
 f articular; and whether Sir John be now in the Castle of Douglas or not, 
 will treat the soldiers who hold so honourable a charge with a washed 
 brow, and a head of hair somewhat ordered. As for going back without 
 seeing a castle which has mingled even with my very dreams — at a word, 
 Bertram, thou mayst go that way, but I will not.” 
 
 “ And if I part with your ladyship on such terms,” responded the min¬ 
 strel, “ now your frolic is so nearly accomplished, it shall be the foul fiend 
 himself, and nothing more comely or less dangerous, that shall tear me from 
 your side; and for lodging, there is not far from hence the house of one 
 Tom Dickson of Hazelside, one of the most honest fellows of the Dale, and 
 who, although a labouring man, ranked as high as a warrior, when I was 
 in this country, as any noble gentleman that rode in the band of the 
 Douglas.” 
 
 “lie is then a soldier?” said the lady. 
 
 “ When his country or his lord need his sword,” replied Bertram—“ and, 
 to say the truth, they are seldom at peace; but otherwise, he is no enemy, 
 save to the wolf which plunders his herds.” 
 
 “ But forget not, my trusty guide,” replied the lady, “ that the blood in 
 our veins is English, and consequently, that we are in danger from all who 
 call themselves foes to the ruddy Cross.” 
 
 “ Do not fear this man’s faith,” answered Bertram. “ You may trust to 
 him as to the best knight or gentleman of the land. We may make good 
 our lodging by a tune or a song ; and it may remember you that I under¬ 
 took (provided it pleased your ladyship) to temporize a little with the Scots, 
 who, poor souls, love minstrelsy, and when they have but a silver penny, 
 will willingly bestow it to encourage the gay science — I promised you, I 
 say, that we should be as welcome to them as if we had been born amidst 
 their own wild hills; and for the best that such a house as Dickson’s affords, 
 
 X 
 
266 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the glee-man's son, fair lady, shall not breathe a wish in vain. And now, 
 will you speak your mind to your devoted friend and adopted father, or 
 rather your sworn servant and guide, Bertram the Minstrel, what it is your 
 pleasure to do in this matter ?" 
 
 “ 0, we will certainly accept of the Scot's hospitality," said the lady, 
 “your minstrel word being plighted that he is a true man.—Tom Dickson, 
 call you him ?" 
 
 “ Yes," replied Bertram, “such is his name; and by looking on these 
 sheep, I am assured that we are now upon his land." 
 
 “ Indeed !" said the lady, with some surprise; “ and how is your wisdom 
 aware of that?" 
 
 “ I see the first letter of his name marked upon this flock," answered the 
 guide. “ Ah, learning is what carries a man through the world, as well as 
 if he had the ring by virtue of which old minstrels tell that Adam under¬ 
 stood the language of the beasts in paradise. Ah, madam ! there is more 
 wit taught in the shepherd's shieling than the lady thinks of, who sews her 
 painted seam in her summer bower." 
 
 “ Be it so, good Bertram. And although not so deeply skilled in the 
 knowledge of written language as you are, it is impossible for me to esteem 
 its value more than I actually do; so hold we on the nearest road to this 
 Tom Dickson's, whose very sheep tell of his whereabout. I trust we have 
 not very far to go, although the knowledge that our journey is shortened by 
 a few miles has so much recovered my fatigue, that methinks I could dance 
 all the rest of the way." 
 
 Ctinplir tjjt lEt’nElf. 
 
 Rosalind. Well, this is the Forest of Arden. 
 
 Touchstone. Ay, now am 1 in Arden; the more fool I. When I was at 
 home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. 
 
 Rosalind. Ay, be so, good Touchstone, Look you, who comes here; a 
 young man and an old, in solemn talk. 
 
 As You Like It. Scene IV. Act 2. 
 
 As the travellers spoke together, they reached a turn of the path which 
 presented a more extensive prospect than the broken face of the country 
 had yet shown them. A valley, through which flowed a small tributary 
 stream, exhibited the wild, but not unpleasant, features of “a lone vale of, 
 green braken here and there besprinkled with groups of alder-trees, of 
 hazels, and of copse-oakwood, which had maintained their stations in the 
 recesses' of the valley, although they had vanished from the loftier and more 
 exposed sides of the hills. The farm-house or mansion-house, (for, from 
 its size and appearance, it might have been the one or the other,) was a 
 large but low building, and the walls of the out-houses were sufficiently 
 strong to resist any band of casual depredators. There was nothing, how¬ 
 ever, which could withstand a more powerful force; for, in a country laid 
 waste by war, the farmer was then, as now, obliged to take his chance of 
 the great evils attendant upon that state of things; and his condition, never a 
 very eligible one, was rendered considerably worse by the insecurity attending 
 it. About half a mile farther was seen a Gothic building of very small ex¬ 
 tent, having a half dismantled chapel, which the minstrel pronounced to be 
 the Abbey of Saint Bride. “The place," he said, “I understand, is allowed 
 to subsist, as two or three old monks and as many nuns, whom it contains, 
 are permitted by the English to serve God there, and sometimes to give relief 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 2G7 
 
 to Scottish travellers; and who have accordingly taken assurance with Sir 
 John de Walton, and accepted as their superior a churchman on whom he 
 thinks he can depend. But if these guests happen to reveal any secrets, 
 they are, by some means or other, believed to fly towards the English 
 governor; and therefore, unless your ladyship’s commands be positive, I 
 think we had best not trust ourselves to their hospitality.” 
 
 “ Of a surety, no,” said the lady, “ if thou canst provide me with lodg¬ 
 ings where we shall have more prudent hosts.” 
 
 At this moment, two human forms were seen to approach the farm-house 
 in a different direction from the travellers, and speaking so high, in a tone 
 apparently of dispute, that the minstrel and his companion could distinguish 
 their voices though the distance was considerable. Having screened his 
 eyes with his hand for some minutes, Bertram at length exclaimed, “By 
 our Lady, it is my old friend, Tom Dickson, sure enough!—What can make 
 him in such bad humour with the lad, who, I think, may be the little wild 
 boy, his son Charles, who used to run about and plait rushes some twenty 
 years ago ? It is lucky, however, we have found our friends astir; for I 
 warrant, Tom hath a hearty piece of beef in, the pot ere he goes to bed, and 
 he must have changed his wont if an old friend hath not his share ; and 
 who knows, had we come later, at what hour they may now find it conve¬ 
 nient to drop latch and draw bolt so near a hostile garrison ; for if we call 
 things by their right names, such is the proper term for an English garrison 
 in the castle of a Scottish nobleman.” 
 
 “Foolish man,” answered the lady, “thou judgest of Sir John de Walton 
 as thou wouldst of some rude boor, to whom the opportunity of doing what 
 he wills is a temptation and license to exercise cruelty and oppression. 
 Now, I could plight you my word, that, setting apart the quarrel of the 
 kingdoms, which, of course, will be fought out in fair battles on both sides, 
 you will-find that English and Scottish, within this domain, and within the 
 reach of Sir John de Walton’s influence, live together as that same flock of 
 sheep and goats do with the shepherd’s dog; a foe from whom they fly upon 
 certain occasions, but around whom they nevertheless eagerly gather for 
 protection should a wolf happen to show himself.” 
 
 “ It is not to your ladyship,” answered Bertram, “ that I should venture 
 to state my opinion of such matters; but the young knight, when he is 
 sheathed in armour, is a different being from him who feasts in halls among 
 press of ladies; and he that feeds by another man’s fireside, and when his 
 landlord, of all men in the world, chances to be the Black Douglas, has 
 reason to keep his eyes about him as he makes his meal: — but it were 
 better I looked after our own evening refreshment, than that I stood here 
 gaping and talking about other folk’s matters.” So saying, he called out 
 in a thundering tone of voice, “Di^son! — what ho, Thomas Dickson! — 
 will you not acknowledge an old mend who is much disposed to trust his 
 supper and night’s lodging to your hospitality ?” 
 
 The Scotchman, attracted by the call, looked first along the banks of the 
 river, then upward to the bare side of the hill, and at length cast his eyes 
 upon the two figures who were descending from it. 
 
 As if he felt the night colder while he advanced from the more sheltered 
 part of the valley to meet them, the Douglas Dale fiirmer wrapped closer 
 around him the grey plaid, which, from an early period, has been used by 
 the shepherds of the south of Scotland, and the appearance of which gives 
 a romantic air to the peasantry and middle classes; and which, although 
 less brilliant and gaudy in its colours, is as picturesque in its arrangement 
 as the more military tartan mantle of the Highlands. When they ap¬ 
 proached near to each other, the lady might observe that this friend of her 
 guide was a stout athletic man, somewhat past the middle of life, and 
 already showing Ynarks of the approach, but none of the infirmities, of age, 
 upon a countenance which had been exposed to many a storm. Sharp eyes, 
 
268 
 
 WAVE 11 LEY NOVELS. 
 
 too, and a quick observation, exhibited signs of vigilance, acquired by one 
 who had lived long in a country where he had constant occasion for looking 
 around him with caution. His features were still swollen with displeasure; 
 and the handsome young man who attended him seemed to be discontented, 
 like one who had undergone no gentle marks of his father’s indignation, 
 and who, from the sullen expression which mingled with an appearance of 
 shame on his countenance, seemed at once affected by anger and remorse. 
 
 “ Do you not remember me, old friend said Bertram, as they approached 
 within a distance for communing; “ or have the twenty yefws which have 
 marched over us since we met, carried along with them all remembrance 
 of Bertram, the English minstrel ?” 
 
 “ In troth,” answered the Scot, “ it is not for want of plenty of your 
 countrymen to keep you in my remembrance, and I have hardly heard one 
 of them so much as whistle 
 
 ‘ Hey, now the day dawns,” 
 
 but it has recalled some note of your blythe rebeck; and yet, such animals 
 are we, that I had forgot the mien of my old friend, and scarcely knew him 
 at a distance. But we have had trouble lately; there are a thousand of 
 your countrymen that keep garrison in the Perilous Castle of Douglas 
 jmnder, as well as in other places through the vale, and that is but a woful 
 sight for a true Scotchman — even my own poor house has not escaped the 
 dignity of a garrison of a man-at-arms, besides two or three archer knaves, 
 and one or two slips of mischievous boys called pages, and so forth, who 
 will not let a man say, ‘ this is my own,’ by his own fireside. Do not, 
 therefore, think hardly of me, old comrade, if I show you a welcome some¬ 
 thing colder than you might expect from a friend of other days; for, by 
 Saint Bride of Douglas, I have scarcely anything left to which I can say 
 welcome.” 
 
 “ Small welcome will serve,” said Bertram. “ My son, make thy reve¬ 
 rence to thy father’s old friend. Augustine is learning my joyous trade, 
 but he will need some practice ere he can endure its fatigues. If you could 
 give him some little matter of food, and a quiet bed for the night, there’s 
 no fear but that we shall both do well enough; for I dare say, when you 
 travel with my friend Charles there,—if that tall youth chance to be my old 
 acquaintance Charles,—you will find yourself accommodated when his wants 
 are once well provided for.” 
 
 “Nay, the foul fiend take me if I do,” answered the Scottish husband¬ 
 man. “ I know not what the lads of this day are made of—not of the same 
 clay as their fathers, to be sure — not sprung from their heather, which 
 fears neither wind nor rain, but from some delicate plant of a foreign coun¬ 
 try, which will not thrive unless it be nourished under glass, with a mur¬ 
 rain to it. The good Lord of Douglas—I have been his henchman, and can 
 vouch for it — did not in his pagehood desire such food and lodging as, in 
 the present day, will hardly satisfy such a lad as your friend Charles.” 
 
 “Nay,” said Bertram, “it is not that my Augustine is over nice; but, 
 for other reasons, I must request of you a bed to himself; he hath of late 
 been unwell.” 
 
 “Ay, I understand,” said Dickson, “your son hath had a touch of that 
 illness which terminates so frequently in the black death you English folk 
 die of? We hear much of the havoc it has made to the southward. Comes 
 it hitherward ?” 
 
 Bertram nodded. 
 
 “ Well, my father’s house,” continued the farmer, “ hath more rooms than 
 one, and your son shall have one well-aired and comfortable; and for sup¬ 
 per, ye shall have a part of what is prepared for your countrymen, though 
 I would rather have their room than their company. Since I am bound to 
 feed a score of them, they will not dispute the claim of such a skilful min- 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 260 
 
 strel as thou art to a night’s hospitality. I am ashamed to say that I must 
 do their bidding even in my own house. Well-a-day, if my good lord were 
 in possession of his own, I have heart and hand enough to turn the whole 
 of them out of my house, like — like”- 
 
 “ To speak plainly,” said Bertram, “ like a southern strolling gang from 
 Redesdale, whom I have seen you fling out of your house like a litter of blind 
 puppies, when not one of them looked behind to see who had done him the 
 courtesy until he was half-way to Cairntable.” 
 
 “ Ay,” answered the Scotchman, drawing himself up at least six inches 
 taller than before; “ then I had a house of my own, and a cause and an 
 arm to keep it. Now I am—what signifies it what I am ?—the noblest lord 
 in Scotland is little better.” 
 
 “ Truly, friend,” said Bertram, “ now you view this matter in a rational 
 light. I do not say that the wisest, the richest, or the strongest man in 
 this world has any right to tyrannize over his neighbour, because he is the 
 more weak, ignorant, and the poorer; but yet if he does enter into such a 
 controversy, he must submit to the course of nature, and that will always 
 give the advantage in the tide of battle to wealth, strength, and health.” 
 
 “ With permission, however,” answered Dickson, “ the weaker party, if 
 he use his faculties to the utmost, may, in the long run, obtain revenge 
 upon the author of his sufferings, which would be at least compensation for 
 his temporary submission ; and he acts simply as a man, and most foolishly 
 as a Scotchman, whether he sustain these wrongs with the insensibility of 
 an idiot, or whether he endeavour to revenge them before Heaven’s ap¬ 
 pointed time has arrived.— But if I talk thus I shall scare you, as I have 
 scared some of your countrymen, from accepting a meal of meat and a 
 night’s lodging, in a house where you might be called with the morning to 
 a bloody settlement of a national quarrel.” 
 
 “ Never mind,” said Bertram, “ we have been known to each other of old ; 
 and I am no more afraid of meeting unkindness in your house, than you 
 expect me to come here for the purpose of adding to the injuries of which 
 you complain.” 
 
 “ So be it,” said Dickson; ‘‘ and you, my old friend, are as welcome to 
 my abode as when it never held any guest, save of my own inviting.—And 
 you, my young friend. Master Augustine, shall be looked after as well as 
 if you came with a gay brow and a light cheek, such as best becomes the 
 (jay science.^^ 
 
 “ But wherefore, may I ask,” said Bertram, “ so much displeased but 
 now at my young friend Charles ?” 
 
 The youth answered before his father had time to speak. “ My father, 
 good sir, may put what show upon it he will, but shrewd and wise men wax 
 weak in the brain these troublous times. He saw two or three wolves seize 
 upon three of our choicest wethers; and because I shouted to give the 
 alarm to the English garrison, he was angry as if he could have murdered 
 me—just for saving the sheep from the jaws that would have devoured 
 them.” 
 
 “ This is a strange account of thee, old friend,” said Bertram. “ Dost 
 thou connive with the wolves in robbing thine own fold ?” 
 
 “ Why, let it pass, if thou lovest me,” answered the countryman; 
 “ Charles could tell thee something nearer the truth if he had a mind; but 
 for the present let it pass.” 
 
 The minstrel, perceiving that the Scotchman was fretted and embarrassed 
 with the subject, pressed it no farther. 
 
 At this moment, in crossing the threshold of Thomas Dickson’s house, 
 they were greeted with sounds from two English soldiers within. “ Quiet, 
 Anthony,” said one voice,— “ quiet, man ! — for the sake of common sense, 
 if not common manners ;—Robin Hood himself never sat down to his board 
 ere the roast was ready.” 
 
 x2 
 
WAVE RLEY NOVELS. 
 
 270 
 
 “ Ready quoth another rough voice ; “it is roasting to rags, and small 
 had been the knave Dickson’s share, even of these rags, had it not been the 
 express orders of the worshipful Sir John de Walton, that the soldiers who 
 lie at outposts should afford to the inmates such provisions as are not neces¬ 
 sary for their own subsistence.” 
 
 “ Hush, Anthony, — hush, for shame I” replied his fellow-soldier, “ if ever 
 I heard our host’s step, I heard it this instant; so give over thy grumbling, 
 since our captain, as we all know, hath prohibited, under strict penalties, 
 all quarrels between his followers and the people of the country.” 
 
 “ I am sure,” replied Anthony, “ that I have ministered occasion to none; 
 but I would I were equally certain of the good meaning of this sullen-browed 
 Thomas Dickson towards the English soldiers, for I seldom go to bed in this 
 dungeon of a house, but I expect my throat will gape as wide as a thirsty 
 oyster before I awaken. Here he comes, however,” added Anthony, sink¬ 
 ing his sharp tones as he spoke; “ and I hope to be excommunicated if he 
 has not brought with him that mad animal, his son Charles, and two other 
 strangers, hungry enough. I’ll be sworn, to eat up the whole supper, if they 
 do us no other injury.” 
 
 “ Shame of thyself, Anthony,” repeated his comrade; “ a good archer 
 thou as ever wore Kendal green, and yet affect to be frightened for two 
 tired travellers, and alarmed for the inroad their hunger may make on the 
 night’s meal. There are four or five of us here — we have our bows and 
 our bills within reach, and scorn to be chased from our supper, or cheated 
 out of our share of it by a dozen Scotchmen, whether stationary or strollers. 
 How say’st thou ?” he added, turning to Dickson — “ How say ye, quarter¬ 
 master? it is no secret, that by the directions given to our post, we must 
 enquire into the occupations of such guests as you may receive besides our¬ 
 selves, your unwilling inmates; you are as ready for supper, I warrant, aa 
 supper is for you, and I will only delay you and my friend Anthony, who 
 becomes dreadfully impatient, until you answer two or three questions which 
 you wot of.” 
 
 “Bend-the-Bow,” answered Dickson, “thou art a civil fellow; and although 
 it is something hard to be constrained to give an account of one’s friends, 
 because they chance to quarter in one’s own house for a night or two, yet 1 
 must submit to the times, and make no vain opposition. You may mark 
 down in your breviary there, that upon the fourteenth day before Palm 
 Sunday, Thomas Dickson brought to his house of Hazelside, in which you 
 hold garrison, by orders from t^he English governor. Sir John de Walton, 
 two strangers, to whom the said Thomas Dickson had promised refreshment, 
 and a bed for the evening, if it be lawful at this time and place.” 
 
 “ But what are they, these strangers ?” said Anthony, somewhat sharply. 
 
 “A fine world the while,” murmured Thomas Dickson, “that an honest 
 man should be forced to answer the questions of every paltry companion V* 
 — But he mitigated his voice and proceeded. “ The eldest of my guests is 
 Bertram, an ancient English minstrel, who is bound on his own errand to 
 the Castle of Douglas, and will communicate what he has to say of news to 
 Sir John de Walton himself. I have known him for twenty years, and 
 never heard any thing of him save that he was good man and true. The 
 younger stranger is his son, a lad recovering from the English disorder, 
 which has been raging far and wide in Westmoreland and Cumberland.” 
 
 “ Tell me,” sajd Bend-the-Bow, “ this same Bertram, was he not about a 
 year since in the service of some noble lady in our own country ?” 
 
 “ I have heard so,” answered Dickson. 
 
 “We shall, in that case, I think, incur little danger,” replied Bend-the- 
 Bow, “by allowing this old man and his son to proceed on their journey to 
 the castle.” 
 
 “You are my elder and my better,” answered Anthony; “but I may 
 remind you that it is not so clearly our duty to give free passage, into a 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 271 
 
 garrison of a thousand men of all ranks, to a youth who has been so lately 
 attacked by a contagious disorder; and 1 question if our commander would 
 not rather hear that the Black Douglas, with a hundred devils as black as 
 himself, since such is his colour, bad taken possession of the outposts of 
 llazelside with sword and battle-axe, than that one person suffering under 
 this fell sickness had entered peaceably, and by the open wicket of tho 
 castle/' 
 
 “ There is something in what thou sayest, Anthony," replied his comrade; 
 “ and considering that our governor, since he has undertaken the trouble¬ 
 some job of keeping a castle which is esteemed so much more dangerous 
 than any other within Scotland, has become one of the most cautious and 
 jealous men in the world, we had better, I think, inform him of the circum¬ 
 stance, and take his commands how the stripling is to be dealt with." 
 
 “ Content am I," said the archer ; “ and first, methinks, I would just, in 
 order to show that we know what belongs to such a case, ask the stripling 
 a few questions, as how long he has been ill, by what physicians he has 
 been attended, when he was cured, and how his cure is certified, &c." 
 
 “ True, brother," said Bend-the-Bow. “ Thou hearest, minstrel, w^e would 
 ask thy son some questions — What has become of him? —he was in this 
 apartment but now." 
 
 “ So please you," answered Bertram, “he did but pass through the apart¬ 
 ment. Mr. Thomas Dickson, at my entreaty, as well as in respectful rev¬ 
 erence to your honour’s health, carried him through the room without tar- 
 riance, judging his own bed-chamber the fittest place for a young man 
 recovering from a severe illness, and after a day of no small fatigue." 
 
 “Well," answered the elder archer, “though it is uncommon for men 
 who, like us, live by bow-string and quiver, to meddle with interrogations 
 and examinations ; yet, as the case stands, we must make some enquiries 
 ^of your son, ere we permit him to set forth to the Castle of Douglas, where 
 you say his errand leads him." 
 
 “ Bather my errand, noble sir," said the minstrel, “ than that of the young 
 man himself." 
 
 “ If such be the case," answered Bend-the-Bow, “we may sufficiently do 
 our duty by sending yourself, with the first grey light of dawn, to the 
 castle, and letting your son remain in bed, which I warrant is the fittest 
 place for him, until we shall receive Sir John de Walton’s commands 
 whether he is to be brought onward or not." 
 
 “ And we may as well," said Anthony, “ since we are to have this man’s 
 company at supper, make him acquainted with the rules of the out-garrison 
 stationed here for the time." So saying, he pulled a scroll from his leathern 
 pouch, and said, “ Minstrel, canst thou read ?" 
 
 “ It becomes my calling," said the minstrel. 
 
 “ It has nothing to do with mine, though," answered the archer, “ and 
 therefore do thou read these regulations aloud; for since I do not compre¬ 
 hend these characters by sight, I lose no chance of having them read over 
 to me as often as I can, that I may fix their sense in my memory. So 
 beware that thou readest the words letter for letter as they are set down ; 
 for thou dost so at thy peril. Sir Minstrel, if thou readest not like a true man." 
 
 “On my minstrel word," said Bertram, and began to read excessively 
 slow ; for he wished to gain a little time for consideration, which he foresaw 
 would be necessary to prevent his being separated from his mistress, which 
 was likely to occasion her much anxiety and distress. lie therefore began 
 thus : — “ ‘ Outpost at llazelside,'the steading of Goodman Thomas Dickson* 
 —Ay, Thomas, and is thy house so called?’’ 
 
 “It is the ancient name of the steading," said the Scot, “being sur¬ 
 rounded by a hazel-shaw, or thicket." 
 
 “ Hold your chattering tongue, minstrel," said Anthony, “ and proceed, 
 as you value your ears, which you seem dis[»osed to make less use of." 
 
272 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ ‘ Ilis garrison,’ ” proceeded the minstrel, reading, “ ‘ consists of a lance 
 •with its furniture.’ What, then, a lance, in other words, a belted knight, 
 commands this party ?” 
 
 “’Tis no concern of thine,” said the archer. 
 
 “ But it is,” answered the minstrel; “ we have a right to be examined by 
 the highest person in presence.” 
 
 “ I will show thee, thou rascal,” said the archer, starting up, “ that I am 
 lance enough for thee to reply to, and I will break thy head if thou say’st a 
 word more.” 
 
 “ Take care, brother Anthony,” said his comrade, “ we are to use tra¬ 
 vellers courteously — and, with your leave, those travellers best who come 
 from our native land.” 
 
 “ It is even so stated here,” said the minstrel, and he proceeded to read: 
 —“ ‘ The watch at this outpost of Hazelside* shall stop and examine all 
 travellers passing by the said station, suffering such to pass onward to the 
 town of Douglas or to Douglas Castle, always interrogating them with 
 civility, and detaining and turning them back if there arise matter of sus¬ 
 picion ; but conducting themselves in all matters civilly and courteously to 
 the people of the country, and to those who travel in it.’ You see, most 
 excellent and valiant archer,” added the commentator Bertram, “ that cour¬ 
 tesy and civilitjy are, above all, recommended to your worship in your con¬ 
 duct towards the inhabitants, and those passengers who, like us, may chance 
 to fall under your rules in such matters.” 
 
 “ I am not to be told at this time of day,” said the archer, “how to con¬ 
 duct myself in the discharge of my duties. Let me advise you, Sir Minstrel, 
 to be frank and open in your answers to our enquiries, and you shall have 
 no reason to complain.” 
 
 “I hope at all events,” said the minstrel, “to have your favour for my 
 son, who is a delicate stripling, and not accustomed to play his part among 
 the crew which inhabit this wild world.” 
 
 “Well,” continued the elder and more civil of the two archers, “if thy 
 son be a novice in this terrestrial navigation, I warrant that thou, my friend, 
 from thy look and manner of speech, hast enough of skill to use thy com¬ 
 pass. To comfort thee, although thou must thyself answer the questions 
 of our governor or deputy-governor, in order that he may see there is no 
 offence in thee, I think there may be permission granted for thy son’s 
 residing here in the convent hard by, (where the nuns, by the way, are as 
 old as the monks, and have nearly as long beards, so thou mayst be easy 
 about thy son’s morals,) until thou hast done thy business at Douglas 
 Castle, and art ready to resume thy journey.” 
 
 “ If such permission,” said the minstrel, “ can be obtained, I should be 
 better pleased to leave him at the abbey, and go myself, in the first place, 
 to take the directions of your commanding officer.” 
 
 “ Certainly,” answered the archer, “that will be the safest and best way; 
 and with a piece or two of money, thou mayst secure the protection of the 
 abbot.” 
 
 “ Thou say’st well,” answered the minstrel; “ I have known life, I have 
 known every stile, gap, pathway, and pass of this wilderness of ours for 
 some thirty years; and he that cannot steer his course fairly through it 
 like an able seaman, after having served such an apprenticeship, can hardly 
 ever be taught, were a century to be given him to learn it in.” 
 
 “ Since thou art so expert a mariner,” answered the archer Anthony, 
 “ thou hast, I warrant me, met in thy wanderings a potation called a morn¬ 
 ing’s draught, which they who are conducted by others, where they them- 
 
 * [Hazelside Place, the fief granted to Thomas Dickson by William the Hardy, seventh Lord Douglas, is 
 still pointed out about two miles to the southwest of the Castle Dangerous. Dickson was sixty years of age 
 at the time when Lord James first appeared in Douglasdale.j His heirs kept possession of the fief for cen¬ 
 turies; and some resfiectable gentlemen’s farnibes in Lanarkshire still trace themselves to this ancestor.— 
 F'rom Notes bi‘ Mr. Haddow.'i 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 273 
 
 selves lack experience, are used to bestow upon those who undertake tho 
 task of guide upon such an occasion V’ 
 
 “ I understand you, sir,^^ quoth the minstrel; “ and although money, or 
 drink-geld, as the Fleming calls it, is rather a scarce commodity in tho 
 purse of one of my calling, yet according to my feeble ability, thou shalt 
 have no cause to complain that thine eyes or those of thy comrades have 
 been damaged by a Scottish mist, while we can find an English coin to pay 
 for the good liquor which would wash them clear/’ 
 
 “Content,” said the archer; “we now understand each other; and if 
 difficulties arise on the road, thou shalt not want the countenance of Anthony 
 to sail triumphantly through them. But thou hadst better let thy son know 
 soon of the early visit to the abbot to-morrow% for thou mayst guess that wo 
 cannot and dare not delay our departure for the convent a minute after tho 
 eastern sky is ruddy; and, with other infirmities, young men often aro 
 prone to laziness and a love of ease.” 
 
 “ Thou shalt have no reason to think so,” answered the minstrel; “ not 
 the lark himself, when waked by the first ray peeping over the black cloud, 
 springs more lightly to the sky, than will my Augustine answer the same 
 brilliant summons. And now we understand each other, I would only fur¬ 
 ther pray you to forbear light talk while my son is in your company, —a boy 
 of innocent life, and timid in conversation.” 
 
 “Nay, jolly minstrel,” said the elder archer, “thou givest us here too 
 gross an example of Satan reproving sin. If thou hast followed thy craft 
 for twenty years, as thou pretendest, thy son, having kept thee company 
 since childhood, must by this time be fit to open a school to teach even 
 devils the practice of the seven deadly sins, of which none know the theory 
 if those of the gay science are lacking.” 
 
 “Truly, comrade, thou speakest well,” answered Bertram, “and I acknow¬ 
 ledge that we minstrels are too much to blame in this matter. Nevertheless, 
 • in good sooth, the fault is not one of which I myself am particularly guilty; 
 on the contrary, I think that he who would wish to have his own hair 
 honoured when time has strewed it with silver, should so rein his mirth 
 w'hen in the presence of the young, as may show in what respect he holds 
 innocence. I will, therefore, with your permission, speak a word to Augus¬ 
 tine, that to-morrow we must bo on foot early.” 
 
 “Do so, my friend,” said the English soldier; “and do the same the more 
 speedily that our poor supper is still awaiting until thou art ready to par¬ 
 take of it.” 
 
 “ To which, I promise thee,” said Bertram, “ I am disposed to entertain 
 no delay.” 
 
 “ Follow me, then,” said Dickson, “ and I will show thee where this 
 young bird of thine has his nest.” 
 
 Their host accordingly tripped up the wooden stair, and tapped at a door, 
 which he thus indicated was that of his younger guest. 
 
 “ Your father,” continued he, as the door opened, “ would speak with 
 you. Master Augustine.” 
 
 “Excuse me, my host,” answered Augustine, “the truth is, that this 
 room being directly above your eating-chamber, and the flooring not in the 
 best possible repair, I have been compelled to the unhandsome practice of 
 eavesdropping, and not a word has escaped me that passed concerning my 
 proposed residence at the abbey, our journey to-morrow, and the somewhat 
 early hour at which I must shake off sloth, and, according to thy expres¬ 
 sion, fly down from the roost.” 
 
 “ And how dost thou relish,” said Dickson, “ being left with the Abbot 
 of Saint Bride’s little flock here.” 
 
 “Why, well,” said the youth, “if the abbot is a man of respectability 
 becoming his vocation, and not one of those swaggering churchmen, who 
 
 VoL. XII. w- 18 
 
274 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 stretch out the sword, and bear themselves like rank soldiers in these trou¬ 
 blous times.” 
 
 “For that, young master,” said Dickson, “if you let him put his hand 
 deep enough into your purse, he will hardly quarrel with any thing.” 
 
 “ Then I will leave him to my father,” replied Augustine, “ who will not 
 grudge him any thing he asks in reason.” 
 
 “ In that case,” replied the Scotchman, “ you may trust to our abbot for 
 good accommodation—and so both sides are pleased.” 
 
 “ It is well, my son,” said Bertram, who now joined in the conversation; 
 “ and that thou mayst be ready for early travelling, I shall presently get 
 our host to send thee some food, after partaking of which thou shouldst go 
 to bed and sleep off the fatigue of to-day, since to-morrow will bring work 
 for itself.” 
 
 “ And as for thy engagement to these honest archers,” answered Augus¬ 
 tine, “ I hope you will be able to do what will give pleasure to our guides, 
 if they are disposed to be civil and true men.” 
 
 “ God bless thee, my child !” answered Bertram ; “ thou knowest already 
 what would drag after thy beck all the English archers that were ever on 
 this side of the Solway. There is no fear of a grey goose shaft, if you sing 
 a reveillez like to that which chimed even now from, that silken nest of dainty 
 young goldfinches.” 
 
 “Hold me as in readiness, then,” said the seeming youth, “when you 
 depart to-morrow morning. I am within hearing, I suppose, of the bells 
 of Saint Bride's chapel, and have no fear, through my sloth, of keeping you 
 or vour company waiting.” 
 
 “ Good night, and God bless thee, my child!” again said the minstrel; 
 “ remember that your father sleeps not far distant, and on the slightest 
 alarm will not fail to be with you. I need scarce bid thee recommend 
 thyself, meantime, to the great Being, who is the friend and father of us all.” 
 
 The pilgrim thanked his supposed father for his evening blessing, and 
 the visitors withdrew without farther speech at the time, leaving the young 
 lady to those engrossing fears, which, the novelty of her situation, and the 
 native delicacy of her sex being considered, naturally thronged upon her. 
 
 The tramp of a horse's foot was not long after heard at the house of 
 Ilazelside, and the rider was welcomed by its garrison with marks of respect. 
 Bertram understood so much as to discover from the conversation of the 
 warders that this late arrival was Aymer de Valence, the knight who com¬ 
 manded the little party, and to the furniture of whose lance, as it was 
 technically called, belonged the archers with whom we have already been 
 acquainted, a man-at-arms or two, a certain proportion of pages or grooms, 
 and, in short, the command and guidance of the garrison at Thomas 
 Dickson's, while in rank he was Deputy-governor of Douglas Castle. 
 
 To prevent all suspicion respecting himself and his companion, as well 
 as the risk of the latter being disturbed, the minstrel thought it proper to 
 present himself to the inspection of this knight, the great authority of the 
 little place. He found him with as little scruple as the archers heretofore, 
 making a supper of the relics of the roast beef. 
 
 Before this young knight Bertram underwent an examination, while an 
 old soldier took down in writing such items of information as the examinate 
 thought proper to express in his replies, both with regard to the minutiae 
 of his present journey, his business at Castle Douglas, and his route when 
 that business should be accomplished; a much more minute examination, 
 in a word, than he had hitherto undergone by the archers, or perhaps than 
 was quite agreeable to him, being encumbered with at least the knowledge 
 of one secret, whatever more. Not that this new examinator had any 
 thing stern or severe in his looks or his questions. As to the first, he was 
 mild, gentle, and “ meek as a maid,” and possessed exactly of the courteous 
 manners ascribed by our father Chaucer to the pattern of chivalry whom he 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 275 
 
 describes upon his pilgrimage to Canterbury. But "with all bis gentleness, 
 De Valence showed a great degree of acuteness and accuracy in his queries ; 
 and well pleased was Bertram that the young knight did not insist upon 
 seeing his supposed son, although even in that case his ready wit had 
 resolved, like a seaman in a tempest, to sacrifice one part to preserve the 
 rest. lie was not, however, driven to this extremity, being treated by Sir 
 Aymer with that degree of courtesy which in that age men of song were 
 in general thought entitled to. The knight kindly and liberally consented 
 to the lad’s remaining in the convent, as a fit and quiet residence for a 
 stripling and an invalid, until Sir John de Walton should express his 
 pleasure on the subject; and Sir Aymer consented to this arrangement the 
 more willingly, as it averted all possible danger of bringing disease into 
 the English garrison. 
 
 By the young knight’s order, all in Dickson’s house were despatched 
 earlier to rest than usual; the matin bell of the neighbouring chapel being 
 the signal for their assembly by daybreak. They rendezvoused accordingly, 
 and proceeded to Saint Bride’s, where they heard mass, after which an 
 interview took place between the abbot Jerome and the minstrel, in which 
 the former undertook, with the permission of De Valence, to receive Augus¬ 
 tine into his abbey as a guest for a few days, less or more, and for which 
 Bertram promised an acknowledgment in name of alms, which was amply 
 satisfactory. 
 
 “ So be it,” said Bertram, taking leave of his supposed son ; “ rely on it 
 I will not tarry a day longer at Douglas Castle than shall suffice for trans¬ 
 acting my business there, which is to look after the old books you wot of, 
 and I will speedily return for thee to the Abbey of Saint Bride, to resume 
 in company our journey homeward.” 
 
 “ 0 father,” replied the youth, with a smile, “ I fear if you get among 
 romances and chronicles, you will be so earnest in your researches, that 
 you will forget poor Augustine and his concerns.” 
 
 “Never fear me, Augustine,” said the old man, making the motion of 
 throwing a kiss towards the boy; “ thou art good and virtuous, and Heaven 
 will not neglect thee, were thy father unnatural enough to do so. Believe 
 me, all the old songs since Merlin’s day shall not make me forget thee.” 
 
 Thus they separated, the minstrel, with the English knight and his 
 retinue, to move towards the castle, and the youth in dutiful attendance on 
 the venerable abbot, who was delighted to find that his guest’s thoughts 
 turned rather upon spiritual things than on the morning repast, of the ap¬ 
 proach of which he could not help being himself sensible. 
 
 Cljnptjr tjit €liitL 
 
 This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick, 
 
 It looks a little paler; ’tis a day 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 To facilitate the progress of the party on its way to Douglas Castle, the 
 Knight of Valence olfered the minstrel the convenience of a horse, which 
 the fatigues of yesterday made him gladly accept. Any one acquainted 
 with equestrian exercise, is aware that no means of refreshment carries 
 away the sense of fatigue from over walking so easily, as the exchange to 
 riding, which calls into play another set of muscles, and leaves those which 
 have been over exerted an opportunity of resting through change of motion. 
 
276 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 more completel}’^ than they could in absolute repose. Sir Aymer cle Valence 
 ■\va.s sheathed in armour, and mounted on his charger; two of the archers, a 
 groom of mean rank, and a squire, who looked in his day for the honour of 
 knighthood, completed the detachment, which seemed so disposed as to 
 secure the minstrel from escape, and to protect him against violence.' “ Not,’^ 
 said the young knight, addressing himself to Bertram, “ that there is usually 
 danger in travelling in this country any more than in the most quiet dis¬ 
 tricts of England; but some disturbances, as you may have learnt, have 
 broken out here within this last year, and have caxised the garrison of Castle 
 Douglas to maintain a stricter w^atch. But let us move on, for the com¬ 
 plexion of the day is congenial with the original derivation of the name of 
 the country, and the description of the chiefs to whom it belonged — ShoUo 
 Dliu Glass — (see yon dark grey man,) and dark grey will our route prove 
 this morning, though by good luck it is not long.'^ 
 
 The morning was indeed what the original Gaelic words implied, a drizzly, 
 dark, moist day; the mist had settled upon the hills, and unrolled itself upon 
 brook, glade, and tarn, and the spring breeze was not powerful enough to 
 raise the veil, though from the wild sounds which wmre heard occasionally 
 on the ridges, and through the glens, it might be supposed to wail at a sense 
 of its own inability. The route of the travellers was directed by the course 
 which the river had ploughed for itself down the valley, the banks of which 
 bore in general that dark grey livery which Sir Aymer de Valence had inti¬ 
 mated to be the prevalent tint of the country. Some ineffectual struggles 
 of the sun shot a ray here and there to salute the peaks of the hills; yet 
 these were unable to surmount the dulness of a March morning, and, at so 
 early an hour, produced a variety of shades, rather than a gleam of bright¬ 
 ness upon the eastern horizon. The view was monotonous and depressing, 
 and apparently the good knight Aymer sought some amusement in occasional 
 talk with Bertram, who, as was usual with his craft, possessed a fund of 
 knowledge, and a power of conversation, well suited to pass away a dull 
 morning. The minstrel, well pleased to pick up such information as he 
 might be able concerning the present state of the country, embraced every 
 opportunity of sustaining the dialogue. 
 
 “ I would speak with you. Sir Minstrel,said the young knight. “ If 
 thou dost not tind the air of this morning too harsh for thine organs, heartily 
 do I wish thou wouldst fairly tell me what can have induced thee, being, as 
 thou seemst, a man of sense, to thrust thyself into a wild country like this, 
 at such a time.—And you, my masters,’^ addressing the archers and the rest 
 of the party, “ methinks it would be as fitting and seeming if you reined 
 back your steeds for a horse's length or so, since I apprehend you can travel 
 on your wmy without the pastime of minstrelsy." The bowmen took the 
 hint, and fell back, but, as was expressed by their grumbling observations, 
 by no means pleased that there seemed little chance of their overhearing 
 what conversation should pass between the young knight and the minstrel, 
 which proceeded as follows :— 
 
 “ I am, then, to understand, good minstrel," said the knight, “ that you, 
 who have in your time borne arms, and even followed Saint George's red- 
 cross banner to the Holy Sepulchre, are so little tired of the danger attend¬ 
 ing our profession, that you feel yourself attracted unnecessarily to regions 
 where the sw^ord, for ever loose in its scabbard, is ready to start on the 
 slightest provocation ?" 
 
 “ It would be hard," replied the minstrel bluntly, “ to answer such a 
 question in the affirmative; and yet, when you consider how nearly allied is 
 his profession who celebrates deeds of arms with that of the knight who 
 performs them, your honour, I think, will hold it advisable that a minstrel 
 desirous of doing his devoir, should, like a young knight, seek the truth of 
 adventures where it is to be found, and rather visit countries where the 
 knowledge is preserved of high and noble deeds, than those lazy and quiet 
 
CASTLE DANOEROUS. 
 
 277 
 
 realms, in which men live indolently, and die ignobly in peace, or by sen¬ 
 tence of law. You yourself, sir, and those like you, who hold life cheap in 
 respect of glory, guide your course through this world on the very same 
 principle which brings your poor rhyming servant Bertram from a hir 
 province of merry England, to this dark country of rugged Scotland called 
 Douglas Dale. You long to see adventures worthy of notice, and I (under 
 favour for naming us two in the same breath) seek a scanty and precarious, 
 but not a dishonourable living, by preparing for immortality, as well as I 
 can, the particulars of such exploits, especially the names of those who were 
 the heroes of these actions. Each, therefore, labours in his vocation; nor 
 can the one be justly wondered at more than the other, seeing that if there 
 be any difference in the degrees of danger to which both the hero and the 
 poet are exposed, the courage, strength, arms, and address of the valiant 
 knight, render it safer for him to venture into scenes of peril, than for the 
 poor man of rhyme.'^ 
 
 “You say well,’^ answered the warrior; “and although it is something 
 of novelty to me to hear your craft represented as upon a level with my 
 own mode of life, yet shame were it to say that the minstrel who toils so 
 much to keep in memory the feats of gallant knights should not himself 
 prefer fame to existence, and a single achievement of valour to a whole 
 age without a name, or to affirm that he follows a mean and unworthy pro¬ 
 fession.'^ 
 
 “ Your worship will then acknowledge," said the minstrel, “ that it is a 
 legitimate object in such as myself, who, simple as I am, have taken my 
 regular degrees among the professors of the gay science at the capital town 
 of Aigues-Mortcs, to struggle forward into this northern district, where I 
 am well assured many things have happened which have been adapted to 
 the harp by minstrels of great fame in ancient days, and have become the 
 subject of lays which lie deposited in the library of Castle Douglas, where, 
 unless copied over by some one who understands the old British characters 
 and language, they must, with whatever they may contain, whether of en¬ 
 tertainment or edification, be speedily lost to posterity. If these hidden 
 treasures were preserved and recorded by the minstrel art of my poor self 
 and others, it might be held well to compensate for the risk of a chance blow 
 of a broadsword, or the sweep of a brown bill, while I am engaged in col¬ 
 lecting them; and I were unworthy of the name of a man, much more of 
 an inventor or finder,* should I weigh the loss of life, a commodity always 
 so uncertain, against the chance of that immortality which will survive in 
 my lay after my broken voice and shivered harp shall no longer be able 
 either to express tune or accompany tale." 
 
 “ Certainly," said Sir Aymer, “ having a heart to feel such a motive, you 
 have an undoubted right to express it; nor should I have been in any degree 
 disposed to question it had I found many minstrels prepared, like yourself, 
 to prefer renown even to life itself, which most men think of greatly more 
 consequence." 
 
 “There are, indeed, noble sir," replied Bertram, “minstrels, and, with 
 your reverence, even belted knights themselves, who do not sufficiently value 
 that renown which is acquired at the risk of life. To such ignoble men we 
 must leave their own reward—let us abandon to them earth, and the things 
 of earth, since they cannot aspire to that glory which is the hest reward of 
 others." 
 
 The minstrel uttered these last words with such enthusiasm, that the knight 
 drew his bridle, and stood fronting Bertram, with his countenance kindling 
 at the same theme, on which, after a short silence, he expressed himself 
 with a like vivacity. 
 
 * The iiume of Myicer stands for Poet (with the uri^inui sense of which word it exactly corresponds) in the 
 old Scottish lanf:n:ia:e. That of Trouvnir or 'I'roubadonr — Finder, in short—has a similar meaning, and 
 almost in every country llie poetical tribes have been graced with the same epitliets, inferring the property 
 of tliose wliu employ invention or creation. 
 
 V 
 
278 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “Well fare thy heart, gay companion! I am happy to see there is still 
 so much enthusiasm surviving in the world. Thou hast fairly won the 
 minstrel groat; and if I do not pay it in conformity to my sense of thy 
 merit, it shall be the fault of dame Fortune, who has graced my labours in 
 these Scottish wars with the niggard pay of Scottish money. A gold piece 
 or two there must be remaining of the ransom of one French knight, whom 
 chance threw into my hands, and that, my friend, shall surely be thine 
 OMm ; and hark thee, I, Aymer de Valence, who now speak to thee, am born 
 of the noble House of Pembroke; and though now landless, shall, by the 
 grace of Our Lady, have in time a fitting establishment, wherein I will find 
 room for a minstrel like thee, if thy talents have not by that time found 
 thee a better patron.’’ 
 
 “ Thank thee, noble knight,” said the minstrel, “ as well for thy present 
 intentions, as I hope I shall for thy future performance; but I may say, 
 with truth, that I have not the sordid inclination of many of my brethren.” 
 
 “ He who partakes the true thirst of noble fame,” said the young knight, 
 “ can have little room in his heart for the love of gold. But thou hast not 
 yet told me, friend minstrel, what are the motives, in particular, which have 
 attracted thy wandering steps to this wild country ?” 
 
 “ Were I to do so,” replied Bertram, rather desirous to avoid the question, 
 as in some respects too nearly bordering on the secret purpose of his jour¬ 
 ney, “ it might sound like a studied panegyric on thine own bold deeds. Sir 
 Knight, and those of your companions in arms; and such adulation, min¬ 
 strel as I am, I hate like an empty cup at a companion’s lips. But let me 
 say in few words, that Douglas Castle, and the deeds of valour which it has 
 witnessed, have sounded wide through England; nor is there a gallant 
 knight or trusty minstrel, whose heart does not throb at the name of the 
 stronghold, which, in former days, the foot of an Englishman never entered, 
 except in hospitality. There is a magic in the very names of Sir John de 
 Walton and Sir Aymer de Valence, the gallant defenders of a place so often 
 won back by its ancient lords, and with such circumstances of valour and 
 cruelty, that it bears, in England, the name of the Dangerous Castle.” 
 
 “ Yet I would fain hear,” answered the knight, “ your own minstrel ac¬ 
 count of those legends which have induced you, for the amusement of future 
 times, to visit a country which, at this period, is so distracted and perilous.” 
 
 “If you can endure the length of a minstrel tale,” said Bertram—“ I for 
 one am always amused by the exercise of my vocation, and have no objec¬ 
 tion to tell my story, provided you do not prove an impatient listener.” 
 
 “ Nay, for that matter,” said the young knight, “ a fair listener thou shalt 
 have of me; and if my reward be not great, my attention at least shall be 
 remarkable.” 
 
 “ And he,” said the minstrel, “ must be a poor gleeman who does not hold 
 himself better paid with that, than with gold or silver, vrere the pieces 
 English rose-nobles. On this condition, then, I begin a long story, which 
 may, in one or other of its details, find subject for better minstrels than 
 myself, and be listened to by such warriors as you hundreds of years 
 hence.” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 279 
 
 C’ljnptrr tljr /nurtji. 
 
 While many a merry lay and many a soni? 
 
 Cheer’d the ron^h road, we wish’d the rough road long; 
 
 ♦ The rough road then returning in a round, 
 
 Mark’d their impatient steps, for all was fairy ground. 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 “ It was about the year of redemption one thousand two hundred and 
 eighty-five years/' began the minstrel, “ when King Alexander the Third 
 of Scotland lost his daughter Margaret, whose only child of the same name, 
 called the Maiden of Norway, (as her father was king of that country,) 
 became the heiress of this kingdom of Scotland, as well as of her father’s 
 crown. An unhappy death was this for Alexander, who had no nearer 
 heirs left of his own body than this grandchild. She indeed might claim’ 
 his kingdom by birthright; but the difficulty of establishing such a claim 
 of inheritance must have been anticipated by all who bestowed a thought 
 upon the subject. The Scottish king, therefore, endeavoured to make up 
 for his loss by replacing his late Queen, who was an English princess, sister 
 of our Edward the First, with Juletta, daughter of the Count de Dreux. 
 The solemnities at the nuptial ceremony, which took place in the towm of 
 Jedburgh, were very great and remarkable, and particularly when, amidst 
 the display of a pageant w’hich was exhibited on the occasion, a ghastly 
 spectre made its appearance in the form of a skeleton, as the King of Ter¬ 
 rors is said to be represented.—Your w’orship is free to laugh at this, if you 
 think it a proper subject for mirth; but men are alive who viewed it with 
 their own eyes, and the event gjiowed too well of what misfortunes this 
 apparition was the singular prognostication.” 
 
 “ I have heard the story,” said the knight; “ but the monk who told it 
 me, suggested that the figure, though unhappily chosen, was perhaps pur¬ 
 posely introduced as a part of the pageant.” 
 
 “ I know not that,” said the minstrel, dryly ; “ but there is no doubt that 
 shortly after this apparition King iVlexander died, to the great sorrow of his 
 people. The Maid of Norway, his heiress, speedily followed her grandfather 
 to the grave, and our English king, Sir Knight, raked up a claim of depen¬ 
 dency and homage due, he said, by Scotland, which neither the lawyers, 
 nobles, priests, nor the very minstrels of Scotland, had ever before heard of.’' 
 
 “ Now, beshrew me,” interrupted Sir Aymer de Valence, “ this is beyond 
 bargain. I agreed to hear your tale w’ith patience, but I did not pledge 
 myself that it should contain matter to the reproach of Edward the First, 
 of blessed memory; nor will I permit his name to be mentioned in my 
 hearing without the respect due his high rank and noble qualities.” 
 
 “ Nay,” said the minstrel, “ I am no highland bagpiper or genealogist, to 
 carry respect for my art so far as to quarrel with a man of worship wffio 
 stops me at the beginning of a pibroch. I am an Englishman, and wish 
 dearly well to my country; and, above all, I must speak the truth. But I 
 will avoid disputable topics. Your age, sir, though none of the ripest, 
 authorizes me to suppose you may have seen the battle of Falkirk, and 
 other onslaughts in which the competition of Bruce and Baliol has been 
 fiercely agitated, and you will permit me to say, that if the Scottish have 
 not had the right upon their side, they have at least defended the wrong 
 with the efforts of brave men and true.” 
 
 “ Of brave men I grant you,” said the knight, “ for I have seen no cowards 
 amongst them ; but as for truth, they can best judge of it who know how 
 often they have sworn faith to England, and how repeatedly they have 
 oroken their vow.” 
 
280 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “I shall not stir the question/^ said the minstrel, “leaving it to your 
 worship to determine which has most falsehood—he who compels a weaker 
 person to take an unjust oath, or he who, compelled by necessity, takes the 
 imposed oath without the intention of keeping his word.” 
 
 “ Nay, nay,” said De Valence, “ let us keep our opinions, for‘we are not 
 likely to force each other from the faith we have adopted on this subject. 
 But take my advice, and whilst thou travellest under an English pennon, 
 take heed that thou keepest off this conversation in the hall and kitchen, 
 where perhaps the soldier may be less tolerant than the officer; and now, 
 in a word, what is thy legend of this Dangerous Castle ?” 
 
 “ For that,” replied Bertram, “ methinks your worship is most likely to 
 have a better edition than I, who have not been in this country for many 
 years ; but it is not for me to bandy opinions with your knightship. I will 
 even proceed with the tale as I have heard it. I need not, I presume, 
 inform your worship that the Lords of Douglas, who founded this castle, 
 are second to no lineage in Scotland in the antiquity of their descent. Nay, 
 they have themselves boasted that their family is not to be seen or distin¬ 
 guished, like other great houses, until it is found at once in a certain degree 
 of eminence. ‘ You may see us in the tree,^ they say, ‘ you cannot discover 
 us in the twig; you may see us in the stream, you cannot trace us to the 
 fountain.^ In a word, they deny that historians or genealogists can point 
 out the first mean man named Douglas, who originally elevated the family; 
 and true it is, that so far back as we have known this race, they have 
 always been renowned for valour and enterprise, accompanied with the 
 power which made that enterprise effectual.” 
 
 “ Enough,” said the knight, “ I have heard of the pride and power of that 
 great family, nor does it interest me in the least to deny or detract from 
 their bold claims to consideration in this respect.” 
 
 “ Without doubt you must also have heard, noble sir,” replied the min¬ 
 strel, “ many things of James, the present heir of the house of Douglas?” 
 
 “ More than enough,” answered the English knight; “ he is known to 
 have been a stout supporter of that outlawed traitor, William Wallace ; and 
 again, upon the first raising of the banner by this Kobert Bruce, who pre¬ 
 tends to be King of Scotland, this young springald, James Douglas, must 
 needs start into rebellion anew. He plunders his uncle, the Archbishop of 
 St. Andrews, of a considerable sum of money, to fill the Scottish Usurper’s 
 not over-burdened treasury, debauches the servants of his relation, takes 
 arms, and though repeatedly chastised in the field, still keeps his vaunt, and 
 threatens mischief to those, who, in the name of his rightful sovereign, 
 defend the Castle of Douglasdale.” 
 
 “ It is your pleasure to say so. Sir Knight,” replied Bertram; “yet I am 
 sure, were you a Scot, you would with patience hear me tell over what has 
 been said of this young man by those who have known him, and whose 
 account of his adventures shows how differently the same tale may be told. 
 These men talk of the present heir of this ancient family as fully adequate 
 to maintain and augment its reputation ; ready, indeed, to undergo every 
 
 E eril in the cause of Robert the Bruce, because the Bruce is esteemed by 
 im his lawful king; and sworn and devoted, with such small strength as 
 he can muster, to revenge himself on those Southrons who have, for several 
 years, as he thinks, unjustly, possessed themselves of his father’s abode.” 
 
 “ 0,” replied Sir Aymer de Valence, “we have heard much of his achieve¬ 
 ments in this respect, and of his threats against our governor and ourselves; 
 yet we think it scarce likely that Sir John de Walton will move from Doug¬ 
 lasdale without the King’s order, although this James Douglas, a mere 
 chicken, take upon himself to crack his voice by crowing like a cock of the 
 'game.” 
 
 “ Sir,” answered Bertram, “ our acquaintance is but brief, and yet I feel 
 it has been so beneficial to me, that I trust there is no harm in hoping that 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 281 
 
 James Douglas and you may never meet in bodily presence till the state of 
 the two countries shall admit of peace being between you/’ 
 
 “Thou art obliging, friend,” answered Sir Aymer, “and, I doubt not, 
 sincere; and truly thou seeinest to have a wholesome sense of the respect 
 due to this young knight, when men talk of him in his native valley of 
 Douglas. For me, I am only poor Aymer of Valence, without an acre of 
 land, or much hope of acquiring any, unless I cut something huge with 
 my broadsword out of the middle of these hills. Only this, good minstrel, 
 if thou livest to tell my story, may I pray thee to use thy scrupulous custom 
 of searching out the verity, and whether I live or die thou shalt not, I think, 
 discover that thy late acquaintance of a spring morning hath added more to 
 the laurels of James of Douglas, than any man’s death must give to him 
 by whose stronger arm, or more lucky chance, it is his lot to fall.” ‘ 
 
 “ I nothing fear you. Sir Knight,” said the minstrel, “ for yours is that 
 happy brain, which, bold in youth as beseems a young knight, is in more 
 advanced life the happy source of prudent counsel, of which I would not, 
 by an early death, wish thy country to be deprived.” 
 
 “ Thou art so candid, then, as to wish Old England the benefit of good 
 advice,” said Sir Aymer, “ though thou leanest to the side of Scotland in 
 the controversy ?” 
 
 “Assuredly, Sir Knight,” said the minstrel, “since in wishing that Scot¬ 
 land and England each knew their own true interest, I am bound to wish 
 them both alike well; and they should, I think, desire to live in friendship 
 together. Occupying each their own portion of the same island, and living 
 under the same laws, and being at peace with each other, they might with¬ 
 out fear, face the enmity of the whole world.” 
 
 “ If thy faith be so liberal,” answered the Knight, “ as becomes a good 
 man, thou must certainly pray, Sir Minstrel, for the success of England in 
 the war, by which alone these murderous hostilities of the northern nation 
 can end in a solid peace. The rebellions of this obstinate country are but 
 the struggles of the stag when he is mortally wounded ; the animal grows 
 weaker and weaker with every struggle, till his resistance is effectually 
 tamed by the hand of death.” 
 
 “ Not so. Sir Knight,” said the minstrel; “ if my creed is well taught 
 me, we ought not so to pray. We may, without offence, intimate in our 
 prayers the end we wish to obtain ; but it is not for us, poor mortals, to 
 point out to an all-seeing Providence the precise manner in which our peti¬ 
 tions are to be accomplished, or to wish the downfall of a country to end 
 its commotions, as the death-stab terminates the agonies of the wounded 
 stag. Whether I appeal to my heart or to my understanding, the dictate 
 would be to petition Heaven for what is just and equal in the case; and if 
 I should fear for thee. Sir Knight, in an encounter with James of Douglas, 
 it is only because he upholds, as I conceive, the better side of the debate; 
 and powers more earthly have presaged to him success.” 
 
 “Do you tell me so. Sir Minstrel,” said De Valence in a threatening tone, 
 “ knowing me and my office ?” 
 
 “Your personal dignity and ^authority,” said Bertram, “cannot change 
 the right into wrong, or avert what Providence has decreed to take place. 
 Y"ou know, I must presume, that the Douglas hath, by various devices, 
 already contrived to make himself master of this Castle of Douglas three 
 several times, and that Sir John de Walton, the present governor, holds it 
 with a garrison trebled in force, and under the assurance that if, without 
 surprise, he should keep it from the Scottish power for a year and a day, 
 he shall obtain the barony of Douglas, with its extensive appendages, in 
 free property for his reward; while, on the other hand, if he shall suffer 
 the fortress during this space to be taken, either by guile or by open force, 
 as has happened successively to the holders of the Dangerous Castle, ho will 
 become liable to dishonour as a knight, and to attainder as a subject; and 
 
282 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the chiefs who take share with him, and serve under him, will participate 
 also in his guilt and his punishment?’^ 
 
 “All this I know well,” said Sir Aymer; “and I only wonder that, hav¬ 
 ing become public, the conditions have, nevertheless, been told with so much 
 accuracy ; but what has this to do with the issue of the combat, if* the Doug¬ 
 las and I should chance to meet ? I will not surely be disposed to fight 
 with less animation because I wear my fortune upon my sword, or become 
 coward because I fight for a portion of the Douglas’s estate, as well as for 
 fame and for fatherland? And after all”- 
 
 “Hear me,” said the minstrel; “an ancient gleeman has said, that in a 
 false quarrel there is no true valour, and the los or praise won therein, is, 
 when balanced against honest fame, as valueless as a wreath formed out of 
 copper, compared to a chaplet of pure gold; but I bid you not take me for 
 thy warrant in this important question. Thou well knowest how James of 
 Thirlwall, the last English commander before Sir John de Walton, was 
 surprised, and the castle sacked with circumstances of great inhumanity.” 
 
 “ Truly,” said Sir Aymer, “I think that Scotland and England both have 
 heard of that onslaught, and of the disgusting proceedings of the Scottish 
 chieftain, when he caused transport into the wild forest gold, silver, ammu¬ 
 nition, and armour, and all things that could be easily removed, and de¬ 
 stroyed a large quantity of provisions in a manner equally savage and 
 unheard-of.” 
 
 “ Perhaps, Sir Knight,” said Bertram, “you were yourself an eyewitness 
 of that transaction, which has been spoken of far and wide, and is called 
 the Douglas Larder ?” 
 
 “I saw not the actual accomplishment of the deed,” said De Valence; 
 “ that is, I witnessed it not a-doing, but I beheld enough of the sad relics 
 to make the Douglas Larder never by me to be forgotten as a record of 
 horror and abomination. I would speak it truly, by the hand of my father 
 and by my honour as a knight! and I will leave it to thee to judge whether 
 it was a deed calculated to secure the smiles of Heaven in favour of the 
 actors. This is my edition of the story:— 
 
 “ A large quantity of provisions had during two years or thereabouts 
 been collected from different points, and the Castle of Douglas, newly re¬ 
 paired, and, as was thought, carefully guarded, was appointed as the place 
 where the said provisions were to be put in store for the service of the King 
 of England, or of the Lord Clifibrd, whichever should first enter the Western 
 Marches with an English army, and stand in need of such a supply. This 
 army was also to relieve our wants, I mean those of my uncle the Earl of 
 Pembroke, who for some time before had lain with a considerable force in 
 the town called Ayr, near the old Caledonian Forest, and where we had hot 
 wars with the insurgent Scots. Well, sir, it happened, as in similar cases, 
 that Tirlwall, though a bold and active soldier, was surprised in the Castle 
 of Douglas, about Hallowmass, by this same worthy, young James Douglas. 
 In no very good humour was he, as you may suppose ; for his father, called 
 William the Hardy, or William Longlegs, having refused, on any terms, to 
 become Anglicized, was made a lawful prisoner, and died as such, closely 
 confined in Berwick, or, as some say, in Newcastle. The news of his 
 father’s death had put young Douglas into no small rage, and tended, I 
 think, to suggest what he did in his resentment. Embarrassed by the 
 quantity of provisions which he found in the castle, which, the English 
 being superior in the country, he had neither the means to remove, nor the 
 leisure to stay and consume, the fiend, as I think, inspired him with a con¬ 
 trivance to render them unfit for human use. You shall judge yourself 
 whether it was likely to be suggested by a good or an evil spirit. 
 
 “ According to this device, the gold, silver, and other transportable com¬ 
 modities being carried to secret places of safety, Douglas caused the meat, 
 the malt, and other corn or grain, to be brought down into the castle cellar, 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 283 
 
 where he emptied the contents of the sacks into one loathsome heap, striking 
 out the heads of the barrels and puncheons, so as to let the mingled drink 
 run through the heap of meal, grain, and so forth. The bullocks provided 
 for slaughter were in like manner knocked on the head, and their blood 
 suffered to drain into the mass of edible substances; and lastly, the llesli 
 of these oxen was buried in the same mass, in which was also included the 
 dead bodies of those in the castle, who, receiving no quarter from the 
 Douglas, paid dear enough for having kept no better watch. This base and 
 unworthy abuse of provisions intended for the use of man, together with 
 throwing into the well of the castle carcasses of men and horses, and other 
 ' tilth for polluting the same, has since that time been called the Douglas 
 Larder.'' 
 
 “ I pretend not, good Sir Aymer," said the minstrel, “ to vindicate what 
 you justly reprove, nor can I conceive any mode of rendering provisions 
 arranged after the form of the Douglas Larder, proper for the use of any 
 Christian; yet this young gentleman might perhaps act under the sting of 
 natural resentment, rendering his singular exploit more excusable than it 
 may seem at first. Think, if your own noble father had just died in a lin¬ 
 gering captivity, his inheritance seized upon, and occupied as a garrison by 
 a foreign enemy, would not these things stir you to a mode of resentment, 
 which in cold blood, and judging of it as the action of an enemy, your 
 honour might hold in natural and laudable abhorrence? — Would you pay 
 respect to dead and senseless objects, which no one could blame your appro¬ 
 priating to your own use, or even scruple the refusal of quarter to prisoners, 
 W'hich is so often practised even in wars which are otherwise termed fair 
 and humane?" 
 
 “You press me close, minstrel," said Aymer de Valence. “I at least 
 have no great interest to excuse the Douglas in this matter, since its conse¬ 
 quences were, that I myself, and the rest of my uncle’s host, laboured with 
 Olilford and his army to rebuild this same Dangerous Castle; and feeliug 
 no stomach for the cheer that the Douglas had left us, we suffered hard 
 commons, though I acknowledge we did not hesitate to adopt for our own 
 use such sheep and oxen as the miserable Scots had still left around their 
 farm-houses; and I jest not. Sir Minstrel, when I acknowledge in sad 
 earnest, that we martial men ought to make our petitions with peculiar 
 penitence to Heaven for mercy, when we reflect on the various miseries 
 which the nature of our profession compels us to inflict on each other." 
 
 “ It seems to me," answered the minstrel, “ that those who feel the stings 
 of their own conscience should be more lenient when they speak of the 
 offences of others; nor do I greatly rely on a sort of prophecy which was 
 delivered, as the men of this hill district say, to the young Douglas, by a 
 man who iu the course of nature should have been long since dead, pro¬ 
 mising him a course of success against the English for having sacrificed 
 his own castle to prevent their making it a garrison." 
 
 “AVe have time enough for the story," said Sir Aymer, “and methinks 
 it would suit a knight and a minstrel better than the grave converse we 
 have hitherto held, which would have beseemed — so God save me — the 
 mouths of two travelling friars." 
 
 “ So be it," said the minstrel; “ the rote or the viol easily changes its 
 time and varies its note.” 
 
284 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 (CliEptBr t|iB 
 
 A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep; 
 
 A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle; 
 
 A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch, 
 
 And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly 
 
 Old Plat. 
 
 “Your honour must be informed, gentle Sir Aymer de Valence, that I 
 have heard this story told at a great distance from the land in which it 
 happened, by a sworn minstrel, the ancient friend and servant of the house 
 of Douglas, one of the best, it is said, who ever belonged to that noble 
 famil 3 \ This minstrel, Hugo Ilugonet by name, attended his young master 
 when on this fierce exploit, as was his wont. 
 
 “ The castle was in total tumult; in one corner the war-men were busy 
 breaking up and destroying provisions; in another, they were slaying men, 
 horses, and cattle, and these actions were accompanied with appropriate 
 sounds. The cattle, particularly, had become sensible of their impending 
 fate, and with awkward resistance and piteous cries, testified that reluctance 
 with which these poor creatures look instinctively on the shambles. The 
 groans and screams of men, undergoing, or about to undergo, the stroke of 
 death, and the screeches of the poor horses which were in mortal agony, 
 formed a fearful chorus. Ilugonet was desirous to remove himself from 
 such unpleasant sights and sounds ; but his master, the Douglas, had been 
 a man of some reading, and his old servant was anxious to secure a book 
 of poetry, to which he had been attached of old. This contained the Lays 
 of an ancient Scottish Bard, who, if an ordinary human creature while he 
 was in this life, cannot now perhaps be exactly termed such. 
 
 “He was, in short, that Thomas, distinguished by the name of the 
 Rhymer, and whose intimacy, it is said, became so great with the gifted 
 people, called the Faery folk, that he could, like them, foretell the future 
 deed before it came to pass, and united in his own person the quality of 
 bard and of soothsayer. But of late years he had vanished almost entirely 
 from this mortal scene; and although the time and manner of his death 
 were never publicly known, yet the general belief was, that he was not 
 severed from the land of the living, but removed to the land of Faery, from 
 whence he sometimes made excursions, and concerned himself only about 
 matters which were to come hereafter, Ilugonet was the more earnest to 
 prevent the loss of the works of this ancient bard, as many of his poems 
 and predictions were said to be preserved in the castle, and were supposed 
 to contain much especially connected with the old house of Douglas, as well 
 as other families of ancient descent, who had been subjects of this old man^s 
 prophecy; and accordingly he determined to save this volume from de¬ 
 struction in the general conflagration to which the building was about to be 
 consigned by the heir of its ancient proprietors. AVith this view he hurried 
 up into the little old vaulted room, called ‘ the Douglas’s study,’ in which 
 there might be some dozen old books written by the ancient chaplains, in 
 what the minstrels call the letter hlach. He immediately discovered the 
 celebrated lay, called Sir Tristrem, which has been so often altered and 
 abridged as to bear little resemblance to the original. Ilugonet, who well 
 knew the value in which this poem was held by the ancient lords of the 
 castle, took the parchment volume from the shelves of the library, and laid 
 it upon a small desk adjacent to the Baron’s chair. Having made such 
 preparation for putting it in safety, he fell into a brief reverie, in which the 
 decay of light, and the preparations for the Douglas Larder, but especially 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 285 
 
 the last sight of objects which had been familiar to his eyes, now on the eve 
 of destruction, engaged him at that moment. 
 
 “ The bard, therefore, was thinking within himself upon the uncommon 
 mixture of the mystical scholar and warrior in his old master, when, as he 
 bent his eyes upon the book of the ancient Rhymer, he was astonished to 
 observe it slowly removed from the desk on which it lay by an invisible 
 hand. The old man looked with horror at the spontaneous motion of the 
 book, for the safety of which he was interested, and had the courage to 
 approach a little nearer the table, in order to discover by what means it had 
 been withdrawn. 
 
 “ I have said the room was already becoming dark, so as to render it 
 difficult to distinguish any person in the chair, though it now appeared, on 
 closer examination, that a kind of shadowy outline of a human form w'as 
 seated in it, but neither precise enough to convey its exact figure to the 
 mind, nor so detailed as to intimate distinctly its mode of action. The 
 Bard of Douglas, therefore, gazed upon the object of his fear, as if he had 
 looked upon something not mortal; nevertheless, as he gazed more intently, 
 he became more capable of discovering the object which offered itself to 
 his eyes, and they grew by degrees more keen to penetrate what they 
 witnessed. A tall thin form, attired in, or rather shaded with, a long 
 flowing dusky robe, having a face and physiognomy so wdld and overgrown 
 w'ith hair as to be hardly human, were the only marked outlines of the 
 phantom; and, looking more attentively, Ilugonet was still sensible of two 
 other forms, the outlines, it seemed, of a hart and a hind, which appeared 
 half to shelter themselves behind the person and under the robe of this 
 supernatural figure.^^ 
 
 “ A probable tale,'^ said the knight, “ for you. Sir Minstrel, a man of 
 sense as you seem to be, to recite so gravely! From what wise authority 
 have you had this tale, which, though it might pass well enough amid 
 clanging beakers, must be held quite apocryphal in the sober hours of the 
 morning ‘t” 
 
 “ By my minstrel word, Sir Knight,” answered Bertram, “ I am no 
 propagator of the fable, if it be one; Ilugonet, the violer, when he had 
 retired into a cloister near the Lake of Pembelmere in Wales, communicated 
 the story to me as I now tell it. Therefore, as it w^as upon the authority of 
 an eyewitness, I apologize not for relating it to you, since I could hardly 
 discover a more direct source of knowledge.” 
 
 “ Be it so. Sir Minstrel,” said the knight; “ tell on thy tale, and may 
 thy legend escape criticism from others as well as from me.” 
 
 “ Ilugonet, Sir Knight,” answered Bertram, “ w^as a holy man, and 
 maintained a fair character during his whole life, notwithstanding his trade 
 may be esteemed a light one. The vision spoke to him in an antique 
 language, like that formerly used in the kingdom of Strath-Clyde, being a 
 species of Scots or Gaelic, which few would have comprehended. 
 
 “‘You are a learned man,' said the apparition, ‘and not unacquainted 
 with the dialects used in your countr}^ formerly, although they are now out 
 of date, and you are obliged to translate them into the vulgar Saxon of 
 Deira or Northumberland; but highly must an ancient British bard prize 
 one in this “ remote term of time,” who sets upon the poetry of his native 
 country a value which invites him to think of its preservation at a moment 
 of such terror as influences the present evening.' 
 
 “ ‘ It is, indeed,' said Ilugonet, ‘ a night of terror, that calls even the 
 dead from the grave, and makes them the ghastly and fearful companions 
 of the living—Who or what art thou, in God’s name, who breakest the 
 bounds which divide them, and revisitest thus strangely the state thou hast 
 BO long bid adieu to ?’ 
 
 “ ‘ I am,' replied the vision, ‘ that celebrated Thomas the Rhymer, by 
 some called Thomas of Erceldoun, or Thomas the True Speaker. Like 
 
286 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 other sages, I am permitted at times to revisit the scenes of my former life, 
 nor am I incapable of removing the shadowy clouds and darkness which 
 overhang futurity; and know, thou afflicted man, that what thou now seest 
 in this woful country, is not a general emblem of what shall therein befall 
 hereafter, but in proportion as the Douglasses are now suffering the loss 
 and destruction of their home for their loyalty to the rightful heir of the 
 Scottish kingdom, so hath Heaven appointed for them a just reward; and 
 as they have not spared to burn and destroy their own house and that of 
 their fathers in the Bruce’s cause, so is it the doom of Heaven, that as often 
 as the walls of Douglas Castle shall be burnt to the ground, they shall be 
 again rebuilt still more stately and more magnificent than before/ 
 
 “ A cry was now heard like that of a multitude in the courtyard, joining 
 in a fierce shout of exultation; at the same time a broad and ruddy glow 
 seemed to burst from the beams and rafters, and sparks flew from them as 
 from the smith’s stithy, while the element caught to its fuel, and the con¬ 
 flagration broke its way through every aperture. 
 
 “ ‘ See ye that ?’ said the vision, casting his eye towards the windows and 
 disappearing—‘ Begone ! The fated hour of removing this book is not yet 
 come, nor are thine the destined hands. But it will be safe where I have 
 placed it, and the time of its removal shall come.’ The voice was heard 
 after the form had vanished, and the brain of Hugonet almost turned round 
 at the wild scene which he beheld; his utmost exertion was scarcely suf¬ 
 ficient to withdraw him from the terrible spot, and Douglas Castle that 
 night sunk into ashes and smoke, to arise, in no great length of time, in a 
 form stronger than ever.” The minstrel stopt, and his hearer, the English 
 knight, remained silent for some minutes ere at length he replied. 
 
 “ It is true, minstrel,” answered Sir Aymer, “ that your tale is so far 
 undeniable, that this castle — three times burned down by the heir of the 
 house and of the barony—has hitherto been as often reared again by Henry 
 Lord Clifford, and other generals of the English, who endeavoured on every 
 occasion to build it up more artificially and more strongly than it had 
 formerly existed, since it occupies a position too important to the safety of 
 our Scottish border to permit our yielding it up. This I myself have 
 partly witnessed. But I cannot think, that because the castle has been so 
 destroyed, it is therefore decreed so to be repaired in future, considering 
 that such cruelties, as surely cannot meet the approbation of Heaven, have 
 attended the feats of the Douglasses. But I see thou art determined to 
 keep thine own faith, nor can I blame thee, since the wonderful turns of 
 fate which have attended this fortress, are sufficient to warrant any one to 
 watch for what seem the peculiar indications of the will of Heaven ; but 
 thou mayst believe, good minstrel, that the fault shall not be mine, if the 
 young Douglas shall have opportunity to exercise his cookery upon a second 
 edition of his family larder, or to profit by the predictions of Thomas the 
 Bhymer.” 
 
 “ I do not doubt due circumspection upon your own part and Sir John do 
 Walton’s,” said Bertram ; “ but there is no crime in my saying that Heaven 
 can accomplish its own purposes. I look upon Douglas Castle as in some 
 degree a fated place, and I long to see whq^t changes time may have made 
 in it during the currency of twenty years. Above all, I desire to secure, if 
 possible, the volume of this Thomas of Erceldoun, having in it such a fund 
 of forgotten minstrelsy, and of prophecies respecting the future fates of 
 the British kingdom, both northern and southern.” 
 
 The knight made no answer, but rode a little space forward, keeping the 
 upper part of the ridge of the water, by which the road down the vale 
 seemed to be rather sharply conducted. It at length attained the summit 
 of an acclivity of considerable length. From this point, and behind a con¬ 
 spicuous rock, which appeared to have been pushed aside, as it were, like 
 the scene of a theatre to admit a view of the under part of the valley, the 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 287 
 
 trayellers beheld the extensive vale, parts of which have been already 
 shown in detail, but which, as the river became narrower, was now entirely 
 laid bare in its height and depth as far as it extended, and displayed in its 
 precincts, at a little distance from the course of the stream, the towering 
 and lordly castle to which it gave the name. The mist which continued to 
 encumber the valley with its fleecy clouds, showed imperfectly the rude 
 fortifications which served to defend the small town of Douglas, which was 
 strong enough to repel a desultory attack, but not to withstand what was 
 called in those days a formal siege. The most striking feature was its 
 church, an ancient Gothic pile raised on an eminence in the centre of the 
 'town, and even then extremely ruinous. To the left, and lying in the dis¬ 
 tance, might be seen other towers and battlements; and divided from the 
 town by a piece of artificial water, which extended almost around it, arose 
 the Dangerous Castle of Douglas. 
 
 Sternly was it fortified, after the fashion of the middle ages, with donjon 
 and battlements; displaying, above others, the tall tower, which bore the 
 name of Lord Henry's, or the Clifford's Tower. 
 
 “Yonder is the castle," said Aymer de Valence, extending his arm with 
 a smile of triumph upon his brow; “ thou mayst judge thyself, whether 
 the defences added to it under the ClifiFord are likely to render its next cap¬ 
 ture a more easy deed than the last." 
 
 The minstrel barely shook his head, and quoted from the Psalmist — 
 “Nisi Dominus custodiet” Nor did he prosecute the discourse, though De 
 Valence answered eagerly, “ My own edition of the text is not very dif¬ 
 ferent from thine; but, methinks thou art more spiritually-minded than 
 can always be predicated of a wandering minstrel." 
 
 “ God knows," said Bertram, “ that if I, or such as I, are forgetful of 
 the finger of Providence in accomplishing its purposes in this lower world, 
 we have heavier blame than that of other people, since we are perpetually 
 called upon, in the exercise of our fanciful profession, to admire the turns 
 of fate which bring good out of evil, and which render those who think 
 only of their own passions and purposes the executors of the will of 
 Heaven." 
 
 “ I do submit to what you say. Sir Minstrel," answered the knight, “ and 
 it would be unlawful to express any doubt of the truths which you speak 
 so solemnly, any more than of your own belief in them. Let me add, sir, 
 that I think I have power enough in this garrison to bid you welcome, and 
 Sir John de Walton, I hope, will not refuse access to hall, castle, or knight's 
 bower, to a person of your profession, and by whose conversation we shall, 
 perhaps, profit somewhat. I cannot, however, lead you to expect such 
 indulgence for your son, considering the present state of his health ; but if 
 I procure him the privilege to remain at the convent of Saint Bride, he will 
 be there unmolested and in safety, until you have renewed your acquaint¬ 
 ance with Douglas Dale and its history, and are disposed to set forward on 
 your journey." 
 
 “ I embrace your honour's proposal the more willingly," said the minstrel, 
 “ that I can recompense the Father Abbot." 
 
 “ A main point with holy men or women," replied De Valence, “ who, in 
 time of warfare, subsist by affording the visitors of their shrine the means 
 of maintenance in their cloisters for a passing season." 
 
 The party now approached the sentinels on guard at the castle, who were 
 closely and thickly stationed, and who respectfully admitted Sir Aymer de 
 Valence, as next in command under Sir John de Walton. Fabian —for so 
 was the young squire named who attended on De Valence — mentioned it 
 as his master's pleasure that the minstrel should also be admitted. 
 
 An old archer, however, looked hard at the minstrel as he followed Sir 
 Aymer. “ It is not for us," said he, “ or any of our degree, to oppose the 
 pleasure of Sir Aymer de Valence, nephew to the Earl of Pembroke, in 
 
288 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 such a matter; and for us, Master Fabian, welcome are you to make the 
 gleeman your companion both at bed and board, as well as your visitant, a 
 week or two at the Castle of Douglas; but your worship is well aware of 
 the strict order of watch laid upon us, and if Solomon, King of Israel, were 
 to come here as a travelling minstrel, by my faith I durst not give him 
 entrance, unless I had positive authority from Sir John de Walton/^ 
 
 “ Do you doubt, sirrah,’^ said Aymer de Valence, who returned on hearing 
 an altercation betwixt Fabian and the archer—“do you doubt that I have 
 good authority to entertain a guest, or do you presume to contest it V’ 
 
 “ Heaven forbid \” said the old man, “ that I should presume to place my 
 own desire in opposition to your worship, who has so lately and so honour¬ 
 ably acquired your spurs ; but in this matter I must think what will be the 
 wish of Sir John de Walton, who is your governor. Sir Knight, as well as 
 mine ; and so far I hold it worth while to detain your guest until Sir John 
 return from a ride to the outposts of the castle; and this, I conceive, being 
 my duty, will be no matter of offence to your worship.” 
 
 “ Methinks,” said the knight, “ it is saucy in thee to suppose that my 
 commands can have any thing in them improper, or contradictory to those 
 of Sir John de Walton; thou mayst trust to me at least that thou shalt 
 come to no harm. Keep this man in the guard-room ; let him not want 
 good cheer, and when Sir John de Walton returns, report him as a person 
 admitted by my invitation, and if any thing more be wanted to make out 
 your excuse, I shall not be reluctant in stating it to the governor.” 
 
 The archer made a signal of obedience with the pike which he held in 
 his hand, and resumed the grave and solemn manner of a sentinel upon his 
 post. lie first, however, ushered in the minstrel, and furnished him with 
 food and liquor, speaking at the same time to Fabian, who remained behind. 
 The smart young stripling had become very proud of late, in consequence 
 of obtaining the name of Sir Aymer’s squire, and advancing a step in 
 chivalry, as Sir Aymer himself had, somewhat earlier than the usual period, 
 been advanced from squire to knight. 
 
 “I tell thee, Fabian,” said the old archer, (whose gravity, sagacity, and 
 skill in his vocation, while they gained him the confidence of all in the 
 castle, subjected him, as he himself said, occasionally to the ridicule of the 
 young coxcombs; and at the same time we may add, rendered him some¬ 
 what pragmatic and punctilious towards those who stood higher than him¬ 
 self in birth and rank ;) “ I tell thee, Fabian, thou wilt do thy master. Sir 
 Aymer, good service, if thou wilt give him a hint to suffer an old archer, 
 man-at-arms, or such like, to give him a fair and civil answer respecting 
 that which he commands; for undoubtedly it is not in the first score of a 
 man’s years that he learns the various proper forms of military service ; 
 and Sir John de Walton, a most excellent commander no doubt, is one 
 earnestly bent on pursuing the strict line of his duty, and will be rigorously 
 severe, as well, believe me, with thy master as with a lesser person. Nay, 
 he also possesses that zeal for his duty which induces him to throw blame, 
 if there be the slightest ground for it, upon Aymer de Valence himself, 
 although his uncle, the Earl of Pembroke, was John de Walton’s steady 
 patron, and laid the beginning of his good fortune; for all which, by train¬ 
 ing up his nephew in the true discipline of the French wars. Sir John has 
 taken the best way of showing himself grateful to the cld Earl.” 
 
 “Be it as you will, old Gilbert Greenleaf,” answered Fabian, “thou 
 knowest I never quarrel with thy sermonizing, and therefore give me credit 
 for submitting to many a lecture from Sir John de Walton and thyself; but 
 thou drivest this a little too far, if thou canst not let a day pass without 
 giving me a flogging. Credit me. Sir John de Walton will not thank thee, 
 if thou term him one too old to remember that he himself had once some 
 green sap in his veins. Ay, thus it is, the old man will not forget that he 
 has once been young, nor the young that he must some day be old; and so 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 289 
 
 the one changes his manners into the lingering formality of advanced age, 
 and the other remains like a midsummer torrent swoln with rain, every 
 drop of water in it noise, froth, and overflow. There is a maxim for thee, 
 Gilbert!—lleardest thou ever bettor? hang it up amidst thy axioms of wis¬ 
 dom, and see if it will not pass among them like fifteen to the dozen. It 
 will serve to bring thee off, man, when the wine-pot (thine only fault, good 
 Gilbert) hath brought thee on occasion into something of a scrape.^^ 
 
 “ Best keep it for thyself, good Sir Squire,^^ said the old man ; “ me- 
 thinks it is more like to stand thyself one day in good stead. Who ever 
 heard of a knight, or of the wood of which a knight is made, and that is a 
 squire, being punished corporally like a poor old archer or horseboy? 
 Your worst fault will be mended by some of these witty sayings, and your 
 best service will scarce be rewarded more thankfully than by giving thee 
 the name of Fabian the Fabler, or some such witty title.^^ 
 
 Having unloosed his repartee to this extent, old Greenleaf resumed a 
 certain acidity of countenance, which may be said to characterise those 
 whose preferment hath become frozen under the influence of the slowness 
 of its progress, and who display a general spleen against such as have ob¬ 
 tained the advancement for which all are struggling, earlier, and, as they 
 suppose, with less merit than their own. From time to time the eye of the 
 old sentinel stole from the top of his pike, and with an air of triumph rested 
 upon the young man Fabian, as if to see how deeply the wound had galled 
 him, while at the same time he held himself on the alert to perform what¬ 
 ever mechanical duty his post might require. Both Fabian and his master 
 were at the happy period of life when such discontent as that of the grave 
 archer aftected them lightly, and, at the very worst, was considered as the 
 jest of an old man and a good soldier; the more especially, as he was 
 always willing to do the duty of his companions, and was much trusted by 
 Sir John de Walton, who, though very much younger, had been bred up 
 like Greenleaf in the wars of Edward the First, and was tenacious in up¬ 
 holding strict discipline, which, since the death of that great monarch, had 
 been considerably neglected by the young and warm-blooded valour of 
 England. 
 
 Meantime it occurred to Sir Aymer de Valence, that though in displaying 
 the usual degree of hospitality shown to such a man as Bertram, he had 
 merely done what was becoming his own rank, as one possessed of the 
 highest honours of chivalry — the self-styled minstrel might not in reality 
 be a man of that worth which he assumed. There was certainly something 
 in his conversation, at least more grave, if not more austere, than was com¬ 
 mon to those of his calling; and when he recollected many points of Sir 
 John de Walton’s minuteness, a doubt arose in his mind, that the governor 
 might not approve of his having introduced into the castle a person of Ber¬ 
 tram’s character, who was capable of making observations from which the 
 garrison might afterwards feel much danger and inconvenience. Secretly, 
 therefore, he regretted that he had not fairly intimated to the wandering 
 minstrel, that his reception, or that of any stranger, within the Dangerous 
 Castle, was not at present permitted by the circumstances of the times. 
 In this case, the express line of his duty would have been his vindication, 
 and instead, perhaps of discountenance and blame, he would have had 
 praise and honour from his superior. 
 
 With these thoughts passing through his mind, some tacit apprehension 
 arose of a rebuke on the part of his commanding-officer; for this officer, 
 notwithstanding his strictness. Sir Aymer loved as well as feared. lie 
 went, therefore, towards the guard-room of the castle, under the pretence 
 of seeing that the rites of hospitality had been duly observed towards his 
 late travelling companion. The minstrel arose respectfully, and from the 
 manner in which he paid his compliments, seemed, if he had not expected 
 this call of enquiry, at least to bo m no degree surprised at it. Sir Aymer, 
 VuL. XII.—lU z 
 
290 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 on the other hand, assumed an air something more distant than heliad yet 
 used towards Bertram, and in reverting to his former invitation, he now so 
 far qualified it as to say, that the minstrel knew that he was only second in 
 command, and that effectual permission to enter the castle ought to be sanc¬ 
 tioned by Sir John de Walton. 
 
 There is a civil way of seeming to believe any apology which people are 
 disposed to receive in payment, without alleging suspicion of its currency. 
 The minstrel, therefore, tendered his thanks for the civility which had so 
 far been shown to him. “ It was a mere wish of passing curiosity,he 
 said, “ which, if not granted, could be attended with no consequences either 
 inconvenient or disagreeable to him. Thomas of Erceldoun was, according 
 to the Welsh triads, one of the three hards of Britain, who never stained a 
 spear with blood, or was guilty either of taking or retaking castles and 
 fortresses, and thus far not a person likely, after death, to be suspected of 
 such warlike feats. But I can easily conceive why Sir John de Walton 
 should have allowed the usual rites of hospitality to fall into disuse, and 
 why a man of public character like myself ought not to desire food or 
 lodging where it is accounted so dangerous; and it can surprise no one why 
 the governor did not even invest his worthy young lieutenant with the power 
 of dispensing with so strict and unusual a rule.^^ 
 
 These words, very coolly spoken, had something of the effect of affronting 
 the young knight, as insinuating, that he was not held sufficiently trust¬ 
 worthy by Sir John de Walton, with whom he had lived on terms of affec¬ 
 tion and familiarity, though the governor had attained his thirtieth year 
 and upwards, and his lieutenant did not yet write himself one-and-twenty, 
 the full age of chivalry having been in his case particularly dispensed with, 
 owing to a feat of early manhood. Ere he had fully composed the angry 
 thoughts which were chafing in his mind, the sound of a hunting bugle was 
 heard at the gate, and from the sort of general stir which it spread through 
 the garrison, it was plain that the governor had returned from his ride. 
 Every sentinel, seemingly animated by his presence, shouldered his pike 
 more uprightly, gave the word of the post more sharply, and seemed more 
 fully awake and conscious of his duty. Sir John de Walton having alighted 
 from his horse, asked Greenleaf what had passed during his absence ; the 
 old archer thought it his duty to say that a minstrel, who seemed like a 
 Scotchman, or wandering borderer, had been admitted into the castle, while 
 his son, a lad sick of the pestilence so much talked of, had been left for a 
 time at the Abbey of Saint Bride. This he said on Fabian’s information. 
 The archer added, that the father was a man of tale and song, who could 
 keep the whole garrison amused, without giving them leave to attend to 
 their own business. 
 
 “We want no such devices to pass the time,” answered the governor ; 
 “ and we would have been better satisfied if our lieutenant had been pleased 
 to find us other guests, and fitter for a direct and frank communication, than 
 one who, by his profession, is a detractor of God and a deceiver of man.” 
 
 “Yet,” said the old soldier, who could hardly listen even to his com¬ 
 mander without indulging the humour of contradiction, “ I have heard 
 your honour intimate that the trade of a minstrel, when it is justly acted 
 up to, is as worthy as even the degree of knighthood itself.” 
 
 “ Such it may have been in former days,” answered the knight; “ but in 
 modern minstrelsy, the duty of rendering the art an incentive to virtue is 
 forgotten, and it is well if the poetr}^ which fired our fathers to noble deeds, 
 does not now push on their children to such as are base and unworthy. 
 But I will speak upon this tomiy friend Aymer, than whom I do not know 
 a more excellent, or a more high-spirited young man.” 
 
 While discoursing with the archer in this manner, Sir John de Walton, 
 of a tall and handsome figure, advanced and stood within the ample arch 
 . of the guard-room chimney, and was listened to in reverential silence by 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 291 
 
 trusty Gilbert, who filled up with nods and signs, as an attentive auditor, 
 the pauses in the conversation. The conduct of another hearer of what 
 passed was not equally respectful, but, from his position, he escaped obser¬ 
 vation. 
 
 This third person was no other than the squire Fabian, who was concealed 
 from observation by his position behind the hob, or projecting portion of the 
 old-fashioned fireplace, and hid himself yet more carefully when he hoard 
 the conversation between the governor and the archer turn to the prejudice, 
 as he thought, of his master. The squire’s employment at this time was 
 the servile task of cleaning Sir Aymer’s arms, which was conveniently per¬ 
 formed by heating, upon the projection already specified, the pieces of steel 
 armour for the usual thin coating of varnish, lie could not, therefore, if 
 he should be discovered, be considered as guilty of any thing insolent or 
 disrespectful. He was better screened from view, as a thick smoke arose 
 from a quantity of oak panelling, carved in many cases with the crest and 
 achievements of the Douglas family, which being the fuel nearest at hand, 
 lay smouldering in the chimney, and gathering to a blaze: 
 
 The governor, unconscious of this addition to his audience, pursued his 
 conversation with Gilbert Greenleaf: “ I need not tell you,” he said, “ that 
 I am interested in the speedy termination of this siege or blockade, with 
 which Douglas continues to threaten us ; my own honour and affections aro 
 engaged in keeping this Dangerous Castle safe in England’s behalf, but I 
 am troubled at the admission of this stranger; and young De Valence 
 would have acted more strictly in the line of his duty, if he had refused to 
 this wanderer any communication with this garrison without my per¬ 
 mission.” 
 
 “ Pity it is,” replied old Greenleaf, shaking his head, “ that this good- 
 natured and gallant young knight is somewhat drawn aside by the rash 
 advices of his squire, the boy Fabian, who has bravery, but as little steadi¬ 
 ness in him as a bottle of fermented small beer.” 
 
 “Now hang thee,” thought Fabian to himself, “for an old relic of the 
 wars, stuffed full of conceit and warlike terms, like the soldier who, to keep 
 himself from the cold, has lapped himself so close in a tattered ensign for 
 a shelter, that his very outside may show nothing but rags and blazonry.” 
 
 “ I would not think twice of the matter, were the party less dear to me,” 
 said Sir John de Walton. “ But I would fain be of use to this young man, 
 even although I should purchase his improvement in military knowledge at 
 the expense of giving him a little pain. Experience should, as it were, be 
 burnt in upon the mind of a young man, and not merely impressed by 
 marking the lines of his chart out for him with chalk; I will remember the 
 hint you, Greenleaf, have given, and take an opportunity of severing these 
 two young men; and though I most dearly love the one, and am far from 
 wishing ill to the other, yet at present, as you well hint, the blind is leading 
 the blind, and the young knight has for his assistant and counsellor too 
 young a squire, and that must be amended.” 
 
 “ Marry! out upon thee, old palmer-worm!” said the page within him¬ 
 self; “have I found thee in the very fact of maligning myself and my 
 master, as it is thy nature to do towards all the hopeful young buds of chi¬ 
 valry ? If it were not to dirty the arms of an eUve of chivalry, by mea¬ 
 suring- them with one of thy rank, I might honour thee with a knightly 
 invitation to the field, while the scandal which thou hast spoken is still foul 
 upon thy tongue ; as it is, thou shalt not carry one kind of language pub¬ 
 licly in the castle, and another before the governor, upon the footing of 
 having served with him under the banner of Longshanks. I will carry to 
 my master this tale of thine evil intentions; and when we have concerted 
 together, it shall appear whether the youthful spirits of the garrison or the 
 grey beards are most likely to be the hope and protection of this same 
 Castle of Douglas.” 
 
292 
 
 WAVEBLEY NOVELS. 
 
 It is enough to say that Fabian pursued his purpose, in carrying to his 
 master, and in no very good humour, the report of what had passed be¬ 
 tween Sir John de AValton and the old soldier. He succeeded in represent¬ 
 ing the whole as a formal offence intended to Sir Aymer de Valence; while 
 all that the governor did to remove the suspicions entertained by the young 
 knight, could not in any respect bring him to take a kindly view of the 
 feelings of his commander towards him. He retained the impression which 
 he had formed from Fabian’s recital of what he had heard, and did not 
 think he was doing Sir John de Walton any injustice, in supposing him 
 desirous to engross the greatest share of the fame acquired in the defence 
 of the castle, and .thrusting back his companions, who might reasonably 
 pretend to a fair portion of it. 
 
 The mother of mischief, says a Scottish proverb, is no bigger than a 
 midge’s wing.* In this matter of quarrel, neither the young man nor the 
 older knight had afforded each other any just cause of offence. De Walton 
 was a strict observer of military discipline, in which he had been educated 
 from his extreme youth, and by which he was almost as completely ruled 
 as by his natural disposition; and his present situation added force to his 
 original education. 
 
 Common report had even exaggerated the military skill, the love of ad¬ 
 venture, and the great variety of enterprise, ascribed to James, the young 
 Lord of Douglas. He had, in the eyes of this Southern garrison, the facul¬ 
 ties of a fiend, rather than those of a mere mortal; for if the English sol¬ 
 diers cursed the tedium of the perpetual watch and ward upon the Dangerous 
 Castle, which admitted of no relaxation from the severity of extreme duty, 
 they agreed that a tall form was sure to appear to them with a battle-axe 
 in his hand, and entering into conversation in the most insinuating manner, 
 never failed, with an ingenuity and eloquence equal to that of a fallen 
 spirit, to recommend to the discontented sentinel some mode in which, by 
 giving his assistance to betray the English, he might set himself at liberty. 
 The variety of these devices, and the frequency of their recurrence, kept 
 Sir John de Walton’s anxiety so perpetually upon the stretch, that he at no 
 time thought himself exactly out of the Black Douglas’s reach, any more 
 than the good Christian supposes himself out of reach of the wiles of the 
 Devil; while every new temptation, instead of confirming his hope, seems 
 to announce that the immediate retreat of the Evil One will be followed by 
 some new attack yet more cunningly devised. ' Under this general state of 
 anxiety and apprehension, the temper of the governor changed somewhat 
 for the worse, and they who loved him best, regretted most that he became 
 addicted to complain of the want of diligence on the part of those, who, 
 neither invested with responsibility like his, nor animated by the hope of 
 such splendid rewards, did not entertain the same degree of watchful and 
 incessant suspicion as himself. The soldiers muttered that the vigilance of 
 their governor was marked with severity; the officers and men of rank, of 
 whom there were several, as the castle was a renowned school of arms, and 
 there was a certain merit attained even by serving within its walls, com¬ 
 plained, at the same time, that Sir John de Walton no longer made parties 
 for hunting, for hawking, or for any purpose which might soften the rigours 
 of warfare, and suffered nothing to go forward but the precise discipline of 
 the castle. On the other hand, it may be usually granted that the castle is 
 well kept where the governor is a disciplinarian ; and where feuds and per¬ 
 sonal quarrels are found in the garrison, the young men are usually more 
 in fault than those whose greater experience has convinced them of the 
 necessity of using the strictest precautions. 
 
 A generous mind—and such was Sir John de Walton’s—is often in this 
 way changed and corrupted by the habit of over-vigilance, and pushed 
 beyond its natural limits of candour. Neither was Sir Aymer de Valence 
 
 • i. e. Gnat’s wing. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 293 
 
 free from a similar change ; suspicion, though from a different cause, seemed 
 also to threaten to bias his open and noble disposition, in those qualities 
 which had hitherto been proper to him. It was in vain that Sir John do 
 Walton studiously sought opportunities to give his younger friend indul¬ 
 gences, which at times were as far extended as the duty of the garrison 
 permitted. The blow was struck ; the alarm had been given to a proud and 
 fiery temper on both sides; and while De Valence entertained an opinion 
 that he was unjustly suspected by a friend, who was in several respects 
 bound to him, l)e Walton, on the other hand, was led to conceive that a 
 young man, of whom he took a charge as affectionate as if he had been a 
 son of his own, and who owed to his lessons what he knew of warfare, and 
 what success he had obtained in life, had taken ofi'ence at trifles, and con¬ 
 sidered himself ill-treated on very inadequate grounds. The seeds of disa¬ 
 greement, thus sown between them, failed not, like the tares sown by the 
 Enemy among the wheat, to pass from one class of the garrison to another; 
 the soldiers, though without any better reason than merely to pass the time, 
 took different sides between their governor and his young lieutenant; and 
 so the bail of contention being once thrown up between them, never lacked 
 some arm or other to keep it in motion. 
 
 (fjjnpttr tilt liitli. 
 
 Alas! they had been friends in youth ; 
 
 But whispering tongues can poison truth; 
 
 And constancy lives in realms above; 
 
 And life is thorny, and youth is vain; 
 
 And to be wroth with one we love. 
 
 Doth work like madness in the brain. 
 *•***« 
 
 Each spoke words of high disdain. 
 
 And insult to his heart’s dear brother, 
 
 But never either found another 
 To free the hollow heart from paining— 
 
 They stood aloof, the scars remaining. 
 
 Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 
 
 A dreary sea now flows between, 
 
 But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 
 
 Shall wholly do away. I ween. 
 
 The marks of that which once hath been. 
 
 Christabelue of Coleridge. 
 
 In prosecution of the intention which, when his blood was cool, seemed 
 to him wisest. Sir John de Walton resolved that he would go to the verge 
 of indulgence with his lieutenant and his young officers, furnish them with 
 every species of amusement which the place rendered possible, and make 
 them ashamed of their discontent, by overloading them with courtesy. 
 The first time, therefore, that he saw Aymer de Valence after his return to 
 the castle, he addressed him in high spirits, whether real or assumed. 
 
 “What thinkest thou, my young friend,” said De Walton, “if we try 
 some of the woodland sports proper, they say, to this country ? There are 
 still in our neighbourhood some herds of the Caledonian breed of wild 
 cattle, which are nowhere to be found except among the moorlands — tho 
 black and rugged frontier of what was anciently called the Kingdom of 
 Strath-Clyde. There are some hunters, too, who have been accustomed to 
 the sport, and who vouch that these animals are by far the most bold and 
 fierce subjects of chase in the island of Britain.” 
 
 z 2 
 
294 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ You will do as you please,’^ replied Sir Aymer, coldly ; “ but it is not 
 I, Sir John, who would recommend, for the sake of a hunting-match, that 
 you should involve the whole garrison in danger; you know best the 
 responsibilities incurred by your office here, and no doubt must have heed- 
 fully attended to them before making a proposal of such a nature/^ 
 
 “I do indeed know my own duty,^^ replied De Walton, offended in turn, 
 
 and might be allowed to think of yours also, without assuming more than 
 my own share of responsibility; but it seems to me as if the commander 
 of this Dangerous Castle, among other inabilities, were, as old people in 
 this country say, subjected to a spell—and one which renders it impossible 
 for him to guide his conduct so as to afford pleasure to those whom he is 
 most desirous to oblige. Not a great many weeks since, whose eyes would 
 have sparkled like those of Sir Aymer de Valence at the proposal of a 
 general hunting-match after a new object of game; and now what is his 
 bearing when such sport is proposed, merely, I think, to disappoint my 
 purpose of obliging him ?—a cold acquiescence drops half frozen from his 
 lips, and he proposes to go to rouse the wild cattle with an air of gravity, 
 as if he were undertaking a pilgrimage to the tomb of a martyr.’^ 
 
 “ Not so. Sir John,^^ answered the young knight. “ In our present situa¬ 
 tion we stand conjoined in more charges than one, and although the greater 
 and controlling trust is no doubt laid upon you as the elder and abler knight, 
 yet still I feel that I myself have my own share of a serious responsibility. 
 I trust, therefore, you will indulgently hear my opinion, and bear with it, 
 even though it should appear to have relation to that part of our common 
 charge which is more especially intrusted to your keeping. The dignity of 
 knighthood, which I have the honour to share with you, the accolade laid 
 on my shoulder by the royal Plantagenet, entitles me, methinks, to so much 
 grace.^^ 
 
 “I cry you mercy,^^ said the elder cavalier; “I forgot how important a 
 person I had before me, dubbed by King Edward himself, who was moved 
 no doubt by special reasons to confer such an early honour; and I certainly 
 feel that I overstep my duty when I propose any thing that savours like idle 
 sport to a person of such grave pretensions.^^ 
 
 “Sir John de Walton,^^ retorted De Valence, “we have had something 
 too much of this — let it stop here. All that I mean to say is, that in this 
 wardship of Douglas Castle, it will not be by my consent, if any amuse¬ 
 ment, which distinctly infers a relaxation of discipline, be unnecessarily 
 engaged in, and especially such as compels us to summon to our assistance 
 a number of the Scots, whose evil disposition towards us we well know; nor 
 will I, though my years have rendered me liable to such suspicion, suffer 
 any thing of this kind to be imputed to me; and if unfortunately—though 
 I am sure I know not why — we are in future to lay aside those bonds of 
 familiar friendship which formerly linked us to each other, yet I see no 
 reason why we should not bear ourselves in our necessary communications 
 like knights and gentlemen, and put the best construction on each other’s 
 motives, since there can be no reason for imputing the worst to any thing 
 that comes from either of us.” 
 
 “ You may be right. Sir Aymer de Valence,” said the governor, bending 
 stifi3.y: “ and since you say we are no longer bound to each other as friends, 
 you may be certain, nevertheless, that I will never permit a hostile feeling, 
 of which you are the object, to occupy my bosom. You have been long, 
 and I hope not uselessly, my pupil in the duties of chivalry. You are the 
 near relation of the Earl of Pembroke, my kind and constant patron ; and 
 if these circumstances are well weighed, they form a connexion which it 
 would be difficult, at least for me, to break through. If you feel yourself, 
 as you seem to intimate, less strictly tied by former obligations, you must 
 take your own choice in fixing our relations towards each other.” 
 
 “I can only say,” replied De Valence, “that my conduct will naturally 
 
I 
 
 CASTLE DANGEROUS. 295 
 
 be regulated by your own ; and you, Sir John, cannot hope more devoutly 
 than I do that our military duties may be fairly discharged, without inter¬ 
 fering with our friendly intercourse/^ 
 
 The knights here parted, after a conference which once or twice had very 
 nearly terminated in a full and cordial explanation ; but still there was 
 wanting one kind heartfelt word from either to break, as it were, the ice 
 which was fast freezing upon their intercourse, and neither chose to be the 
 first in making the necessary advances with sufficient cordiality, though 
 each would have gladly done so, had the other appeared desirous of meet¬ 
 ing it with the same ardour; but their pride was too high, and prevented 
 either from saying what might at once have put them upon an open and 
 manly footing. They parted, therefore, without again returning to the 
 subject of the proposed diversion; until it was afterwards resumed in a 
 formal note, praying Sir Aymer de Valence to accompany the commandant 
 of Douglas Castle upon a solemn hunting-match, which had for its object 
 the wild cattle of the neighbouring dale. 
 
 The time of meeting was appointed at six in the morning, beyond the 
 gate of the outer barricade; and the chase was declared to be ended in the 
 afternoon, when the reclieat should be blown beneath the great oak, known 
 by the name of Sholto’s Club, which stood a remarkable object, where 
 Douglas Dale was bounded by several scattered trees, the outskirts of the 
 forest and hill country. The usual warning was sent out to the common 
 people, or vassals of the district, which they, notwithstanding their feeling 
 of antipathy, received in general with delight, upon the great Epicurean 
 principle of carpe diem, that is to say, in whatever circumstances it happens 
 to present itself, be sure you lose no recreation which life affords. A hunting- 
 match has still its attractions, even though an English knight take his plea¬ 
 sure in the woods of the Douglas. 
 
 It was no doubt afflicting to these faithful vassals, to acknowledge another 
 lord than the redoubted Douglas, and to wait by wood and river at the com¬ 
 mand of English officers, and in the company of their archers, whom they 
 accounted their natural enemies. Still it was the only species of amuse¬ 
 ment which had been permitted them for a long time, and they were not 
 disposed to omit the rare opportunity of joining in it. The chase of the 
 wolf, the wild boar, or even the timid stag, required silvan arms; the wdld 
 cattle still more demanded this equipment of war-bows and shafts, boar- 
 spears and sharp swords, and other tools of the chase similar to those used 
 in actual war. Considering this, the Scottish inhabitants were seldom 
 allowed to join in the chase, except under regulations as to number and 
 arms, and especially in preserving a balance of force on the side of the 
 English soldiers, which was very offensive to them. The greater part of 
 the garrison was upon such occasions kept on foot, and several detachments, 
 formed according to the governor’s direction, were stationed in different 
 positions in case any quarrel should suddenly break out. 
 
296 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 tjiB iBUBntji. 
 
 The drivers thorough the wood went, 
 
 For to raise the deer; 
 
 Bowmen bickered upon the bent, 
 
 With their broad arrows clear. 
 
 The wylde thorough the woods went. 
 
 On every side shear; 
 
 Grehounds thorough the groves glent, 
 
 For to kill thir deer. 
 
 Ballad of Chevy Chase, Old Edit . 
 
 The appointed morning came in cold and raw, after the manner of the 
 Scottish March weather. Dogs yelped, yawned, and shivered, and the 
 huntsmen, though hardy and cheerful in expectation of the day’s sport, 
 twitched their mauds, or Lowland plaids, close to their throats, and looked 
 with some dismay at the mists which floated about the horizon, now threat¬ 
 ening to sink down on the peaks and ridges of prominent mountains, and 
 now to shift their position under the influence of some of the uncertain 
 gales, which rose and fell alternately, as they swept along the valley. 
 
 Nevertheless, the appearance of the whole formed, as is usual in almost 
 all departments of the chase, a gay and a jovial spectacle. A brief truce 
 seemed to have taken place between the nations, and the Scottish people 
 appeared for the time rather as exhibiting the sports of their mountains in 
 a friendly manner to the accomplished knights and bonny archers of Old 
 England, than as performing a feudal service, neither easy nor dignified in 
 itself, at the instigation of usurping neighbours. The figures of the cava¬ 
 liers, now half seen, now exhibited fully, and at the height of strenuous 
 exertion, according to the character of the dangerous and broken ground, 
 particularly attracted the attention of the pedestrians, who, leading the dogs 
 or beating the thickets, dislodged such objects of chase as they found in the 
 dingles, and kept their eyes fixed upon their companions, rendered more re¬ 
 markable from being mounted, and the speed at which they urged their 
 horses; the disregard of all accidents being as perfect as Melton-Mowbray 
 itself, or any other noted field of hunters of the present day, can exhibit. 
 
 The principles on which modern and ancient hunting were conducted, 
 are, however, as different as possible. A fox, or even a hare is, in our own 
 day, considered as a sufficient apology for a day’s exercise to forty or fifty 
 dogs, and nearly as many men and horses; but the ancient chase, even 
 though not terminating, as it often did, in battle, carried with it objects more 
 important, and an interest immeasurably more stirring. If indeed one 
 species of exercise can be pointed out as more universally exhilarating and 
 engrossing than others, it is certainly that of the chase. The poor over¬ 
 laboured drudge, who has served out his day of life, and wearied all his 
 energies in the service of his fellow-mortals — he who has been for many 
 years the slave of agriculture, or (still worse) of manufactures, engaged in 
 raising a single peck of corn from year to year, or in the monotonous 
 labours of the desk—can hardly remain dead to the general happiness when 
 the chase sweeps past him with hound and horn, and for a moment feels all 
 the exultation of the proudest cavalier who partakes the amusement. Let 
 any one who has witnessed the sight recall to his imagination the vigour 
 and lively interest which he has seen inspired into a village, including the 
 oldest and feeblest of its inhabitants. In the words of Wordsworth, it is, 
 on such occasions, 
 
 “ Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away. 
 
 Not a soul will remain in the village to-day; 
 
 The hare has just started from Hamilton’s grounds, 
 
 And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds.” 
 
CASTLE DA NGEROUS. 
 
 297 
 
 But compare these inspiring sounds to the burst of a whole feudal popula¬ 
 tion enjoying the sport, whose lives, instead of being spent in the monoto¬ 
 nous toil of modern avocations, have been agitated by the hazards of war, 
 and of the chase, its near resemblance, and you must necessarily suppose 
 that the excitation is extended, like a fire which catches to dry heath. To 
 use the common expression, borrowed from another amusement, all is fish 
 that comes in the net on such occasions. An ancient hunting-match (the 
 nature of the carnage excepted) was almost equal to a modern battle, when 
 the strife took place on the surface of a varied and unequal country. A 
 W'hole district poured forth its inhabitants, who formed a ring of great 
 extent, called technically, a tinchel, and, advancing and narrowing their 
 circle by degrees, drove before them the alarmed animals of every kind ; all 
 and each of which, as they burst from the thicket or the moorland, were 
 objects of the bow, the javelin, or whatever missile weapons the hunters 
 possessed; while others were run down and worried by large greyhounds, 
 or more frequently brought to bay, when the more important persons present 
 claimed for themselves the pleasure of putting them to death with their 
 chivalrous hands, incurring individually such danger as is inferred from a 
 mortal contest even with the timid buck, when he is brought to the death- 
 struggle, and has no choice but yielding his life or putting himself upon the 
 defensive, by the aid of his splendid antlers, and with all the courage of 
 despair. 
 
 The quantity of game found in Douglas Dale on this occasion was very 
 considerable, for, as already noticed, it _was a long time since a hunting 
 upon a great scale had been attempted under the Douglasses themselves, 
 whose misfortunes had commenced several years before, with those of their 
 country. The English garrison, too, had not sooner judged themselves 
 strong or numerous enough to exercise these valued feudal privileges. In 
 the meantime, the game increased considerably. The deer, the wild cattle, 
 and the wild l3oars, lay near the foot of the mountains, and made frequent 
 irruptions into the lower part of the valley, which in Douglas Dale bears no 
 small resemblance to an oasis, surrounded by tangled woods, and broken 
 moors, occasionally rocky, and showing large tracts of that bleak dominion 
 to which wild creatures gladly escape when pressed by the neighbourhood 
 of man. 
 
 As the hunters traversed the spots which separated the field from the 
 wood, there was always a stimulating uncertainty what sort of game was to 
 be found, and the marksman, with his bow ready bent, or his javelin poised, 
 and his good and well-bitted horse thrown upon its haunches, ready for a 
 sudden start, observed watchfully what should rush from the covert, so that, 
 were it deer, boar, wolf, wild cattle, or any other species of game, he might 
 be in readiness. 
 
 The wolf, which, on account of its ravages, was the most obnoxious of 
 the beasts of prey, did not, however, supply the degree of diversion which 
 his name promised; he usually fled far—in some instances many miles— 
 before he took courage to turn to bay, and though formidable at such mo¬ 
 ments, destroying both dogs and men by his terrible bite, yet at other times 
 was rather despised for his cowardice. The boar, on the other hand, was a 
 much more irascible and courageous animal. 
 
 The wild cattle, the most formidable of all the tenants of the ancient 
 Caledonian forest, were, however, to the English cavaliers, by far the most 
 interesting objects of pursuit.* Altogether, the ringing of bugles, the 
 
 * These Bulls are thus described by Hector Boetius, concernin? whom he says—“ In this wood (namely the 
 Caledonian wood) were sometime white hulls, with crisp and cnrlins: manes, like fierce lions; and though 
 they seemed meek and tame m the refnanent figure of their bodies, they were more wild than any other 
 lieasts, and had such hatred against the society and company of men, that they never came in the woods nor 
 lesuries where they found any foot or hand thereof, and many days after they eat not of the herbs that were 
 touched or handled by man. These bulls were so wild, that they were never taken but by slight and crafty 
 labour, and so impatient, that after they were taken they died from in.snpporlahle dolour. As soon as any 
 man invaded these bulls, they rushed with such terrible press upon liim that they struck him to the earth. 
 
298 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS 
 
 clattering of horses’ hoofs, the lowing and bellowing of the enraged moun¬ 
 tain cattle, the sobs of deer mingled by throttling dogs, the wild shouts of 
 exultation of the men,—made a chorus which extended far through the 
 scene in which it arose, and seemed to threaten the inhabitants of the 
 valley even in its inmost recesses. 
 
 During the course of the hunting, when a stag or a boar was expected, 
 one of the wild cattle often came rushing forward, bearing down the young 
 trees, crashing the branches in its progress, and in general dispersing what¬ 
 ever opposition was presented to it by the hunters. Sir John de Walton 
 was the only one of the chivalry of the party who individually succeeded 
 in mastering one of these powerful animals. Like a Spanish tauridor, he 
 bore down and killed with his lance a ferocious bull; two well-grown calves 
 and three kine were also slain, being unable to carry off the quantity of 
 arrows, javelins, and other missiles, directed against them by the archers 
 and drivers; but many others, in spite of every endeavour to intercept 
 them, escaped to their gloomy haunts in the remote skirts of the mountain 
 called Cairntable, with their hides well feathered with those marks of human 
 enmity. 
 
 A large portion of the morning was spent in this way, until a particular 
 blast from the master of the hunt announced that he had not forgot the 
 discreet custom of the repast, which, on such occasions, was provided for 
 upon a scale proportioned to the multitude who had been convened to at¬ 
 tend the sport. 
 
 The blast peculiar to the time, assembled the whole party in an open 
 space in a wood, where their numbers had room and accommodation to sit 
 down upon the green turf, the slain game affording a plentiful supply for 
 roasting or broiling, an employment in which the lower class were all im¬ 
 mediately engaged; while puncheons and pipes, placed in readiness, and 
 scientifically opened, supplied Gascoigne wine, and mighty ale, at the plea¬ 
 sure of those who chose to appeal to them. 
 
 The knights, whose rank did not admit of interference, were seated by 
 
 taking no fear of hounds, sharp lances, or other most penetrative weapons.”— Boetius, Chron. Scot. Vol. I. 
 page xxxix. 
 
 'I'he wild cattle of this breed, which are now only known in one manor in England, that of Chillingham 
 Castle, in Northumberland, (the seat of the Earl of Tankerville,) were, in the memory of man, still reserved 
 in three places in Scotland, namely. Drumlanrig, Cumbernauld, and the upper park at Hamilton Palace, at 
 all of which places, except the last, I believe, they have now been destroyed, on account of their ferocity. 
 But though those of modern days are remarkable for their white colour, with black muzzles, and exhibiting, 
 in a small degree, the black mane, about three or four inches long, by which the bulls in particular are dis¬ 
 tinguished, they do not by any means come near the terrific description given us by the ancient authors, 
 which has made some naturalists think that these animals should probably be referred to a different species, 
 though possessing the same general habits, and included in the same genus. Phe bones, which are often 
 discovered in Scottish mosses, belong certainly to a race of animals much larger than those of Chillingham, 
 which seldom grow to above 80 stone (of 14 lbs.), the general weight varying from 60 to 80 stone. We should 
 be accounted very negligent by one class of readers, did we not record that the beef furnished by those cattle 
 is of excellent flavour, and finely marbled. 
 
 [The following is an extract from a letter received by Sir Walter Scott, some time after the publication of 
 the novel.— 
 
 “ When it is wished to kill any of the cattle at Chillingham, the keeper goes into the herd on horseback, 
 in which way they are quite accessible, and singling out his victim, takes aim with a large rifle-gun, and 
 seldom fails in bringing him down. If the poor animal makes much bellowing in his agony, and especially 
 if the ground be stained with his blood, his companions become very furious, and are themselves, I believe, 
 accessory to his death. After which, they fly off to a distant part of the park, and he is drawn away on a 
 sledge. Lord Tankerville is very tenacious of these singular animals; he will on no account part with a 
 living one. and hardly allows of a sufficient number being killed, to leave pasturage for those that remain. 
 
 “It happened on one occasion, three or four years ago, that a party visiting at the castle, among whom 
 were some men o/uiar, who had hunted buffaloes in foreign parts, obtained permission to do the keeper’s 
 work, and shoot one of the wild cattle. They sallied out on horseback, and duly equipped for the enter¬ 
 prise, attacked their object. The poor animal received several wounds, but none of tliem proving fatal, he 
 retired before his pursuers, roaring with pain and rage, till, planting himself against a wall or tree, he stood 
 at bay, offering a front of defiance. In this position the youthful heir of the castle. Lord Ossulston, rode up 
 to give him the fatal shot. Though warned of the danger of approaching near to the enraged animal, and 
 especially of firing without first having turned his horse’s head in a direction to be ready for flight, he dis¬ 
 charged his piece; but ere he could turn his horse round to make his retreat, the raging beast had plunged 
 his immense horns into its flank. The horse staggered and was near falling, but recovering by a violent 
 effort, he extricated himself from his infuriated pursuer, making off with all the speed his wasting strength 
 supplied, his entrails meanwhile dragging on the ground, till at length he fell, and died at the same moment. 
 The animal was now close upon his rear, and the young Lord would unquestionably have shared the fate 
 of his unhappy steed, had not the keeper, deeming it full time to conclude the day's diversion, fired at the 
 instant. His shot brought the beast to the ground, and running in with his large knife, he put a period to his 
 
 CXlSt©IlC0. 
 
 “This scene of gentlemanly pastime was viewed from a turret of the castle by Lady Tankerville and her 
 female visitors. Such a situation for the mother of the young hero, was anything but enviable.”] 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 299 
 
 themselves, and ministered to by their squires and pages, to whom such 
 menial services were not accounted disgraceful, but, on the contrary, a 
 proper step of their education. The number of those distinguished persons 
 seated upon the present occasion at the table of dais, as it was called, (in 
 virtue of a canopy of green boughs with which it was overshadowed,) com¬ 
 prehended Sir John de Walton, Sir Aymer de Valance, and some reverend 
 brethren dedicated to the service of Saint Bride, who, though Scottish 
 ecclesiastics, were treated with becoming respect by the English soldiers. 
 One or two Scottish retainers, or vavasours,'maintaining, perhaps in pru¬ 
 dence, a suitable deference to the English knights, sat at the bottom of the 
 table, and as many English archers, peculiarly respected by their superiors, 
 were invited, according to the modern phrase, to the honours of the sitting. 
 
 Sir John de Walton sat at the head of the table; his eye, though it 
 seemed to have no certain object, yet never for a moment remained station¬ 
 ary, but glanced from one eountenance to another of the ring formed by his 
 guests, for such they all were, no doubt, though he himself could hardly 
 have told upon what principle he had issued the invitations; and even ap¬ 
 parently was at a loss to think what, in one or two cases, had procured him 
 the honour of their presence. 
 
 One person in particular caught De Walton’s eye, as having the air of a 
 redoubted man-at-arms, although it seemed as if fortune had not of late 
 smiled upon his enterprises. lie was a tall raw-boned man, of an extremely 
 rugged countenance, and his skin, which showed itself through many a 
 loophole in his dress, exhibited a complexion which must have endured all 
 the varieties of an outlawed life; and akin to one who had, according to 
 the customary phrase, “ ta’en the bent with Robin Bruce,” in other words 
 occupied the moors with him as an insurgent. Some such idea certainly 
 crossed De Walton’s mind. Yet the apparent coolness, and absence of 
 alarm, with which the stranger sat at the board of an English officer, at the 
 same time being wholly in his power, had much in it which was irrecon¬ 
 cilable with any such suggestion. De AValton, and several of those about 
 him, had in the course of the day observed that this tattered cavalier, the 
 most remwkable parts of whose garb and equipments consisted of an old 
 coat-of-mail and a rusted yet massive partisan about eight feet long, was 
 possessed of superior skill in the art of hunting to any individual of their 
 numerous party. The governor having looked at this suspicious figure 
 until he had rendered the stranger aware of the special interest which he 
 attracted, at length filled a goblet of choice wine, and requested him, as 
 one of the best pupils of Sir Tristem who had attended upon the day’s 
 chase, to pledge him in a vintage superior to that supplied to the general 
 company. 
 
 “I suppose, however, sir,” said De Walton, “you will have no objections 
 to put ofi' my challenge of a brimmer, until you can answer my pledge in 
 Gascoigne wine, which grew in the king’s own demesne, was pressed for 
 his own lip, and is therefore fittest to be emptied to his majesty’s health and 
 prosperity.” 
 
 “ One half of the island of Britain,” said the woodsman, with great com¬ 
 posure, “ will be of your honour’s opinion ; but as I belong to the other 
 half, even the choicest liquor in Gascony cannot render that health accept¬ 
 able to me.” 
 
 A murmur of disapprobation ran through the warriors present; the 
 priests hung their heads, looked deadly grave, and muttered their pater¬ 
 nosters. 
 
 “ You see, stranger,” said De Walton sternly, “ that your speech discom¬ 
 poses the company.” 
 
 “ It may be so,” replied the man, in the same blunt tone ; “ and it may 
 happen that there is no harm in the speech notwithstanding.” 
 
 # 
 
300 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “Do you consider that it is made in my presence?” answered De 
 ^ Walton. 
 
 “ Yes, Sir Governor.” 
 
 “And have you thought what must be the necessary inference?” con¬ 
 tinued De Walton. 
 
 “ I may form a round guess,” answered the stranger, “what I might have 
 to fear, if your safe conduct and word of honour, when inviting me to this 
 hunting, were less trustworthy than I know full well it really is. But I am 
 your guest—your meat is even now passing my throat—your cup, filled with 
 right good wine, I have just now quaffed off—and I would not fear the 
 rankest Paynim infidel, if we stood in such relation together, much less an 
 English knight. I tell you, besides. Sir Knight, you undervalue the wine 
 we have quaffed. The high flavour and contents of your cup, grow where 
 it will, give me spirit to tell you one or two circumstances, which cold 
 cautious sobriety would, in a moment like this, have left unsaid. You wish, 
 I doubt not, to know who I am? My Christian name is Michael — my sur¬ 
 name is that of Turnbull, a redoubted clan, to whose honours, even in the 
 field of hunting or of battle, I have added something. My abode is beneath 
 the mountain of Bubieslaw, by the fair streams of Teviot. You are sur¬ 
 prised that I know how to hunt the wild cattle, — I, who have made them 
 my sport from infancy in the lonely forests of Jed and Southdean, and have 
 killed more of them than you or any Englishman in your host ever saw, even 
 if you include the doughty deeds of this day.” 
 
 The bold borderer made this declaration with the same provoking degree 
 of coolness which predominated in his whole demeanour, and was indeed 
 his principal attribute. His effrontery did not fail to produce its effect upon 
 Sir John De Walton, who instantly called out, “ To arms ! to arms !—Secure 
 the spy and traitor! Ho ! pages and yeomen—William, Anthony, Bend-the- 
 bow, and Greenleaf—seize the traitor, and bind him with your bow-strings 
 and dog-leashes — bind him, I say, until the blood start from beneath his 
 nails!” 
 
 “ Here is a goodly summons !” said Turnbull, with a sort of horselaugh. 
 “Were I as sure of being answered by twenty men I could name, tlfere would 
 be small doubt of the upshot of this day.” 
 
 The archers thickened around the hunter, yet laid no hold on him, none 
 of them being willing to be the first who broke the peace proper to the 
 occasion. 
 
 “Tell me,” said De Walton, “thou traitor, for what waitest thou here?” 
 
 “ Simply and solely,” said the Jed forester, “ that I may deliver up to the 
 Douglas the castle of his ancestors, and that I may ensure thee. Sir English¬ 
 man, the payment of thy deserts, by cutting that very throat which thou 
 makest such a brawling use of.” 
 
 At the same time, perceiving that the yeomen were crowding behind him 
 to carry their lord's commands into execution so soon as they should be 
 reiterated, the huntsman turned himself short round upon those who ap¬ 
 peared about to surprise him, and having, by the suddenness of the action, 
 induced them to step back a pace, he proceeded—“Yes, John de Walton, my 
 purpose was ere now to have put thee to death, as one whom I find in pos¬ 
 session of that castle and territory which belong to my master, a knight 
 much more worthy than thyself; but I know not why I have paused—thou 
 hast given me food when I have hungered for twenty-four hours, I have not 
 therefore had the heart to pay thee at advantage as thou hast deserved. 
 Begone from this place and country, and take the fair warning of a foe; thou 
 hast constituted thyself the mortal enemy of this people, and there are those 
 among them who have seldom been injured or defied with impunity. Take 
 no care in searching after me, it will be in vain, — until I meet thee at a 
 time which will come at my pleasure, not thine. Push not your inquisition' 
 into cruelty, to discover by what means I have deceived you, for it is impos- 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 301 
 
 sible for you to learn ; and with this friendly advice, look at me and take 
 your leave, for although we shall one day meet, it may be long ere I see you 
 again/^ 
 
 l)e Walton remained silent, hoping that his prisoner, (for ho saw no 
 chance of his escaping,) might, in his communicative humour, drop some 
 more information, and was not desirous to precipitate a fray with which the 
 scene was likely to conclude, unconscious at the same time of the advantage 
 which he thereby gave the daring hunter. 
 
 As Turnbull concluded his sentence, he made a sudden spring backwards, 
 which carried him out of the circle formed around him, and before they were 
 aware of his intentions, at once disappeared among the underwood. 
 
 “ Seize him—seize him repeated De Walton ; “ let us have him at least 
 at our discretion, unless the earth has actually swallowed him.’^ 
 
 This indeed appeared not unlikely, for near the place where Turnbull 
 had made the spring, there yawned a steep ravine, into which he plunged, 
 and descended by the assistance of branches, bushes, and copsewood, 
 until he reached the bottom, where he found some road to the outskirts of 
 the forest, through which he made his escape, leaving the most expert 
 woodsmen among the pursuers totally at fault, and unable to trace his 
 footsteps. 
 
 Cjiaptn tjii (Eiglitli. 
 
 This interlude carried some confusion into the proceedings of the hunt, 
 thus suddenly surprised by the apparition of Michael Turnbull, an armed 
 and avowed follower of the House of Douglas, a sight so little to be expected 
 in the territory where his master was held a rebel and a bandit, and where 
 he himself must have been well known to most of the peasantry present. 
 The circumstance made an obvious impression on the English chivalry. 
 Sir John de Walton looked grave and thoughtful, ordered the hunters to be 
 assembled on the spot, and directed his soldiers to commence a strict search 
 among the persons who had attended the chase, so as to discover whether 
 Turnbull had any companions among them ; but it was too late to make 
 that enquiry in the strict fashion which De Walton directed. 
 
 The Scottish attendants on the chase, when they beheld that the hunting, 
 under pretence of which they were called together, was interrupted for the 
 purpose of laying hands upon their persons, and subjecting them to ex¬ 
 amination, took care to suit their answers to the questions put to them ; in 
 a word, they kept their own secret, if they had any. Many of them, con¬ 
 scious of being the weaker party, became afraid of foul play, slipt away 
 from the places to which they had been appointed, and left the hunting- 
 match like men who conceived they had been invited with no friendly 
 intent. Sir John de Walton became aware of the decreasing numbers of 
 the Scottish—their gradual disappearance awakening in the English knight 
 that degree of suspicion which had of late become his peculiar character¬ 
 istic. 
 
 “ Take, I pray thee,’^ said he to Sir Aymer de Valence, “ as many men- 
 at-arms as thou canst get together in five minutes^ space, and at least a 
 hundred! of the mounted archers, and ride as fast as thou canst, without 
 ])ermittiug them to straggle from thy standard, to reinforce the garrison of 
 l)ouglas ; for I have my own thoughts what may have been attempted on 
 the castle, when we observe with our own eyes such a nest of traitors hero 
 assembled.'^ 
 
 2a 
 
302 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “With reverence, Sir John,replied Aymer, “you shoot in this matter 
 rather beyond the mark. That the Scottish peasants have had bad thoughts 
 against us, I will be the last to deny; but, long debarred from any silvan 
 sport, you cannot wonder at their crowding to any diversion by wood or 
 river, and still less at their being easily alarmed as to the certainty of the 
 safe footing on which they stand with us. The least rough usage is likely 
 to strike them with fear, and with the desire of escape, and so’’- 
 
 “ And so,” said Sir John de Walton, who had listened with a degree of 
 impatience scarce consistent with the grave and formal politeness which 
 one knight was accustomed to bestow upon another, “ and so I would rather 
 see Sir Aymer de Valence busy his horse’s heels to execute my orders, than 
 give his tongue the trouble of impugning them.” 
 
 At this sharp reprimand, all present looked at each other with indica¬ 
 tions of marked displeasure. Sir Aymer was highly offended, but saw it 
 was no time to indulge in reprisal. lie bowed until the feather which was 
 in his barret-cap mingled with his horse’s mane, and without reply—for he 
 did not even choose to trust his voice in reply at the moment — headed a 
 considerable 
 Douglas. 
 
 When he came to one of those eminences from which he could observe 
 the massive and complicated towers and walls of the old fortress, with the 
 glitter of the broad lake which surrounded it on three sides, he felt much 
 pleasure at the sight of the great banner of England, which streamed from 
 the highest part of the building. “ I knew it,” he internally said ; “ I was 
 certain that Sir John de Walton had become a very woman in the indul¬ 
 gence of his fears and suspicions. Alas! that a situation of responsibility 
 should so much have altered a disposition which I have known so noble and 
 so knightly! By this good day, I scarce know in what manner I should 
 demean me when thus publicly rebuked before the garrison. Certainly he 
 deserves that I should, at some time or other, let him understand, that how¬ 
 ever he may triumph in the exercise of his short-lived command, yet, when 
 man is to meet with man, it will puzzle Sir John de Walton to show him¬ 
 self the superior of Aymer de Valence, or perhaps to establish himself as 
 his equal. But if, on the contrary, his fears, however fixntastic, are sincere 
 at the moment he expresses them, it becomes me to obey punctually com¬ 
 mands which, however absurd, are imposed in consequence of the governor’s 
 belief that they are rendered necessary by the times, and not inventions 
 designed to vex and domineer over his officers in the indulgence of his offi¬ 
 cial powers. I would I knew which is the true statement of the case, and 
 whether the once famed De Walton is become afraid of his enemies more 
 than fits a knight, or makes imaginary doubts the pretext of tyrannizing 
 over his friend. I cannot say it would make much difference to me, but I 
 would rather have it that the man I once loved had turned a petty tyrant 
 than a weak-spirited coward; and I would be content that he should study 
 to vex me, rather than be afraid of his own shadow.” 
 
 With these ideas passing in his mind, the young knight crossed the 
 causeway which traversed the piece of water that fed the moat, and, passing 
 under the strongly fortified gateway, gave strict orders for letting down the 
 portcullis, and elevating the drawbridge, even at the appearance of De 
 Walton’s own standard before it. 
 
 A slow and guarded movement from the hunting-ground to the Castle of 
 Douglas, gave the governor ample time to recover his temper, and to forget 
 that his young friend had shown less alacrity than usual in obeying his 
 commands. He was even disposed to treat as a jest the length of time and 
 exti’eme degree of ceremony with which every point of martial discipline 
 was observed on his own re-admission to the castle, though the raw air of a 
 wet spring evening whistled around his own unsheltered person, and those 
 of his followers, as they waited before the castle gate for the exchange of 
 
 body of cavalry by the straightest road back to the Castle of 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 303 
 
 pass-words, the delivery of keys, and all the slow minutiae attendant upon 
 the movements of a garrison in a well-guarded fortress. 
 
 “ Come,'' said he to an old knight, who was peevishly blaming the lieu¬ 
 tenant-governor, “ it was my own fault; I spoke but now to Aymer de 
 Valence with more authoritative emphasis than his newly-dubbed dignity 
 was pleased with, and this precise style of obedience is a piece of not un¬ 
 natural and very pardonable revenge. Well, we will owe him a return. Sir 
 Philip—shall we not? This is not a night to keep a man at the gate.’’ 
 
 This dialogue, overheard by some of the squires and pages, was bandied 
 about from one to another, until it entirely lost the tone of good-humour in 
 which it was spoken, and the offence was one for which Sir John de Walton 
 and old Sir Philip were to meditate revenge, and was said to have been 
 represented by the governor as a piece of mortal and intentional offence on 
 the part of his subordinate officer. 
 
 Thus an increasing feud went on from day to day between two warriors, 
 who, with no just cause of quarrel, had at heart every reason to esteem and 
 love each other. It became visible in the fortress even to those of the lower 
 rank, who hoped to gain some consequence by intermingling in the species 
 of emulation produced by the jealousy of the commanding officers — an 
 emulation which may take place, indeed, in the present day, but can hardly 
 have the same sense of wounded pride and jealous dignity attached to it, 
 which existed in times when the personal honour of knighthood rendered 
 those who possessed it jealous of every punctilio. 
 
 So many little debates took place between the two knights, that Sir Aymer 
 de Valence thouglit himself under the necessity of writing to his uncle and 
 namesake, the Earl of Pembroke, stating that his officer. Sir John de Walton, 
 had unfortunately of late take'n some degree of prejudice against him, and 
 that after having borne with many provoking instances of his displeasure, 
 he was now compelled to request that his place of service should be changed 
 from the Castle of Douglas, to wherever honour could be acquired, and time 
 might be given to put an end to his present cause of complaint against his 
 commanding officer. Through the whole letter, young Sir Aymer was parti¬ 
 cularly cautious how he expressed his sense of Sir John de Walton’s jealousy 
 or severe usage; but such sentiments are not easily concealed, and in spite 
 of him an air of displeasure glanced out from several passages, and indicated 
 his discontent with his uncle’s old friend and companion in arms, and with 
 the sphere of military duty which his uncle had himself assigned him. 
 
 An accidental movement among the English troops brought Sir Aymer 
 an answer to his letter sooner than he could have hoped for at that time of 
 day, in the ordinary course of correspondence, which was then extremely 
 slow and interrupted. 
 
 Pembroke, a rigid old warrior, entertained the most partial opinion of Sir 
 John de Walton, who was a work as it were of his own hands, and was 
 indignant to find that his nephew, whom he considered as a mere boy, 
 elated by having had the dignity of knighthood conferred upon him at an 
 age unusually early, did not absolutely coincide with him in this opinion, 
 lie replied to him, accordingly, in a tone of high displeasure, and expressed 
 himself as a person of rank would write to a young and dependent kinsman 
 upon the duties of his profession ; and, as he gathered his nephew’s cause 
 of complaint from his own letter, he conceived that he did him no injustice 
 in making it slighter than it really was. He reminded the young man that 
 the study of chivalry consisted in the faithful and patient discharge of mili¬ 
 tary service, whether of high or low degree, according to the circumstances 
 in which war placed the champion. That above all, the post of danger, 
 which Douglas Castle had been termed by common consent, was also the 
 post of honour; and that a young man should be cautious how he incurred 
 the supposition of being desirous of quitting his present honourable com¬ 
 mand, because he was tired of the discipline of a military director so 
 
304 
 
 WAVE 11 LEY NOVELS. 
 
 renowned as Sir John de Walton. Much also there was, as was natural in 
 a letter of that time, concerning the duty of young men, whether in council 
 or in arms, to be guided implicitly by their elders; and it was observed, 
 with justice, that the commanding officer, who' had put himself into the 
 situation of being responsible with his honour, if not his life, for the event 
 of the siege or blockade, might, justly, and in a degree more than common, 
 claim the implicit direction of the whole defence. Lastly, Pembroke re¬ 
 minded his nephew that he was, in a great measure, dependent upon the 
 report of Sir John de Walton for the character which he was to sustain in 
 after life; and reminded him, that a few actions of headlong and incon¬ 
 siderate valour would not so firmly found his military reputation, as months 
 and years spent in regular, humble, and steady obedience to the commands 
 which the governor of Douglas Castle might think necessary in so dangerous 
 a conjuncture. 
 
 This missive arrived within so short a time after the despatch of the letter 
 to which it was a reply, that Sir Aymer was almost tempted to suppose that 
 his uncle had some mode of corresponding with De Walton, unknown to 
 the young knight himself, and to the rest of the garrison. And as the earl 
 alluded to some particular displeasure which had been exhibited by De 
 Valence on a late trivial occasion, his uncle’s knowledge of this, and other 
 minutise, seemed to confirm his idea that his own conduct was watched in a 
 manner which he did not feel honourable to himself, or dignified on the part 
 of his relative; in a word, he conceived himself exposed to that sort of 
 surveillance of which, in all ages, the young have accused the old. It hardly 
 needs to say that the admonition of the Earl of Pembroke greatly chafed 
 the fiery spirit of his nephew; insomuch, that if the earl had wished to 
 write a letter purposely to increase the prejudices which he desired to put 
 an end to, he could not have made use of terms better calculated for that 
 effect. 
 
 The truth was, that the old archer, Gilbert Greenleaf, had, without the 
 knowledge of the young knight, gone to Pembroke’s camp, in Ayrshire, and 
 was recommended by Sir John de Walton to the earl, as a person who could 
 give such minute information respecting Aymer de Valence, as he might 
 desire to receive. The old archer was, as we have seen, a formalist, and 
 when pressed on some points of Sir Aymer de Valence’s discipline, he did 
 not hesitate to throw out hints, which, connected with those in the knight’s 
 letter to his uncle, made the severe old earl adopt too implicitly the idea 
 that his nephew was indulging a spirit of insubordination, and a sense of 
 impatience under authority, most dangerous to the character of a young 
 soldier. A little explanation might have produced a complete agreement 
 in the sentiments of both; but for this, fate allowed neither time nor oppor¬ 
 tunity ; and the old earl was unfortunately induced to become a party, 
 instead of a negotiator, in the quarrel, 
 
 “And by decision more embroil’d the fray.” 
 
 Sir John de Walton soon perceived, that the receipt of Pembroke’s letter 
 did not in any respect alter the cold ceremonious conduct of his lieutenant 
 towards him, which limited their intercourse to what their situation ren¬ 
 dered indispensable, and exhibited no advances to any more frank or inti¬ 
 mate connexion. Thus, as may sometimes be the case between officers in 
 their relative situations even at the present day, they remained in that cold 
 stiff degree of official communication, in which their intercourse was limited 
 to as few expressions as the respective duties of their situation absolutely 
 demanded. Such a state of misunderstanding is, in fact, worse than a 
 downright quarrel; — the latter may be explained or apologized for, or 
 become the subject of mediation ; but in such a case as the former, an 
 eclaircissement is as unlikely to take place as a general engagement between 
 two armies which have taken up strong defensive positions on both sides. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 305 
 
 Duty, however, obliged the two principal persona in the garrison of Douglas 
 Castle to be often together, when they were so far from seeking an oppor¬ 
 tunity of making up matters, that they usually revived ancient subjects of 
 debate. 
 
 It was upon such an occasion that De Walton, in a very formal manner, 
 asked De Valence in what capacity, and for how long time, it was his 
 pleasure that the minstrel, called Bertram, should remain at the castle. 
 
 “ A week,^^ said the governor, “ is certainly long enough, in this time and 
 place, to express the hospitality due to a minstrel.’^ 
 
 “ Certainly,'^ replied the young man, “ I have not interest enough in the 
 subject to form a single wish upon it.'' 
 
 “In that case,^’ resumed De Walton, “I shall request of this person to 
 cut short his visit at the Castle of Douglas.^’ 
 
 “ I know no particular interest,’^ replied Aymer de Valence, “ which I 
 can possibly have in this man’s motions. He is here under pretence of 
 making some researches after the writings of Thomas of Erceldoun, called 
 the Rhymer, Avhich he says are infinitely curious, and of which there is a 
 volume in the old Baron’s study, saved somehow from the flames at the last 
 conflagration. This told, you know as much of his errand as I do; and if 
 you hold the presence of a wandering old man, and the neighbourhood of a 
 boy, dangerous to the castle under your charge, you will no doubt do well 
 to dismiss them—it will cost but a word of your mouth.” 
 
 “Pardon me,” said De Walton; “the minstrel came here as one of your 
 retinue, and I could not, in fitting courtesy, send him away without your 
 leave.” 
 
 “ I am sorry, then,” answered Sir Aymer, “ in my turn, that you did not 
 mention your purpose sooner. I never entertained a dependent, vassal or 
 servant, whose residence in the castle I would wish to have prolonged a 
 moment beyond your honourable pleasure.” 
 
 “ I am sorry,” said Sir John de Walton, “that we two have of late grown 
 so extremely courteous that it is difficult for us to understand each other. 
 This minstrel and his son come from we know not where, and are bound we 
 know not whither. There is a report among some of your escort, that this 
 fellow Bertram upon the way had the audacity to impugn, even to your face, 
 the King of England’s right to the crown of Scotland, and that he debated 
 the point with you, while your other attendants were desired by you to keep 
 behind and out of hearing.” 
 
 “ Hah !” said Sir Aymer, “ do you mean to found on that circumstance 
 any charge against my loyalty ? I pray you to observe, that such an aver¬ 
 ment would touch mine honour, which I am ready and willing to defend to 
 the last gasp.” 
 
 “No doubt of it. Sir Knight,” answered the governor; “but it is the 
 strolling minstrel, and not the high-born English knight, against whom the 
 charge is brought. Well! the minstrel comes to this castle, and he inti¬ 
 mates a wish that his son should be allowed to take up his quarters at the 
 little old convent of Saint Bride, where two or three Scottish nuns and 
 friars are still permitted to reside, most of them rather out of respect to 
 their order, than for any good will M’hich they are supposed to bear the 
 English or their sovereign. It may also be noticed that his leave was pur¬ 
 chased by a larger sum of money, if my information be correct, than is 
 usually to be found in the purses of travelling minstrels, a class of wan¬ 
 derers alike remarkable for their poverty and for their genius. What do 
 you think of all this ?” 
 
 “ I ?”—replied De Valence ; “ I am happy that my situation, as a soldier, 
 under command, altogether dispenses with my thinking of it at all. My 
 post, as lieutenant of your castle, is such, that if I can manage matters so 
 as to call my honour and my soul my own, I must think that quite enough 
 
 VoL. XII. —20 2 a2 
 
306 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 of free-will is left at my command ; and I promise you shall not have again 
 to reprove, or send a bad report of me to my uncle, on that account/’ 
 
 “This is beyond sufferance!” said Sir John de Walton half aside, and 
 then proceeded aloud—“ Do not, for Heaven’s sake, do yourself and me the 
 injustice of supposing that I am endeavouring to gain an advantage over 
 you by these questions. Recollect, young knight, that when you evade 
 giving your commanding officer your advice when required, you fail as much 
 in point of duty, as if you declined affording him the assistance of your 
 sword and lance.” 
 
 “ Such being the case,” answered De Valence, “let me know plainly on 
 what matter it is that you require my opinion ? I will deliver it plainly, and 
 stand by the result, even if I should have the misfortune (a crime unpar¬ 
 donable in so young a man, and so inferior an officer) to differ from that of 
 Sir John de Walton.” 
 
 “ I would ask you then, Sir Knight of Valence,” answered the governor, 
 “ what is your opinion with respect to this minstrel, Bertram, and whether 
 the suspicions respecting him and his son are not such as to call upon 
 me, in performance of my duty, to put them to a close examination, with 
 the question ordinary and extraordinary, as is usual in such cases, and 
 to expel them not only from the castle, but from the whole territory of 
 Douglas Dale, under pain of scourging, if they be again found wandering 
 in these parts ?” 
 
 “ You ask me my opinion,” said De Valence, “ and you shall have it. Sir 
 Knight of Walton, and freely and fairly, as if matters stood betwixt us on 
 a footing as friendly as they ever did. I agree with you, that most of those 
 who in this day profess the science of minstrelsy, are altogether unqualified 
 to support the higher pretensions of that noble order. Minstrels by right, 
 are men who have dedicated themselves to the noble occupation of cele¬ 
 brating knightly deeds and generous principles; it is in their verse that the 
 valiant knight is handed down to fame, and the poet has a right, nay is 
 bound, to emulate the virtues which he praises. The looseness of the times 
 has diminished the consequence, and impaired the morality of this class of 
 wanderers ; their satire and their praise are now too often distributed on no 
 other principle than love of gain ; yet let us hope that there are still among 
 them some who know, and also willingly perform, their duty. My own 
 opinion is that this Bertram holds himself as one who has not shared in 
 the degradation of his brethren, nor bent the knee to the mammon of the 
 times ; it must remain with you, sir, to judge whether such a person, 
 honourably and morally disposed, can cause any danger to the Castle of 
 Douglas. But believing, from the sentiments he has manifested to me, that 
 he is incapable of playing the part of a traitor, I must strongly remonstrate 
 against his being punished as one, or subjected to the torture within the 
 walls of an English garrison. I should blush for my country, if it required 
 of us to inflict such wanton misery upon wanderers, whose sole fault is 
 poverty; and your own knightly sentiments will suggest more than would 
 become me to state to Sir John de Walton, unless in so far as is necessary 
 to apologize for retaining my own opinion.” 
 
 Sir John de Walton’s dark brow was stricken with red when he heard an 
 opinion delivered in opposition to his own, which plainly went to stigmatize 
 his advice as ungenerous, unfeeling, and unknightly. lie made an effort to 
 preserve his temper while he thus replied with a degree of calmness. “ You 
 have given your opinion. Sir Aymer de Valence; and that you have given 
 it openly and boldly, without regard to my own, I thank you. It is not 
 quite so clear that I am obliged to defer my own sentiments to yours, in 
 case the rules on which I hold my office—the commands of the king—and 
 the observations which I may personally have made, shall recommend to 
 me a different line of conduct from that which you think it right to suggest.” 
 
 De Walton bowed, in conclusion, with great gravity ; and the young knight, 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 307 
 
 returning the reverence with exactly the same degree of stiff fornialitv, 
 asked wliether there were any particular orders respecting his duty in the 
 castle; and having received an answer in the negative took his departure. 
 
 Sir John do Walton, after an expression of impatience, as if disappointed 
 at finding that the advance which he had made towards an explanation with 
 his young friend had proved unexpectedly abortive, composed his brow as 
 if to deep thought, and walked several times to and fro in the apartment, 
 considering what course he was to take in these circumstances. “ It is hard 
 to censure him severely,’’ he said, “ when I recollect that, on first entering 
 upon life, my own thoughts and feelings would have been the same with 
 those of this giddy and hot-headed, but generous boy. Now prudence 
 teaches me to suspect mankind in a thousand instances where perhaps there 
 is not sufficient ground. If I am disposed to venture my own honour and 
 fortune, rather than an idle travelling minstrel should suffer a little pain, 
 which at all events I might make up to him by money, still, have I a right 
 to run the risk of a conspiracy against the king, and thus advance the 
 treasonable surrender of the Castle of Douglas, for vrhich I know so many 
 schemes are formed ; for which, too, none can be imagined so desperate but 
 agents will be found bold enough to undertake the execution ? A man who 
 holds my situation, although the slave of conscience, ought to learn to set 
 aside those false scruples which assume the appearance of flowing from our 
 own moral feeling, whereas they are in fact instilled by the suggestion of 
 affected delicacy. I will not, I swear by Heaven, be infected by the follies 
 of a boy, such as Aymer; I wnll not, that I may defer to his caprices, lose 
 all that love, honour, and ambition can propose, for the reward of twelve 
 months’ service, of a nature the most watchful and unpleasant. I will go 
 straight to my point, and use the ordinary precautions in Scotland which I 
 should employ in Normandy or Gascoigny.—What ho! page! who waits 
 there ?” 
 
 One of his attendants replied to his summons — “Seek me out Gilbert 
 Greenleaf the archer, and tell him I would speak with him touching the 
 two bow’s and the sheaf of arrows, concerning which I gave him a commis¬ 
 sion to Ayr.” 
 
 A few minutes intervened after the order was given, when the archer 
 entered, holding in his hand two bow-staves, not yet fashioned, and a num¬ 
 ber of arrows secured together with a thong. He bore the mysterious looks 
 of one whose apparent business is not of very great consequence, but is 
 meant as a passport for other affairs which are in themselves of a secret 
 nature. Accordingly, as the knight was silent, and afforded no other open¬ 
 ing for Greenleaf, that judicious negotiator proceeded to enter upon such as 
 was open to him. 
 
 “Here are the bow-staves, noble sir, which you desired me to obtain while 
 I was at Ayr with the Earl of Pembroke’s army. They are not so good as 
 I could have wished, yet are perhaps of better quality than could have been 
 procured by any other than a fair judge of the weapon. The Earl of Pem¬ 
 broke’s whole camp are frantic mad in order to procure real Spanish staves 
 from the Groyne, and other ports in Spain ; but though two vessels laden 
 with such came into the port of Ayr, said to be for the King’s army, yet I 
 believe never one half of them have come into English hands. These two 
 grew in Sherwood, w'hich having been seasoned since the time of Robin 
 Hood, are not likely to fail either in strength or in aim, in so strong a hand, 
 and with so just an eye, as those of the men who wait on your worship.” 
 
 “ And who has got the rest, since two ships’ cargoes of new bow-staves 
 are arrived at Ayr, and thou with difficulty hast only procured me two old 
 ones ?” said the governor. 
 
 “ Faith, I pretend not skill enough to know,” answered Greenleaf, shrug¬ 
 ging his shoulders. “Talk there is of plots in that country as well as here. 
 It is said that their Bruce, and the rest of his kinsmen, intend a new May- 
 
308 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 game, and that the outlawed king proposes to land near Turnberry, early 
 in summer, with a number of stout kernes from Ireland; and no doubt the 
 men of his mock earldom of Garrick are getting them ready with bow and 
 spear for so hopeful an undertaking. I reckon that it will not cost us the 
 expense of more than a few score of sheaves of arrows to put all that matter 
 to rights.'^ 
 
 “ Do you talk then of conspiracies in this part of the country. Green- 
 leaf?’^ said De Walton. “I know you are a sagacious fellow, well bred for 
 many a day to the use of the bent stick and string, and will not allow such 
 a practice to go on under thy nose, without taking notice of it.” 
 
 “ I am old enough. Heaven knows,” said Greenleaf, “ and have had good 
 experience of these Scottish wars, and know well whether these native Scots 
 are a people to be trusted to by knight or yeoman. Say they are a false gene¬ 
 ration, and say a good archer told you so, who, with a fair aim, seldom missed 
 a handsbreadth of the white. Ah! sir, your honour knows how to deal with 
 them — ride them strongly, and rein them hard,—you are not like those 
 simple novices who imagine that all is to be done by gentleness, and wish 
 to parade themselves as courteous and generous to those faithless mountain¬ 
 eers, who never, in the course of their lives, knew any tincture either of 
 courteousness or generosity.” 
 
 “ Thou alludest to some one,” said the governor, “ and I charge thee, 
 Gilbert, to be plain and sincere with me. Thou knowest, methinks, that in 
 trusting me thou wilt come to no harm ?” 
 
 “ It is true, it is true, sir,” said the old remnant of the wars, carrying his 
 hand to his brow, “ but it were imprudent to communicate all the remarks 
 which float through an old man’s brain in the idle moments of such a garri¬ 
 son as this. One stumbles unawares on fantasies, as well as realities, and 
 thus one gets, not altogether undeservedly, the character of a tale-bearer 
 and mischief-maker among his comrades, and methinks I would not will¬ 
 ingly fall under that accusation.” 
 
 “Speak frankly to me,” answered De Walton, “and have no fear of being 
 misconstrued, whosoever the conversation may concern.” 
 
 , “Nay, in plain truth,” answered Gilbert, “I fear not the greatness of 
 this young knight, being, as I am, the oldest soldier in the garrison, and 
 having drawn a bow-string long and many a day ere he W'as weaned from 
 his nurse’s breast.” 
 
 “ It is, then,” said De Walton, “ my lieutenant and friend, Aymer de 
 Valence, at whom your suspicions point?” 
 
 “ At nothing,” replied the archer, “ touching the honour of the young 
 knight himself, who is as brave as the sword he wears, and, his youth con¬ 
 sidered, stands high in the roll of English chivalry ; but he is young, as 
 your worship knows, and I own that in the choice of his company he dis¬ 
 turbs and alarms me.” 
 
 “Why, you know, Greenleaf,” answered the governor, “that in the leisure 
 of a garrison a knight cannot always confine his sports and pleasures among 
 those of his own rank, who are not numerous, and may not be so gamesome 
 or fond of frolic, as he would desire them to be.” 
 
 “ I know that well,” answered the archer, “ nor would I say a word con¬ 
 cerning your honour’s lieutenant for joining any honest fellows, however 
 inferior their rank, in the wrestling ring, or at a bout of quarterstaff. But 
 if Sir Aymer de Valence has a fondness for martial tales of former day8,,me- 
 thinks he had better learn them from the ancient soldiers who have followed 
 Edward the First, whom God assoilzie, and who have known before his time 
 the Barons’ wars and other onslaughts, in which the knights and archers 
 of merry England transmitted so many gallant actions to be recorded by 
 fame; this truly, I say, were more beseeming the Earl of Pembroke’s 
 nephew, than to see him closet himself day after day with a strolling min¬ 
 strel, who gains his livelihood by reciting nonsense and lies to such young 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 309 
 
 men as are fond enough to believe him, of whom hardly any one knows 
 wdiether he be English or Scottish in his opinions, and still less can any one 
 pretend to say whether he is of English or Scottish birth, or with what 
 purpose he lies lounging about this castle, and is left free to communicate 
 every thing which passes within it to those old mutterers of matins at St. 
 Bride’s, wdio say with their tongues God save King Edward, but pray in 
 their hearts God save King Robert the Bruce. Such a communication ho 
 can easily carry on by means of his son, who lies at Saint Bride’s cell, as 
 your worship knows, under pretence of illness.” 
 
 “How do you say?” exclaimed the governor, “under pretence? — is ho 
 not then really indisposed ?” 
 
 “Nay, he may be sick to the death for aught I know,” said the archer; 
 “ but if so, w^ere it not then more natural that the father should attend his 
 son’s sick-bed, than that he should be ranging about this castle, where one 
 eternally meets him in the old Baron’s study, or in some corner, where you 
 least expect to find him ?” 
 
 “ If he has no lawful object,” replied the knight, “ it might be as you 
 say; but ho is said to be in quest of ancient poems or prophecies of Merlin, 
 of the Rhymer, or some other old bard; and in truth it is natural for him 
 to wish to enlarge his stock of knowledge and power of giving amusement, 
 and where should he find the means save in a study filled with ancient 
 books ?” 
 
 “No doubt,” replied the archer, with a sort of dry civil sneer of incre¬ 
 dulity; “I have seldom known an insurrection in Scotland but that it was 
 prophesied by some old forgotten rhyme, conjured out of dust and cobwebs, 
 for the sake of giving courage to these North Country rebels, who durst not 
 otherwise have abidden the whistling of the grey-goose shaft; but curled 
 heads are hasty, and, wdth license, even your own train. Sir Knight, retains 
 too much of the fire of youth for such uncertain times as the present.” 
 
 “ Thou hast convinced me, Gilbert Greenleaf, and I will look into this 
 man’s business and occupation more closely than hitherto. This is no time 
 to peril the safety of a royal castle for the sake of alfecting generosity 
 towards a man of wdiom we know so little, and to whom, till we receive a 
 very full explanation, we may, without doing him injustice, attach grave 
 suspicions. Is he now in the apartment called the Baron’s study?” 
 
 “ Your worship will be certain to find him there,” replied Greenleaf. 
 
 “ Then follow me, with two or three of thy comrades, and keep out of 
 sight, but within hearing; it may be necessary to arrest this man.” 
 
 “ My assistance,” said the old archer, “ shall be at hand wdien you call, 
 but”- 
 
 “ But what?” said the knight; “ I hope I am not to find doubts and dis¬ 
 obedience on all hands?” 
 
 “ Certainly not on mine,” replied Greenleaf; “ I would only remind your 
 worship that what I have said was a sincere opinion expressed in answer to 
 your worship’s question ; and that, as Sir Aymer de Valence has avowed 
 himself the patron of this man, I would not willingly be left to the hazard 
 of his revenge.” 
 
 “ Pshaw!” answered De Walton, “is Aymer de Valence governor of this 
 castle, or am I ? or to whom do you imagine you are responsible for answer¬ 
 ing such questions as I may put to you ?” 
 
 “Nay,” replied the archer, secretly not displeased at seeing De Walton 
 show some little jealousy of his own authority, “ believe me. Sir Knight, 
 that I know my own station and your worship’s, and that I am not now to 
 be told to whom I owe obedience.” 
 
 “ To the study, then, and let us find the man,” said the governor. 
 
 “ A fine matter, indeed,” subjoined Greenleaf, following him, “ that your 
 worship should have to go in person to look after the arrest of so mean an 
 individual. But your honour is right; those minstrels are often jugglers, 
 
310 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 and possess the power of making their escape by means which borrel* folk 
 like myself are disposed to attribute to necromancy/^ 
 
 Without attending to these last words, Sir John de Walton set forth 
 towards the study, walking at a quick pace, as if this conversation had 
 augmented his desire to find himself in possession of the person of the 
 suspected minstrel. 
 
 Traversing the ancient passages of the castle, the governor had no diffi¬ 
 culty in reaching the study, which was strongly vaulted with stone, and 
 furnished with a sort of iron cabinet, intended for the preservation of articles 
 and papers of value, in case of fire. Here he found the minstrel seated at 
 a small table, sustaining before him a manuscript, apparently of great anti¬ 
 quity, from w’hich he seemed engaged in making extracts. The windows 
 of the room were very small, and still showed some traces that they had 
 originally been glazed with a painted history of Saint Bride—another mark 
 of the devotion of the great family of Douglas to their tutelar saint. 
 
 •' The minstrel, who had seemed deeply wrapped in the contemplation of 
 his task, on being disturbed by the unlooked-for entrance of Sir John de 
 Walton, rose with every mark of respect and humility, and, remaining 
 standing in the governor’s presence, appeared to wait for his interrogations, 
 as if he had anticipated that the visit concerned himself particularly. 
 
 “I am to suppose. Sir Minstrel,” said Sir John de Walton, “that you 
 have been successful in your search, and have found the roll of poetry or 
 prophecies that you proposed to seek after amongst these broken shelves 
 and tattered volumes ?” 
 
 “ More successful than I could have expected,” replied the minstrel, 
 “ considering the effects of the conflagration. This, Sir Knight, is appa¬ 
 rently the fatal volume for which I sought, and strange it is, considering 
 the heavy chance of other books contained in this library, that I have been 
 able to find a few though imperfect fragments of it.” 
 
 “ Since, therefore, you have been permitted to indulge your curiosity,” 
 said the governor, “ I trust, minstrel, you will have no objection to satisfy 
 mine ?” 
 
 The minstrel replied with the same humility, “that if there was any 
 thing within the poor compass of his skill which could gratify Sir John de 
 Walton in any degree, he would but reach his lute, and presently obey his 
 commands.” 
 
 “You mistake. Sir,” said Sir John, somewhat harshly. “I am none of 
 those who have hours to spend in listening to tales or music of former days; 
 my life has hardly given me time enough for learning the duties of my pro¬ 
 fession, far less has it allowed me leisure for such twangling follies. I care 
 not who knows it, but my ear is so incapable of judging of your art, which 
 you doubtless think a noble one, that I can scarcely tell the modulation of 
 one tune from another.” 
 
 “ In that case,” replied the minstrel composedly, “ I can hardly promise 
 mycelf the pleasure of aifording your worship the amusement which I might 
 otherwise have done.” 
 
 “ Nor do I look for any at your hand,” said the governor, advancing a 
 step nearer to him, and speaking in a sterner tone. “ I want information, 
 sir, which I am assured you can give me, if you incline; and it is my duty 
 to tell you, that if you show unwillingness to speak the truth, I know means 
 by which it will become my painful duty to extort it in a more disagreeable 
 manner than I would wish.” 
 
 “ If your questions. Sir Knight,” answered Bertram, “ be such as I can 
 or ought to answer, there shall be no occasion to put them more than once. 
 If they are such as I cannot or ought not to reply to, believe me that no 
 threats of violence will extort an answer from me.” 
 
 • Unlearned, 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 311 
 
 “You speak boldly/^ said Sir John de Walton ; “ but take my word for 
 it, that your courage will be put to the test. I am as little fond of proceed¬ 
 ing to such extremities as you can be of undergoing them, but such will be 
 the natural consequence of your own obstinacy. I therefore ask you, whe¬ 
 ther Bertram be your real name — whether you have any other profession 
 than that of a travelling minstrel — and, lastly, whether you have any 
 acquaintance or connexion with any Englishman or Scottishman beyond 
 the walls of this Castle of Douglas?’^ 
 
 “ To these questions,’^ replied the minstrel, “ I have already answered the 
 worshipful knight. Sir Aymer de Valence, and having fully satisfied him, 
 it is not, I conceive, necessary that I should undergo a second examination; 
 nor is it consistent either with your worship’s honour, or that of the lieu¬ 
 tenant-governor, that such a re-examination should take place.” 
 
 “You are very considerate,” replied the governor, “of my honour and 
 of that of Sir Aymer de Valence. Take my word for it, they are both in 
 
 F erfect safety in our own keeping, and may dispense with your attention. 
 
 ask you, will you answer the enquiries which it is my duty to make, or 
 am I to enforce obedience by putting you under the penalties of the ques¬ 
 tion ? I have already, it is my duty to say, seen the answers you have 
 returned to my lieutenant, and they do not satisfy me.” 
 
 He at the same time clapped his hands, and two or three archers showed 
 themselves stripped of their tunics, and only attired in their shirts and 
 hose. 
 
 “ I understand,” said the minstrel, “ that you intend to inflict upon me a 
 punisliinent which is foreign to the genius of the English laws, in that no 
 proof is adduced of my guilt. I have already told that I am by birth an 
 Englishman, by profession a minstrel, and that I am totally unconnected 
 with any person likely to nourish any design against this Castle of Douglas, 
 Sir John de Walton, or his garrison. What answers you may extort from 
 me by bodily agony, I cannot, to speak as a plain-dealing Christian, hold 
 myself responsible for. I think tlyit I can endure as much pain as any one; 
 I am sure that I never yet felt a degree of agony, that I would not willingly 
 prefer to breaking my plighted word, or becoming a false informer against 
 innocent persons ; but I own I do not know the extent to which the art of 
 torture may be carried ; and though I do not fear you, Sir John de Walton, 
 yet I must acknowledge that I fear myself, since I know not to what extre¬ 
 mity your cruelty may be capable of subjecting me, or how far I may bo 
 enabled to bear it. I, therefore, in the first place, protest, that I shall in 
 no manner be liable for any words which I may utter in the course of any 
 examination enforced from me by torture ; and you must therefore, under 
 such circumstances, proceed to the execution of an office, which, permit me 
 to say, is hardly that which I expected to have found thus administered by 
 an accomplished knight like yourself.” 
 
 “ Hark you, sir,” replied the governor, “you and I are at issue, and in 
 doing my duty, I ought instantly to proceed to the extremities I have threat¬ 
 ened ; but perhaps you yourself feel less reluctance to undergo the exami¬ 
 nation as proposed, than I shall do in commanding it; I will therefore con¬ 
 sign you for the present to a place of confinement, suitable to one who is 
 suspected of being a spy upon this fortress. Until you are pleased to remove 
 such suspicions, your lodgings and nourishment are those of a prisoner. 
 In the meantime, before subjecting you to the question, take notice, I will 
 myself ride to the Abbey of Saint Bride, and satisfy myself whether the 
 young person whom you would pass as your son, is possessed of the same 
 determination as that which you yourself seem to assert. It may so happen 
 that his examination and yours may throw such light upon each other as 
 will decidedly prove either your guilt or innocence, without its being con¬ 
 firmed by the use of the extraordinary question. If it be otherwise, tremble 
 for your son’s sake, if not for your own.—Have I shaken you, sir? — or do 
 
312 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 you fear, for your boy's young sinews and joints, the engines which, in your 
 case, you seem willing to defy ?" 
 
 “ Sir," answered the minstrel, recovering from the momentary emotion 
 he had shown, “ I leave it to yourself, as a man of honour and candour, 
 whether you ought, in common fairness, to form a worse opinion of any man, 
 because he is not unwilling to incur, in his own person, severities which he 
 would not desire to be inflicted upon his child, a sickly youth, just recover¬ 
 ing from a dangerous disease." 
 
 “It is my duty," answered De Walton, after a short pause, “to leave no 
 stone unturned by which this business may be traced to the source; and if 
 thou desirest mercy for thy son, thou wilt thyself most easily attain it, by 
 setting him the example of honesty and plain-dealing." 
 
 The minstrel threw himself back on the seat, as if fully resolved to bear 
 every extremity that could be inflicted, rather than make any farther answer 
 than he had already offered. Sir John de Walton himself seemed in some 
 degree uncertain what might now be his best course. He felt an invincible 
 repugnance to proceed, without due consideration, in what most people 
 would have deemed the direct line of his duty, by inflicting the torture both 
 upon father and son ; but deep as was his sense of devotion towards the 
 King, and numerous as were the hopes and expectations he had formed 
 upon the strict discharge of his present high trust, he could not resolve 
 upon having recourse at once to this cruel method of cutting the knot. 
 Bertram's appearance was venerable, and his power of words not unworthy 
 of his aspect and bearing. The governor remembered that Aymer de 
 Valence, whose judgment in general it was impossible to deny, had described 
 him as one of those rare individuals, who vindicated the honour of a cor¬ 
 rupted profession by their personal good behaviour; and he acknowledged 
 to himself, that there was gross cruelty and injustice in refusing to admit 
 the prisoner to the credit of being a true and honest man, until, by way of 
 proving his rectitude, he had strained every sinew, and crushed every joint 
 in his body, as well as those of his son. “ I have no touchstone," he said 
 internally, “ which can distinguish truth from falsehood; the Bruce and his 
 followers are on the alert,—he has certainly equipped the galleys which lay 
 at Bachrin during winter. This story, too, of Greenleaf, about arms being 
 procured for a new insurrection, tallies strangely with the appearance of 
 that savage-looking forester at the hunt; and all tends to show, that some¬ 
 thing is upon the anvil which it is my duty to provide against. I will, there¬ 
 fore, pass over no circumstance by which I can affect the mind through 
 hope or fear; but, please God to give me light from any other source, I will 
 not think it lawful to torment these unfortunate, and, it may yet be, honest 
 men." He accordingly took his departure from the library, whispering a 
 word to Greenleaf respecting the prisoner. 
 
 He had reached the outward door of the study, and his satellites had 
 already taken the minstrel into their grasp, when the voice of the old man 
 was heard calling upon De Walton to return for a single moment. 
 
 “ What hast thou to say, sir?" said the governor; “ be speedy, for I have 
 already lost more time in listening to thee than I am answerable for; and 
 so I advise thee for thine own sake"- 
 
 “ I advise thee," said the minstrel, “ for thine own sake, Sir John de 
 Walton, to beware how thou dost insist on thy present purpose, by which 
 thou thyself alone, of all men living, will most severely suffer. If thou 
 harmest a hair of that young man's head — nay, if thou permittest him to 
 undergo any privation which it is in thy power to prevent, thou wilt, in 
 doing so, prepare for thine own suffering a degree of agony more acute than 
 anything else in this mortal world could cause thee. I swear by the most 
 blessed objects of our holy religion; I call to witness that holy sepulchre, 
 of which I have been an unworthy visitor, that I speak nothing but the 
 truth, and that thou wilt one day testify thy gratitude for the part I am 
 
CASTLE DANCEROUS. 
 
 313 
 
 now acting. It is my interest, as well as yours, to secure you in the safe 
 possession of this castle, although assuredly I know some things respecting 
 it, and respecting your worship, which I am not at liberty to tell without 
 the consent of that youth. Bring me but a note under his hand, consent¬ 
 ing to my taking you into our mystery, and believe me, you will soon see 
 those clouds charmed away; since there was never a doleful uncertainty 
 which more speedily changed to joy, or a thunder-cloud of adversity which 
 more instantly gave way to sunshine, than would then the suspicions which 
 appear now so formidable.’^ 
 
 lie spoke with so much earnestness as to make some impression upon Sir 
 John de Walton, who was once more wholly at a loss to know what line his 
 duty called upon him to pursue. 
 
 “ I would most gladly,” said the governor, “ follow out my purpose by 
 the gentlest means in my power; and I shall bring no further distress upon 
 this poor lad, than thine own obstinacy and his shall appear to deserve. In 
 the meantime, think. Sir Minstrel, that my duty has limits, and if I slack 
 it for a day, it will become thee to exert every effort in thy power to meet 
 my condescension. I will give thee leave to address thy son by a line under 
 thy hand, and I will await his answer before I proceed farther in this matter, 
 which seems to be very mysterious. Meantime, as thou hast a soul to be 
 saved, I conjure thee to speak the truth, and tell me whether the secrets of 
 which thou seemest to be a too faithful treasurer, have regard to the prac¬ 
 tices of* Douglas, of Bruce, or of any in their names, against this Castle of 
 Douglas ?” 
 
 The prisoner thought a moment, and then replied — “I am aware, Sir 
 Knight, of the severe charge under which this command is intrusted to 
 your hands, and were it in my power to assist you, as a faithful minstrel 
 and loyal subject, either with hand or tongue, I should feel myself called 
 upon so to do; but so far am I from being the character your suspicions 
 have apprehended, that I should have held it for certain that the Bruce and 
 Douglas had assembled their followers, for the purpose of renouncing their 
 rebellious attempts, and taking their departure for the Holy Land, but for 
 the apparition of the forester, who, I hear, bearded you at the hunting, which 
 impresses upon me the belief, that when so resolute a follower and hench¬ 
 man of the Douglas was sitting fearless among you, his master and com¬ 
 rades could be at no great distance—how far his intentions could be friendly 
 to you, I must leave it to yourself to judge; only believe me thus far, that 
 the rack, pulley, or pincers, would not have compelled me to act the in¬ 
 former, or adviser, in a quarrel wherein I have little or no share, if I had 
 not been desirous of fixing the belief upon you, that you are dealing with a 
 true man, and one who has your welfare at heart. — Meanwhile, permit me 
 to have writing materials, or let my own be restored, for I possess, in some 
 degree, the higher arts of my calling; nor do I fear but that I can pro¬ 
 cure for you an explanation of these marvels, without much more loss 
 of time.” 
 
 “ God grant it prove so,” said the governor; “though I see not well how 
 I can hope for so favourable a termination, and I may sustain great harm 
 by trusting too much on the present occasion. My duty, however, requires 
 that, in the meantime, you be removed into strict confinement.” 
 
 He handed to the prisoner, as he spoke, the writing materials, which had 
 been seized upon by the archers on their first entrance, and then commanded 
 those satellites to unhand the minstrel. 
 
 “I must, then,” said Bertram, “remain subjected to all the severities of 
 a strict captivity; but I deprecate no hardship whatever in my own person, 
 so I may secure you from acting with a degree of rashness, of which you 
 will all your life repent, without the means of atoning.” 
 
 “ No more words, minstrel,” said the governor ; “ but since I have made 
 
 2 u 
 
814 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 
 
 my choice, perhaps a very dangerous one for myself, let us carry this spell 
 into execution, which thou sayest is to serve me, as mariners say that oil 
 spread upon the raging billows will assuage their fury/^ 
 
 (Cjinptn tjjt jiintji. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Beware ! beware! of the black Friar, 
 
 He still retains his sway, 
 
 For he is yet the Church’s heir by right, 
 
 Whoever may be the lay. 
 
 Amundeville is lord by day, 
 
 But the monk is lord by night. 
 
 Nor wine nor wassel could raise a vassal 
 To question that friar’s right. 
 
 Don Juan, Canto XVII. 
 
 The minstrel made no vain boast of the skill which he possessed in the 
 use of pen and ink. In fact, no priest of the time could have produced his 
 little scroll more speedily, more neatly composed, or more fairly*written, 
 than were the lines addressed “ To the youth called Augustine, son of Ber¬ 
 tram the Minstrel.’^ 
 
 “ I have not folded this letter,^^ said he, “ nor tied it with silk, for it is 
 not expressed so as to explain the mystery to you; nor, to speak frankly, 
 do I think that it can convey to you any intelligence; but it may be satis¬ 
 factory to show you what the letter does not contain, and that it is written 
 from and to a person who both mean kindly towards you and your gar- 
 rison.^^ 
 
 “ That,^^ said the governor, “ is a deception which is easily practised; it 
 tends, however, to show, though not with certainty, that you are disposed to 
 act upon good faith; and until the contrary appear, I shall consider it a 
 point of duty to treat you with as much gentleness as the matter admits of. 
 Meantime, I will myself ride to the Abbey of Saint Bride, and in person 
 examine the young prisoner; and as you say he has the power, so I pray 
 to Heaven he may have the will, to read this riddle, which seems to throw 
 us all into confusion.^' So saying, he ordered his horse, and while it was 
 getting ready, he perused with great composure the minstreFs letter. Its 
 contents ran thus:— 
 
 “ Dear Augustine, 
 
 “Sir John de Walton, the governor of this castle, has conceived those 
 suspicions which I pointed out as likely to be the consequence of our coming 
 to this country without an avowed errand. I at least am seized, and threat¬ 
 ened with examination under torture, to force me to tell the purpose of our 
 journey; but they shall tear the flesh from my bones, ere they force me to 
 break the oath which I have taken. And the purport of this letter is to 
 apprize you of the danger in which you stand of being placed in similar 
 circumstances, unless you are disposed to authorize me to make the dis¬ 
 covery to this knight; but on this subject you are only to express your own 
 wishes, being assured they shall be in every respect attended to by your 
 devoted “ Bertram.^^ 
 
 This letter did not throw the smallest light upon the mystery of the 
 writer. The governor read it more than once, and turned it repeatedly in 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 315 
 
 his hand, as if ho had hoped by that mechanical process to draw something 
 from the missive, whicli at a first view the words did not express; but as no 
 result of this sort appeared, De AValton retired to the hall, where ho informed 
 Sir Aymer de Valence, that he was going abroad as far as the Abbey of 
 Saint Bride, and that he would be obliged by his taking upon him the 
 duties of governor during his absence. Sir Aymer, of course, intimated 
 his acquiescence in the charge ; and the state of disunion in which they 
 stood to each other, permitted no further explanation. 
 
 Upon the arrival of Sir John de Walton at the dilapidated shrine, the 
 abbot, with trembling haste, made it his business immediately to attend the 
 commander of the English garrison, upon whom for the present, their house 
 depended for every indulgence they experienced, as well as for the sub¬ 
 sistence and protection necessary to them in so perilous a period. Having 
 interrogated this old man respecting the youth residing in the Abbey, De 
 Walton was informed that he had been indisposed since left there by his 
 father, Bertram, a minstrel. It appeared to the abbot, that his indisposition 
 might be of that contagious kind which, at that period, ravaged the English 
 Borders, and made some incursions into Scotland, where it afterwards 
 worked a fearful progress. After some farther conversation. Sir John do 
 Walton put into the abbot’s hand the letter to the young person under his 
 roof, on delivering which to Augustine, the reverend father was charged 
 with a message to the English governor, so bold, that he was afraid to be 
 the bearer of it. It signified, that the youth could not, and would not, at 
 that moment, receive the English knight; but that, if he came back on the 
 morrow after mass, it was probable he might learn something of what was 
 requested. 
 
 “ This is not an answer,” said Sir John de Walton, “to be sent by a boy 
 like this to a person in my charge ; and methinks. Father Abbot, you consult 
 your own safety but slenderly in delivering such an insolent message.” 
 
 The abbot trembled under the folds of his large coarse habit; and Do 
 Walton, imagining that his discomposure was the consequence of guilty 
 fear, called upon him to remember the duties which he owed to England, 
 the benefits which he had received from himself, and the probable conse¬ 
 quence of taking part in a pert boy’s insolent defiance of the power of the 
 governor of the province. 
 
 The abbot vindicated himself from these charges with the utmost anxiety. 
 He pledged his sacred word, that the inconsiderate character of the boy’s 
 message was owing to the waywardness arising from indisposition, lie 
 reminded the governor that, as a Christian and an Englishman, he had 
 duties to observe towards the community of Saint Bride, which had never 
 given the English government the least subject of complaint. As he spoke, 
 the churchman seemed to gather courage from the immunities of his order. 
 He said he could not permit a sick boy who had taken refuge within the 
 sanctuary of the Church, to be seized or subjected to any species of force, 
 unless he was accused of a specific crime, capable of being immediately 
 proved. The Douglasses, a headstrong race, had, in former days, uniformly 
 respected the sanctuary of Saint Bride, and it was not to be supposed that 
 the king of England, the dutiful and obedient child of the Church of Home, 
 would act with less veneration for her rights, than the followers of a usurper, 
 homicide, and excommunicated person like Robert Bruce. 
 
 Walton was considerably shaken with this remonstrance. He knew that, 
 in the circumstances of the times, the Pope had great power in every con¬ 
 troversy in which it was his pleasure to interfere. He knew that even in 
 the dispute respecting the supremacy of Scotland, his Holiness had set up 
 a claim to the kingdom which, in the temper of the times, might perhaps 
 have been deemed superior both to that of Robert Bruce, and that of Ed¬ 
 ward of England, and he conceived his monarch would give him little 
 thanks for any fresh embroilment which might take place with the Church. 
 
816 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Moreover, it was easy to place a watch, so as to prevent Augustine from 
 escaping during the night; and on the following morning he would be still 
 as effectually in the power of the English governor as if he were seized on 
 by open force at the present moment. Sir John de Walton, however, so far 
 exerted his authority over the abbot, that he engaged, in consideration of 
 the sanctuary being respected for this space of time, that, when it expired, 
 he would be aiding and assisting with his spiritual authority to surrender 
 the youth, should he not allege a sufficient reason to the contrary. This 
 arrangement, which appeared still to flatter the governor with the prospect 
 of an easy termination of this troublesome dispute, induced him to grant 
 the delay which Augustine rather demanded than petitioned for. 
 
 “ At your request, Father Abbot, whom I have hitherto found a true man, 
 
 I will indulge this youth with the grace he asks, before taking him into 
 custody, understanding that he shall not be permitted to leave this place; 
 and thou art to be responsible to this effect, giving thee, as is reasonable, 
 power to command our little garrison at Hazelside, to which I will send a 
 reinforcement on my return to the Castle, in case it should be necessary to 
 use the strong hand, or circumstances impose upon me other measures.'’^ 
 
 “Worthy Sir Knight,’^ replied the Abbot, “I have no idea that the fro- 
 wardness of this yohth will render any course necessary, saving that of 
 persuasion ; and I venture to say, that you yourself will in the highest 
 degree approve of the method in which I shall acquit myself of my present 
 trust.^^ 
 
 The abbot went through the duties of hospitality, enumerating what 
 simple cheer the cloister of the convent permitted him to offer to the English 
 knight. Sir John de Walton declined the offer of refreshment, however — 
 took a courteous leave of the churchman, and did not spare his horse until 
 the noble animal had brought him again before the Castle of Douglas. Sir 
 Aymer De Valence met him on the drawbridge, and reported the state of 
 the garrison to be the same in which he had left it, excepting that intima¬ 
 tion had been received that twelve or fifteen men were expected on their 
 way to the town of Lanark; and being on march from the neighbourhood 
 of Ayr, would that night take up their quarters at the outpost of Hazel- 
 side. 
 
 “ I am glad of it,’^ replied the governor ; “ I was about to strengthen that 
 detachment. This stripling, the son of Bertram the minstrel, or whoever 
 he is, has engaged to deliver himself up for examination in the morning. 
 As this party of soldiers are followers of your uncle, Lord Pembroke, may 
 I request you will ride to meet them, and command them to remain at 
 Hazelside until you make farther enquiries about this youth, who has still 
 to clear up the mystery which hangs about him, and reply to a letter which 
 I delivered with my own hand to the Abbot of Saint Bride. I have shown, 
 too much forbearance in this matter, and I trust to your looking to the 
 security of this young man, and conveying him hither, with all due care 
 and attention, as being a prisoner of some importance. 
 
 “Certainly, Sir John,^’ answered Sir Aymer; “your orders shall be • 
 obeyed, since you have none of greater importance for one who hath the 
 honour to be second only to yourself in this place.^^ 
 
 “ I crave your mercy. Sir Aymer,returned the governor, “ if the com¬ 
 mission be in any degree beneath your dignity; but it is our misfortune to 
 misunderstand each other, when we endeavour to be most intelligible.^^ 
 
 “ But what am I to do,’' said Sir Aymer— “ no way disputing your com¬ 
 mand, but only asking for information — what am I to do, if the Abbot of 
 Saint Bride offers opposition 
 
 “ How!” answered Sir John de Walton ; “with the reinforcement from 
 my Lord of Pembroke, you will command at least twenty war-men, with 
 bow and spear, against five or six timid old monks, with only gown and 
 hood.” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 317 
 
 “ True,” said Sir Aymer, “ but ban and excommunication are sometimes, 
 in the present day, too hard for the mail coat, and I would not willingly, be 
 thrown out of the pale of the Christian Church. 
 
 “ Well, then, thou very suspicious and scrupulous young man,” replied 
 De Walton, “ know that if this youth does not deliver himself up to thee of 
 his own accord, the abbot has promised to put him into thy hands.” 
 
 There was no farther answer to be made, and De Valence, though still 
 thinking himself unnecessarily harassed with the charge of a petty commis¬ 
 sion, took the sort of half arms which were always used when the knights 
 stirred beyond the walls of the garrison, and proceeded to execute the com¬ 
 mands of De Walton. A horseman or two, together with his squire Fabian, 
 accompanied him. 
 
 The evening closed in with one of those Scottish mists which are commonly 
 said to be equal to the showers of happier climates; the path became more 
 and more dark, the hills more wreathed in vapours, and more difficult to 
 traverse; and all the little petty inconveniences which rendered travelling 
 through the district slow and uncertain, were augmented by the density of 
 the fog which overhung every thing. 
 
 Sir Aymer, therefore, occasionally mended his pace, and often incurred 
 the fate of one who is over-late, delaying himself by his efforts to make 
 greater expedition. The knight bethought himself that he would get into a 
 straight road by passing through the almost deserted town of Douglas—the in¬ 
 habitants of which had been treated so severely by the English, in the course 
 of those fierce troubles, that most of them who were capable of bearing arms 
 had left it, and withdrawn themselves to different parts of the country. This 
 almost deserted place was defended by a rude palisade, and a ruder draw¬ 
 bridge, which gave entrance into streets so narrow, as to admit with diffi¬ 
 culty three horses abreast, and evincing with what strictness the ancient 
 lords of the village adhered to their prejudice against fortifications, and their 
 opinion in favour of keeping the field, so quaintly expressed in the well- 
 known proverb of the family,—“ It is better to hear the lark sing than the 
 mouse cheep.” The streets, or rather the lanes, were dark, but for a shifting 
 gleam of moonlight, which, as that planet began to rise, was now and then 
 visible upon some steep and narrow gable. No sound of domestic industry, 
 or domestic festivity, was heard, and no ray of candle or firelight glanced 
 from the windows of the houses; the ancient ordinance called the curfew, 
 which the Conqueror had introduced into England, was at this time in full 
 force in such parts of Scotland as were thought doubtful, and likely to rebel; 
 under which description it need not be said the ancient possessions of the 
 Douglas were most especially regarded. The Church, whose Gothic monu¬ 
 ments were of a magnificent character, had been, as far as possible, destroyed 
 by fire; but tlie ruins, held together by the weight of the massive stones of 
 w'hich they were composed, still sufficiently evinced the greatness of the 
 family at whose cost it had been raised, and whose bones, from immemorial 
 time, had been entombed in its crypts. 
 
 Paying little attention to these relics of departed splendour. Sir Aymer 
 de Valence advanced with his small detachment, and had passed the scat¬ 
 tered fragments of the cemetery of the Douglasses, when to his surprise, the 
 noise of his horse’s feet was seemingly replied to by sounds which rung like 
 those of another knightly steed advancing heavily up the street, as if it were 
 to meet him. Valence was unable to conjecture what might be the cause 
 of these warlike sounds ; the ring and the clang of armour was distinct, and 
 the heavy tramp of a war-horse was not to be mistaken by the ear of a war¬ 
 rior. The difficulty of keeping soldiers from straying out of quarters by 
 night, would have sufficiently accounted for the appearance of a straggling 
 foot-soldier; but it was more difficult to account for a mounted horseman, in 
 full armour; and such was the apparition which a peculiarly bright glimpse 
 of moonlight now showed at the bottom of the causewayed hill. Perhaps 
 
 2b2 
 
318 
 
 WAVERLE Y NOVEL S. 
 
 the unknown warrior obtained at the same time a glance of Aymer de 
 Valence and his armed followers—at least each of them shouted “ Who goes 
 there— the alarm of the times; and on the instant the deep answers of 
 “ St. George I” on the One side, and “ The Douglas V’ on the other, awakened 
 the still echoes of the small and ruinous street, and the silent arches of the 
 dilapidated church. Astonished at a war-cry with which so many recollec¬ 
 tions were connected, the English knight spurred his horse at full gallop 
 down the steep and broken descent leading out at the south or south-east 
 gate of the town ; and it was the work of an instant to call out, “ Ho ! Saint 
 George ! upon the insolent villain all of you !—To the gate, Fabian, and cut 
 him off from flight! — Saint George ! I say, for England! Bows and bills I 
 —bows and bills At the same time Aymer de Valence laid in rest his 
 own long lance, which he snatched from the squire by whom it was carried. 
 But the light was seen and gone in an instant, and though De Valence con¬ 
 cluded that the hostile warrior had hardly room to avoid his career, yet he 
 could take no aim for the encounter, unless by mere guess, and continued to 
 plunge down the dark declivity, among shattered stones and other encum¬ 
 brances, without groping out with his lance the object of his pursuit. He 
 rode, in short, at a broken gallop, a descent of about fifty or sixty yards, 
 without having any reason to suppose that he had met the figure which had 
 appeared to him, although the narrowness of the street scarcely admitted his 
 having passed him, unless both horse and horseman could have melted at 
 the moment of encorntei hke an air-bubble. The riders of his suite, mean- 
 W'hile, were struck with a feeling like supernatural terror, which a number 
 of singular adventures had caused most of them to attach to the name of 
 Douglas; and when he reached the gate by which the broken street was 
 terminated, there was none close behind him but Fabian, in whose head no 
 suggestions of a timorous nature could outlive the sound of his dear master’s 
 voice. 
 
 Here there were a post of English archers, who were turning out in 
 considerable alarm, when De Valence and his page rode in amongst them. 
 “Villains!” shouted De Valence, “why were you not upon your duty? 
 Who was it passed through your post even now, with the traitorous cry of 
 Douglas ?” , 
 
 “We know of no such,” said the captain of the watch. 
 
 “ That is to say, you besotted villains,” answered the young knight, “ you 
 have been drinking, and have slept?” 
 
 The men protested the contrary, but in a confused manner, nvhich was 
 far from overcoming De Valence’s suspicions. He called loudly to bring 
 cressets, torches, and candles; and a few remaining inhabitants began to 
 make their unwilling appearance, with such various means of giving light 
 as they chanced to possess. They heard the story of the young English 
 knight with wonder; nor, although it was confirmed by all his retinue, did 
 they give credit to the recital, more than that the Englishmen wished some¬ 
 how or other to pick a quarrel with the people of the palace, under the pre¬ 
 tence of their having admitted a retainer of their ancient lord by night into 
 the town. They protested, therefore, their innocence of the cause of tumult, 
 and endeavoured to seem active in hastening from house to house, and corner 
 to corner, with their torches, in order to discover the invisible cavalier. The 
 English suspected them no less of treachery, than the Scottish imagined the 
 whole matter a pretext for bringing an accusation, on the part of the young 
 knight, against the citizens. The women, however, who now began to issue 
 from the houses, had a key for the solution of the apparition, which at that 
 time was believed of efficacy sufficient to solve any mystery. “ The devil,” 
 they said, “ must have appeared visibly amongst them,” an explanation 
 which had already occurred to the followers of the young knight; for that a 
 living man and horse, both as it seemed, of a gigantic size, could be conjured 
 in the twinkling of an eye, and appear in a street secured at one end by the 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 319 
 
 best of the archers, and at the other by the horsemen under Valence himself, 
 was altogether, it seemed, a thing impossible. The inhabitants did not 
 venture to put their thoughts on the subject into language, for fear of giving 
 oftence, and only indicated by a passing word to each other the secret degree 
 of pleasure which they felt in the confusion and embarrassment of the 
 English garrison. Still, however, they continued to affect a great deal of 
 interest in the alarm which De Valence had received, and the anxiety which 
 he expressed to discover the cause. 
 
 At length a female voice spoke above the Babel of confused sounds, 
 saying, “Where is the Southern Knight? I am sure that I can tell him 
 Avhere he can find the only person who can help him out of his present 
 difficulty.'^ 
 
 “ And who is that, good woman ?" said Aymer de Valence, who was grow¬ 
 ing every moment more impatient at the loss of time, which was flying fast, 
 in an investigation which had something vexatious in it, and even ridicu¬ 
 lous. At the same time, the sight of an armed partisan of the Douglasses, 
 in their own native town, seemed to bode too serious consequences, if it 
 should be suflfered to pass without being probed to the bottom. 
 
 “ Come hither to me," said the female voice, “ and I will name to you the 
 only person who can explain all matters of this kind that chance in this 
 country." On this the knight snatched a torch from some of those who 
 were present, and holding it up, descried the person who spoke, a tall 
 woman, who evidently endeavoured to render herself remarkable. When 
 he approached her, she communicated her intelligence in a grave and sen¬ 
 tentious tone of voice. 
 
 “We had once wise men, that could have answered any parables which 
 might have been put to them for explanation in this country side. AVhether 
 you yourselves, gentlemen, have not had some hand in weeding them out, 
 good troth, it is not for the like of me to say ; at any rate, good counsel is 
 not so easy come by as it was in this Douglas country, nor, may be, is it a 
 safe thing to pretend to the power of giving it." 
 
 “Good woman," said De Valence, “if you will give me an explanation 
 of this mystery, I will owe you a kirtle of the best raploch grey." 
 
 “ It is not I," said the old woman, “ that pretend to possess the know¬ 
 ledge which may assist you; but I would fain know that the man whom I 
 shall name to you shall be skaithless and harmless. Upon your knighthood 
 and your honour, will you promise to me so much?" 
 
 “Assuredly," said.De Valence, “such a person shall even have thanks 
 and reward, if he is a faithful informer; ay, and pardon, moreover, although 
 he may have listened to any dangerous practices, or been concerned in any 
 plots." 
 
 “Oh! not he," replied the female; “it is old Goodman Powheid, who 
 has the charge of the muniments," (meaning probably monuments,) “that 
 is, such part of them as you English have left standing; I mean the old 
 sexton of the kirk of Douglas, who can tell more stories of these old folk, 
 whom your honour is not very fond of hearing named, than would last us 
 from this day to Yule." 
 
 “ Does anybody," said the knight, “ know whom it is that this old 
 woman means?" 
 
 “ I conjecture," replied Fabian, “ that she speaks of an old dotard, who 
 is, I think, the general referee concerning the history and antiquities of 
 this old town, and of the savage family that lived here perhaps before the 
 flood." 
 
 “ And who, I dare say," said the knight, “ knows as much about the 
 matter as she herself does. But where is this man ? a sexton is he ? He 
 may be acquainted with places of concealment, which are often fabricated 
 in Gothic buildings, and known to those whose business calls them to 
 frequent them. Come, my good old dame, bring this man to me; or, 
 
320 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 what may be better, I will go to him, for we have already spent too much 
 time/^ 
 
 “ Time 1’^ replied the old woman, — “ is time an object with your honour? 
 
 I am sure I can hardly get so much for mine as will hold soul and body 
 together. You are not far from the old man's house." 
 
 She led the way accordingly, blundering over heaps of rubbish, and 
 encountering all the embarrassments of a ruinous street, in lighting the 
 way to Sir Aymer, who, giving his horse to one of his attendants, and 
 desiring Fabian to be ready at a call, scrambled after as well as the slow¬ 
 ness of his guide would permit. 
 
 Both were soon involved in the remains of the old church, much dilapi¬ 
 dated as it had been by wanton damage done to it by the soldiery, and so 
 much impeded by rubbish, that the knight marvelled how the old woman 
 could find the way. She kept talking all the while as she stumbled onward. 
 Sometimes she called out in a screeching tone, “ Powheid! Lazarus Pow- 
 heid !" — and then muttered — “Ay, ay, the old man will be busy with 
 some of his duties, as he calls them; I wonder he fashes wF them in these 
 times. But never mind, I warrant they will last for his day and for mine ; 
 and the times. Lord help us! for all that I can see, are well enough for 
 those that are to live in them." 
 
 “ Are you sure, good woman," replied the knight, “ that there is any 
 inhabitant in these ruins ? For my part, I should rather suppose that you 
 are taking me to the charn-el-house of the dead." 
 
 “ Maybe you are right," said the old woman, with a ghastly laugh; 
 
 “ carles and carlines agree weel with funeral vaults and charnel-houses, 
 and when an auld bedral dwells near the dead, he is living, ye ken, among 
 his customers—Halloo! Powheid ! Lazarus Powheid ! there is a gentleman 
 w^ould speak with you;" and she added, with some sort of emphasis, “ an 
 English noble gentleman — one of the honourable garrison." 
 
 An old man's step was now heard advancing, so slowly thn,t the glim¬ 
 mering light which he held in his hand was visible on the ruined walls of 
 the vault some time before it showed the person who bore it. 
 
 The shadow of the old man was also projected upon the illuminated wall 
 ere his person came in view; his dress was in considerable confusion, 
 owing to his having been roused from his bed; and since artificial light 
 was forbidden by the regulations of the garrison, the natives of Douglas 
 Dale spent in sleep the time that they could not very well get rid of by any 
 other means. The sexton was a tall thin man, emaciated by years and by 
 privations ; his body was bent habitually by his occupation of grave-digging, 
 and his eye naturally inclined downward to the scene of his labours. His 
 hand sustained the cruise or little lamp, which he held so as to throw light 
 upon his visitant; at the same time it displayed to the young knight the 
 features of the person with whom he was now confronted, which, though 
 neither handsome nor pleasing, were strongly marked, sagacious, and vene¬ 
 rable, indicating, at the same time, a certain air of dignity, which age, even 
 mere poverty, may be found occasionally to bestow, as conferring that last 
 melancholy species of independence proper to those whose situation can 
 hardly by any imaginable means, be rendered much worse than years and 
 fortune have already made it. The habit of a lay brother added somewhat • 
 of religious importance to his appearance. 
 
 “ What would you with me, young man ?" said the sexton. “ Your youth¬ 
 ful features, and your gay dress, bespeak one who stands in need of my 
 ministry neither for himself nor for others." 
 
 “ I am indeed," replied the knight, “ a living man, and therefore need not 
 either shovel or pick-axe for my own behoof. I am not, as you see, attired 
 in mourning, and therefore need not your offices in behalf of any friend; I 
 would only ask you a few questions." 
 
 “ What you would have done must needs be done, you being at present 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 321 
 
 I 
 
 one of our rulers, and, as I think, a man of authority,^' replied the sexton ; 
 “ follow me this way into my poor habitation ; I have had a better in 
 my day; and yet, Heaven knows, it is good enough for me, when many 
 men of much greater consequence must perforce content themselves with 
 worse/^ 
 
 lie opened a lowly door, which was fitted, though irregularly, to serve as 
 the entrance of a vaulted apartment, where it appeared that the old man 
 held, apart from the living world, his wretched and solitary dwelling.* 
 The floor, composed of paving stones, laid together with some accuracy, and 
 here and there inscribed with letters and hieroglyphics, as if they had once 
 upon a time served to distinguish sepulchres, was indifferently well swept, 
 and a fire at the upper end directed its smoke into a hole which served for 
 a chimney. The spade and pick-axe, (with other tools,) which the cham¬ 
 berlain of mortality makes use of, lay scattered about the apartment, and, 
 with a rude stool or two, and a table, where some inexperienced hand had 
 unquestionably supplied the labours of the joiner, were nearly the only fur¬ 
 niture, if we include the old man’s bed of straw, lying in a corner, and dis¬ 
 composed, as if he had been just raised from it. At the lower end of the 
 apartment, the wall was almost entirely covered by a large escutcheon, such 
 as is usually hung over the graves of men of very high rank, having the 
 appropriate quarters, to the number of sixteen, each properly blazoned and 
 distinct, placed as ornaments around the principal armorial coat itself. 
 
 “ Let us sit,” said the old man ; “ the posture will better enable my fail¬ 
 ing ears to apprehend your meaning, and the asthma will deal with me 
 more mercifully in permitting me to make you understand mine.” 
 
 A peal of short asthmatic coughs attested the violence of the disorder 
 which he had last named, and the young knight followed his host’s example, 
 in sitting down on one of the rickety stools by the side of the fire. The 
 old man brought from one corner of the apartment an apron, which he occa¬ 
 sionally wore, full of broken boards in irregular pieces, some of which were 
 covered with black cloth, or driven full of nails, black, as it might happen, 
 or gilded. . • 
 
 “ You will find this fresh fuel necessary,” said the old man, “ to keep 
 some degree of heat within this waste apartment; nor are the vapours of 
 mortality, with which this vault is apt to be filled, if the fire is permitted 
 to become extinct, indifferent to the lungs of the dainty and the healthy, 
 like your worship, though to me they are become habitual. The wood will 
 catch fire, although it is some time ere the damps of the grave are overcome 
 by the drier air, and the warmth of the chimney.” 
 
 Accordingly, the relics «of mortality with which the old man had heaped 
 his fireplace, began by degrees to send forth a thick unctuous vapour, which 
 at length leaped to light, and blazing up the aperture, gave a degree of live¬ 
 liness to the gloomy scene. The blazonry of the huge escutcheon met and 
 returned the rays with as brilliant a reflection as that lugubrious object was 
 capable of, and the whole apartment looked with a fantastic gaiety, strangely 
 mingled with the gloomy ideas which its ornaments were calculated to im¬ 
 press upon the imagination. 
 
 “ You are astonished,” said the old man, “ and perhaps. Sir Knight, you 
 have never before seen these relics of the dead applied to the purpose of 
 • rendering the living, in some degree, more comfortable than their condition 
 would otherwise admit of.” 
 
 “Comfortable!” returned the Knight of Valence, shrugging his shoul¬ 
 ders ; “ I should be sorry, old man, to know that I had a dog that was as 
 indifferently quartered as thou art, whose grey hairs have certainly seen 
 better days.” 
 
 * [This is a most, graphic and accurate description of the present state of the ruin. Its being occupied by 
 the sexton as a dwelling-place, and the whole scene of the old man’s interview with De Valence, may be 
 classed with our illustrious author’s most felicitous imaginings.—iVb/e by the Rev. Mr. Stewart of Douglas.] 
 
 VoL. XII. —21 
 
322 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ It may be/’ answered the sexton, “ and it may be otherwise ; but it was 
 not, I presume, concerning my own history that your worship seemed dis¬ 
 posed to ask me some questions; and I would venture to enquire, therefore, 
 to whom they have relation ?” 
 
 “ I will speak plainly to you,” replied Sir Aymer, “ and you will at once 
 acknowledge the necessity of giving a short and distinct reply. I have 
 even now met in the streets of this village a person only shown to me by a 
 single flash of light, who had the audacity to display the armorial insignia 
 and utter the war-cry of the Douglasses; nay, if I could trust a transient 
 glance, this daring cavalier had the features and the dark complexion proper 
 to the Douglas. I am referred to thee as to one who possesses means of 
 explaining this extraordinary circumstance, which, as an English knight, 
 and one holding a charge under King Edward, I am particularly called 
 upon to make enquiry into.” 
 
 “ Let me make a distinction,” said the old man. “ The Douglasses of 
 former generations are my near neighbours, and, according to my supersti¬ 
 tious townsmen, my acquaintances and visitors; I can take it upon my con¬ 
 science to be answerable for their good behaviour, and to become bound 
 that none of the old barons, to whom the roots of that mighty tree may, it 
 is said, be traced, will again disturb with their war-cry the towns or villages 
 of their native country—not one will parade in moonshine the black armour 
 which has long rusted upon their tombs. 
 
 ‘The knights are dust, 
 
 And their good swords are rust; 
 
 Their souls are with the saints, we trust.’* 
 
 Look around, Sir Knight, you have above and around you the men of whom 
 we speak. Beneath us, in a little aisle, (which hath not been opened since 
 these thin grey locks were thick and brown,) there lies the first man whom 
 I can name as memorable among those of this mighty line. It is he whom 
 the Thane of Athol pointed out to the King of Scotland as Sholto Dhuglass, 
 or the dark iron-coloured man, whose exertions had gained the battle for 
 his native prince; and who, according to this legend, bequeathed his name 
 to our dale and town, though others say that the race assumed the name 
 of Douglass from the stream so called in unrecorded times, before they had 
 their fastness on its banks. Others, his descendants, called Eachain, or 
 Hector the first, and Orodh, or Hugh, William, the first of that name, and 
 Gilmour, the theme of many a minstrel song, commemorating achievements 
 done under the oriflamme of Charles the Great, Emperor of France, have 
 all consigned themselves to their last sleep, nor has their memory been suffi¬ 
 ciently preserved from the waste of time. Somqf^hing we know concerning 
 their great deeds, their great power, and, alas! their great crimes. Some¬ 
 thing we also know of a Lord of Douglas who sat in a parliament at Forfar, 
 held by King Malcolm the First, and we are aware that from his attach¬ 
 ment to hunting the wild hart, he built himself a tower called Blackhouse, 
 in the forest of Ettrick, which perhaps still exists.” 
 
 “ I crave your forgiveness, old man,” said the knight, “ but I have no 
 time at present to bestow upon the recitation of the pedigree of the House 
 of Douglas. A less matter would hold a well-breathed minstrel in subject 
 for recitation for a calendar month, Sundays and holidays included.” 
 
 * [The author has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of Coleridge: — 
 
 “Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan,— 
 
 Where may the grave of that good knight be ? 
 
 By the marge of a brook, on the slope of Helvellyn, 
 
 Under the boughs of a young birch tree. 
 
 The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear, 
 
 That rustled in Autumn all withered and sear, 
 
 That whistled and groan’d thro’ the Winter alone. 
 
 He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown. 
 
 The knight’s bones are dust. 
 
 His good sword is rust; 
 
 His spirit is with the saints, we trust.” Edit.l 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 323 
 
 “What other information can you expect from me,” said the sexton, 
 “ than that respecting; those heroes, some of whom it has been my lot to 
 consign to that eternal rest, which will for ever divide the dead from the 
 duties of this world ? I have told you where the race sleep, down to the 
 reign of the royal Malcolm. I can tell you also of another vault, in which 
 lie Sir John of Douglas-burn, with his son Lord Archibald, and a third 
 AVilliam, known by an indenture with Lord Abernethy. Lastly, I can tell 
 you of him to whom that escutcheon, with its appurtenances of splendour 
 and dignity, justly belong. Do you envy that nobleman, whom, if death 
 were in the sound, I would not hesitate to term my honourable patron ? and 
 have you any design of dishonouring his remains ? It will be a poor vic¬ 
 tory ! nor does it become a knight and nobleman to come in person to enjoy 
 such a triumph over the dead, against whom, when he lived, there were few 
 knights dared spur their horses. He fought in defence of his country, but 
 he had not the good fortune of most of his ancestors, to die on the field of 
 battle. Captivity, sickness, and regret for the misfortunes of his native 
 land, brought his head to the grave in his prison-house, in the laud of the 
 stranger.” 
 
 The old man’s voice here became interrupted by emotion, and the Eng¬ 
 lish knight found it diflBcult to continue his examination in the stern fashion 
 which his duty required. 
 
 “ Old man,” he said, “ I do not require from thee this detail, which must 
 be useless to me, as well as painful to thyself. Thou dost but thy duty in 
 rendering justice to thy ancient lord ; but thou hast not yet explained to 
 me why I have met in this town, this very night, and not half an hour 
 since, a person in the arms, and bearing the complexion, of one of the Black 
 Douglasses, who cried his war-cry as if in contempt of his conquerors.” 
 
 “ Surely,” replied the sexton, “ it is not my business to explain such a 
 fancy, otherwise than by supposing that the natural fears of the Southron 
 will raise the spectre of a Douglas at any time, when he is within sight of 
 their sepulchre. Methinks, in such a night as this, the fairest cavalier 
 would wear the complexion of this swarthy race, nor can I hold it wonder¬ 
 ful that the war-cry which was once in the throats of so many thousands in 
 this country, should issue upon occasion from the mouth of a single cham¬ 
 pion.” 
 
 “You are bold, old man,” returned the English knight; “do you con¬ 
 sider that your life is in my power, and that it may, in certain cases, be my 
 duty to inflict death with that degree of pain at which humanity shudders?” 
 
 The old man rose up slowly in the light of the blazing fire, displaying 
 his emaciated features, which resembled those ascribed by artists to Saint 
 Anthony of the desert; and pointing to the feeble lamp, which he placed 
 upon the coarse table, thus addressed his interrogator, with an appearance 
 of perfect firmness, and something even resembling dignity: — 
 
 “ Young knight of England, you see that utensil constructed for the pur¬ 
 pose of dispensing light amid these fatal vaults,—it is as frail as any thing 
 can well be, whose flame'is supplied by living element, contained in a frame 
 composed of iron. It is doubtless in your power entirely to end its service, 
 by destroying the frame, or extinguishing the light. Threaten it with such 
 annihilation. Sir Knight, and see whether your menace will impress any 
 sense of fear either on the element or the iron. Know that you have no 
 more power over the frail mortal whom you threaten with similar annihila¬ 
 tion. Y’^ou may tear from my body the skin in which it is now swathed, 
 but although my nerves might glow with agony during the inhuman ope¬ 
 ration, it would produce no more impression on me than flaying on the 
 stag which an arrow has previously pierced through the heart. IMy age 
 sets me beyond your cruelty: if you think otherwise, call your agents, and 
 commence your opera.tions; neither threats nor inflictions will enable you 
 
824 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 to extort from me any thing that I am not ready to tell you of my own 
 accord/^ 
 
 “You trifle with me, old man,^’ said De Valence; “you talk as if you 
 possessed some secret respecting the motions of these Douglasses, who are 
 to you as gods, yet you communicate no intelligence to me whatever.’^ 
 
 “ You may soon know,’^ replied the old man, “ all that a poor sexton has 
 to communicate; and it will not increase your knowledge respecting the 
 living, though it may throw some light upon my proper domains, which are 
 those of the dead. The spirits of the deceased Douglasses do not rest in 
 their graves during the dishonour of their monuments, and the downfall of 
 their house. That, upon death, the greater part of any line are consigned 
 to the regions of eternal bliss, or of never-ending misery, religion will not 
 suffer us to believe, and amidst a race who had so great a share of worldly 
 triumph and prosperity, we must suppose there have existed many who 
 have been justly subjected to the doom of an intermediate space of punish¬ 
 ment. You have destroyed the temples which were built by their posterity 
 to propitiate Heaven for the welfare of their souls; you have silenced the 
 prayers and stopt the choirs, by the mediation of which the piety of child¬ 
 ren had sought to appease the wrath of Heaven in behalf of their ances¬ 
 tors, subjected to expiatory fires. Can you wonder that the tormented 
 spirits, thus deprived of the relief which had been proposed to them, should 
 not, according to the common phrase, rest in their graves ? Can you won¬ 
 der they should show themselves like discontented loiterers near to the 
 places which, but for the manner in which you have prosecuted your re¬ 
 morseless warfare, might have ere now afforded them rest? Or do you 
 marvel that these fleshless warriors should interrupt your marches, and do 
 W'hat else their airy nature may permit to disturb your councils, and meet 
 as far as they may the hostilities which you make it your boast to carry on, 
 as well against those who are deceased, as against any who may yet survive 
 your cruelty 
 
 “ Old man,^^ replied Aymer de Valence, “ you cannot expect that I am to 
 take for answer a story like this, being a fiction too gross to charm to sleep 
 a schoolboy tormented with the toothache ; nevertheless, I thank God that 
 thy doom does not remain in my hands. My squire and two archers shall 
 carry thee captive to the worshipful Sir John de Walton, Governor of the 
 Castle and Valley, that he may deal with thee as seems meet; nor is he a 
 person to believe in your apparitions and ghosts from purgatory.—What ho ! 
 Fabian! Come hither, and bring with thee two archers of the guard.^^ 
 
 Fabian accordingly, who had waited at the entrance of the ruined build¬ 
 ing, now found his way, by the light of the old sexton's lamp, and the 
 sound of his master's voice, into the singular apartment of the old man, the 
 strange decorations of which struck the youth with great surprise, and 
 some horror. 
 
 “ Take the two archers with thee, Fabian," said the Knight of Valence, 
 “ and, with their assistance, convey this old man, on horseback, or in a 
 litter, to the presence of the worshipful Sir John de Walton. Tell him 
 what we have seen, which thou didst witness as well as I; and tell him 
 that this old sexton, whom I send to be examined by his superior wisdom, 
 seems to know more than he is willing to disclose respecting our ghostly 
 cavalier, though he will give us no account of him, except intimating that 
 he is a spirit of the old Douglasses from purgatory, to which Sir John de 
 Walton will give what faith he pleases. You may say, that, for my part, 
 my belief is, either that the sexton is crazed by age, want, and enthusiasm, 
 or that he is connected with some plot which the country people are hatch¬ 
 ing. You may also say that I shall not use much ceremony with the youth 
 under the care of the Abbot of St. Bride; there is something suspicious in 
 all the occurrences that are now passing around us." 
 
 Fabian promised obedience; and the knight, pulling him aside, gave him 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 325 
 
 an additional caution, to behave with attention in this business, seeing he 
 must recollect that neither the judgment of himself, nor that of his master, 
 were apparently held in very much esteem by the governor; and that it 
 would ill become them to make any mistake in a matter where the safety 
 of the Castle was perhaps concerned. 
 
 “ Fear me not, worshipful sir,’' replied the youth; “ I am returning to 
 pure air in the first place, and a good fire in the second, both acceptable 
 exchanges for this dungeon of suffocating vapours and execrable smells. 
 You may trust to my making no delay; a very short time will carry me 
 back to Castle Douglas, even moving with suitable attention to this old 
 man’s bones." 
 
 “Use him humanely," answered the knight. “And thou, old man, if 
 thou art insensible to threats of personal danger in this matter, remember, 
 that if thou art found paltering with us, thy punishment will perhaps be 
 more severe than any we can inflict upon thy person." 
 
 “Can you administer the torture to the soul?" said the sexton. 
 
 “ As to thee," answered the knight, “ we have that power ;—we will dis¬ 
 solve every monastery or religious establishment held for the souls of these 
 Douglasses, and will only allow the religious people to hold their residence 
 there upon condition of their praying for the soul of King Edward the First 
 of glorious memory, the malleus Scotorum; and if the Douglasses are 
 deprived of the ghostly benefit of the prayers and services of such shrines, 
 they may term thy obstinacy the cause." 
 
 “ Such a species of vengeance," answered the old man, in the same bold 
 unsubdued tone which he had hitherto used, “ were more worthy of the in¬ 
 fernal fiends than of Christian men." 
 
 The squire raised his hand. The knight interposed: “Forbear him," he 
 said, “Fabian, he is very old, and perhaps insane. — And you, sexton, re¬ 
 member that the vengeance threatened is lawfully directed towards a family 
 which have been the obstinate supporters of the excommunicated rebel, who 
 murdered the Red Comyn at the High Church in Dumfries." 
 
 So saying, Aymer strode out of the ruins, picking his way with much 
 difficulty—took his horse, which he found at the entrance—repeated a cau¬ 
 tion to Fabian, to conduct himself with prudence — and, passing on to the 
 south-western gate, gave the strongest injunctions concerning the necessity 
 of keeping a vigilant watch, both by patrols and by sentinels, intimating, 
 at the same time, that it must have been neglected during the preceding 
 part of the evening. The men murmured an apology, the confusion of 
 which seemed to express that there had existed some occasion for the re¬ 
 primand. 
 
 Sir Aymer then proceeded on his journey to Ilazelside, his train dimi¬ 
 nished by the absence of Fabian and his assistants. After a hasty, but not 
 a short journey, the knight alighted at Thomas Dickson’s, where he found 
 the detachment from Ayr had arrived before him, and were snugly housed 
 for the night. lie sent one of the archers to announce his approach to the 
 Abbot of Saint Bride and his young guest, intimating at the same time, that 
 the archer must keep sight of the latter until he himself arrived at the 
 chapel, which would be instantly. 
 
 2c 
 
826 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 €\m\n tjiB (Knitji. 
 
 When the ni^htengale singes, the wodes waxes grene, 
 
 Lef, and gras, and blosnie, springelh in April I wene. 
 
 And love is to myne herte gone with one speare so kene. 
 
 Night and day my blood hyt drynkes, mine herte deth me tene. 
 
 3ISS. Hail. Quoted by Warton. 
 
 Sir Aymer de Valence had no sooner followed his archer to the convent 
 of Saint Bride, than he summoned the abbot to his presence, who came 
 with the air of a man who loves his ease, and who is suddenly called from 
 the .couch where he has consigned himself to a comfortable repose, at the 
 summons of one whom he does not think it safe to disobey, and to whom he 
 would not disguise his sense of peevishness, if he durst. 
 
 “ It is a late ride,’' he said, “ which has brought your worthy honour 
 hither from the castle. May I be informed of the cause, after the arrange¬ 
 ment so recently gone into with the governor?” 
 
 “It is my hope,” replied the knight, “ that you. Father Abbot, are not 
 already conscious of it; suspicions are afloat, and I myself have this night 
 seen something to confirm them, that some of the obstinate rebels of this 
 country are again setting afoot dangerous practices, to the peril of the gar¬ 
 rison ; and I come, father, to see whether, in requital of many fiivours re¬ 
 ceived from the English monarch, you will not merit his bounty and pro¬ 
 tection, by contributing to the discovery of the designs of his enemies.” 
 
 “Assuredly so,” answered Father Jerome, in an agitated voice. “Most 
 unquestionably my information should stand at your command ; that is, if 
 I knew any thing the communication of which could be of advantage to 
 you.” 
 
 “ Father Abbot,” replied the English knight, “ although it is rash to make 
 myself responsible for a North-country man in these times, yet I own I do 
 consider you as one who has ever been faithfully subject to the King of 
 England, and I willingly hope that you will still continue so.” 
 
 “ And a fine encouragement I have !” said the abbot; “ to be called out 
 of my bed at midnight, in this raw weather, to undergo the examination of 
 a knight, who is the youngest, perhaps, of his own honourable rank, and 
 who will not tell me the subject of the interrogatories, but detains me on 
 this cold pavement, till, according to the opinion of Celsus, the podagra 
 which lurks in my feet may be driven into my stomach, and then good¬ 
 night to abbacy and examinations from henceforward.” 
 
 “Good father,” said the young man, “the spirit of the times must teach 
 thee patience ; recollect that I can feel no pleasure in this duty, and that if 
 an insurrection should take place, the rebels, who are sufficiently displeased 
 with thee for acknowledging the English monarch, would hang thee from 
 thine own steeple to feed the crows; or that, if thou hast secured thy peace 
 by some private compact with the insurgents, the English governor, who 
 will sooner or later gain the advantage, will not fail to treat thee as a rebel 
 to his sovereign.” 
 
 “ It may appear to you, my noble son,” answered the abbot, obviously 
 discomposed, “ that I am hung up, in this case, on the horns of the dilemma 
 which you have stated ; nevertheless, I protest to you, that if any one accuses 
 me of conspiring with the rebels against the King of England, I am ready, 
 provided you give me time to swallow a potion recommended by Celsus in 
 my perilous case, to answer with the most perfect sincerity every question 
 which you can put to me upon that subject.” So saying, he called upon a 
 monk who had attended at his lev6e, and giving him a large key, whispered 
 something in his ear. The cup which the monk brought was of such capa- 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 827 
 
 city as proved Cclsus’s draught required to be administered in considerable 
 quantity, and a strong smell which it spread through the apartment, 
 accredited the knight’s suspicion that the medicine chiefly consisted of 
 what were then termed distilled w'aters, a preparation known in the monas¬ 
 teries for some time before that comfortable secret had readied the laity in 
 general. The abbot, neither overawed by the strength nor by the quantity 
 of the potion, took it otf with what he himself would have called a feeling 
 of solace and pleasance, and his voice became much more composed ; he 
 signified himself as comforted extraordinarily”by the medicine, and willing 
 to proceed to answer any questions which could be put to him by his gallant 
 young friend. 
 
 “At present,” said the knight, “you are aware, father, that strangers 
 travelling through this country, must be the first objects of our suspicions 
 and enquiries. What is, for example, your own opinion of the youth termed 
 Augustine, the son, or calling himself so, of a person called Bertram the 
 minstrel, who has resided for some days in your convent?” 
 
 The abbot heard the question with eyes expressive of surprise at the 
 quarter from which it came. 
 
 “ Assuredly,” said he, “ I think of him as a youth who, from any thing 
 1 have seen, is of that excellent disposition, both with respect to loyalty and 
 religion, which 1 should have expected, were I to judge from the estimable 
 person who committed him to my care.” 
 
 With this the abbot bowed to the knight, as if he had conceived that this 
 repartee gave him a silencing advantage in any question which could follow 
 upon that subject; and ho was probably, therefore, surprised when Sir 
 Aymer replied as follows : 
 
 “It is very true, Father Abbot, that I myself did recommend this strip¬ 
 ling to you as a youth of a harmless disposition, and with respect to whom 
 it would be unnecessary to exercise the strict vigilance extended to others 
 in similar circumstances ; but the evidence which seemed to me to vouch for 
 this young man’s innocence, has not appeared so satisfactory to my superior 
 and commander; and it is by his orders that I now make fiirther enquiries 
 of you. You must think they are of consequence, since we again trouble 
 you, and at so unwonted an hour.” 
 
 “ I can only protest by my order, and by the veil of Saint Bride,” replied 
 the abbot, the spirit of Celsus appearing to fail his pupil, “that whatever 
 evil may be in this matter, is totally unknown to me — nor could it be ex¬ 
 torted from me by racks or implements of torture. Whatever signs of dis¬ 
 loyalty may have been evinced by this young man, I have witnessed none 
 of them, although I have been strictly attentive to his behaviour.” 
 
 “In what respect?’^ said the knight—“and what is the result of your 
 observation ?” 
 
 “ My answer,” said the abbot of Saint Bride, “ shall be sincere and down¬ 
 right. The youth condescended upon payment of a certain number of gold 
 crowns, not by any means to repay the hospitality of the church of Saint 
 Bride, but merely”- 
 
 “Nay, father,” interrupted the knight, “you may cut that short, since 
 the governor and I well understand the terras upon which the monks of 
 Saint Bride exercise their hospitality. In what manner, it is more neces¬ 
 sary to ask, was it received by this boy ?” 
 
 “ With the utmost gentleness and moderation, noble sir,” answered the 
 abbot; “ indeed it appeared to me, at first, that he might be a troublesome 
 guest, since the amount of his benevolence to the convent was such as to 
 encourage, and, in some degree, to authorise, his demanding accommodation 
 of a kind superior to what we had to bestow.” 
 
 “In which case,” said Sir Aymer, “you would have had the discomfort 
 of returning some part of the money you have received ?’' 
 
 “ That,” replied the abbot, “ would have been a mode of settlement con- 
 
328 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 trary to our vows. What is paid to the treasury of Saint Bridget, cannot, 
 agreeably to our rule, be on any account restored. But, noble knight, there 
 was no occasion for this ; a crust of white bread and a draught of milk 
 were diet sufficient to nourish this poor youth for a day, and it was my own 
 anxiety for his health that dictated the furnishing of his cell with a softer 
 bed and coverlet than are quite consistent with the rules of our order.^’ 
 
 “Now hearken to what I say, Sir Abbot, and answer me truly,said the 
 Knight of Valence — “What communication has this youth held with the 
 inmates of your convent, or with those beyond your house? Search your 
 memory concerning this, and let me have a distinct answer, for your guest’s 
 safety and your own depend upon it.” 
 
 “ As I am a Christian man,” said the abbot, “ I have observed nothing 
 which could give ground for your worship’s suspicions. The boy Augus¬ 
 tine, unlike those whom I have observed who have been educated in the 
 world, shoAved a marked preference to the company of such sisters as the 
 house of Saint Bride contains, rather than for that of the monks, my bre¬ 
 thren, although there are among them pleasant and conversible men.” 
 
 “ Scandal,” said the young knight, “ might find a reason for that prefer¬ 
 ence.” 
 
 “Not in the case of the sisters of Saint Bridget,” said the abbot, “most 
 of whom have been either sorely misused by time, or their comeliness de¬ 
 stroyed by some mishap previously to their being received into the seclusion 
 of the house.” 
 
 This observation the good father made with some internal movement of 
 mirth, which was apparently excited at the idea of the sisterhood of Saint 
 Bridget becoming attractive to any one by dint of their personal beauty, in 
 which, as it happened, they were all notably, and almost ludicrously, defi¬ 
 cient. The English knight, to whom the sisterhood were well known, felt 
 also inclined to smile at this conversation. 
 
 “I acquit,” he said, “the pious sisterhood of charming, otherwise than 
 by their kind wishes, and attention to the wants of the suffering stranger.” 
 
 “ Sister Beatrice,” continued the father, resuming his gravity, “ is in¬ 
 deed blessed with a winning gift of making comfits and syllabubs; but, on 
 minute enquiry, I do not find that the youth has tasted any of them. 
 Neither is sister Ursula so hard-favoured by nature, as from the effects of 
 an accident; but your honour knows that when a woman is ugly, the men 
 do not trouble themselves about the cause of her hard favour. I will go, 
 with your leave, and see in what state the youth now is, and summon him 
 before you.” 
 
 “ I request you to do so, father, for the affair is instant: and I earnestly 
 advise you to watch, in the closest manner, this Augustine’s behaviour: 
 you cannot be too particular. ' I will wait your return, and either carry 
 the boy to the castle, or leave him here, as circumstances may seem to 
 require.” 
 
 The abbot bowed, promised his utmost exertions, and hobbled out of the 
 room to wait on the youth Augustine in his cell, anxious to favour, if 
 I possible, the wishes of De Valence, whom he looked upon as rendered by 
 circumstances his military patron. 
 
 He remained long absent, and Sir Aymer began to be of opinion that 
 the delay was suspicious, when the abbot returned with perplexity and dis¬ 
 composure in his countenance. 
 
 “ I crave your pardon for keeping your worship waiting,” said Jerome, 
 with much anxiety ; “ but I have myself been detained and vexed by un¬ 
 necessary formalities and scruples on the part of this peevish boy. In the 
 first place, hearing my foot approaching his bedroom, my youth, instead of 
 undoing the door, which would have been but proper respect to my place, 
 on the contrary draws a strong bolt on the inside; and this fastening, for¬ 
 sooth, has been placed on his chamber by Ursula’s command, that his 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 829 
 
 Bliim])ors might be suitably respected. I intimated to him as I best could, 
 that he must attend you without delay, and prepare to accompany you to 
 the Castle of Douglas; but he would not answer a single word, save re¬ 
 commending to me patience, to which I was fain to liave recourse, as well 
 as your archer, whom I found standing sentinel before the door of the cell, 
 and contenting himself with the assurance of the sisters that there was no 
 other passage by which Augustine could make his escape. At length the 
 door opens, and my young master presents himself fully arrayed for his 
 journey. The truth is, 1 think some fresh attack of his malady has affected 
 the youth ; he may perhaps be disturbed with some touch of hypochondria, 
 or black choler, a species of dotage of the mind, which is sometimes found 
 concomitant with and symptomatic of this disorder; but he is at present 
 composed, and if your worship chooses to see him, he is at your com¬ 
 mand.^’ 
 
 “ Call him hither,^’ said the knight. And a considerable space of time 
 again elapsed ere the eloquence of the abbot, half chiding and half soothing, 
 prevailed on the lady, in her adopted character, to approach the parlour, in 
 which at last she made her appearance, with a countenance on which the 
 marks of tears might still be discovered, and a pettish sullenness, like that 
 of a boy, or, with reverence, that of a girl, who is determined upon taking 
 her own way in any matter, and equally resolved to give no reason for her 
 doing so. Her hurried lev6e had not prevented her attending closely to all 
 the mufllings and disguisings by which her pilgrim’s dress was arranged, 
 so as to alter her appearance, and effectually disguise her sex. But as 
 civility prevented her wearing her large slouched hat, she necessarily 
 exposed her countenance more than in the open air; and though the knight 
 beheld a most lovely set of features, yet they were not such as were incon¬ 
 sistent with the character she had adopted, and which she had resolved 
 upon maintaining to the last. She had, accordingly, mustered up a degree 
 01 courage which was not natural to her, and which she perhaps supported 
 by hopes which her situation hardly admitted. So soon as she found her¬ 
 self in the same apartment with De Valence, she assumed a style of manners, 
 bolder and more determined than she had hitherto displayed. 
 
 ‘‘Your worship,” she said, addressing him even before he spoke, “is a 
 knight of England, and possessed, doubtless, of the virtues which become 
 that noble station. I am an unfortunate lad, obliged, by reasons which I 
 am under the necessity of keeping secret, to travel in a dangerous country, 
 where I am suspected, without any just cause, of becoming accessory to 
 plots and conspiracies which are contrary to my own interest, and which 
 my very soul abhors; and which I might safely abjure, by imprecating 
 upon myself all the curses of our religion and renouncing all its promises, 
 if I were accessory to such designs, in thought, word, or deed. Neverthe¬ 
 less, you, who will not believe my solemn protestations, are about to pro¬ 
 ceed against me as a guilty person, and in so doing I must warn you. Sir 
 Knight, that you will commit a great and cruel injustice.” 
 
 ‘‘1 shall endeavour to avoid that,” said the knight, “ by referring the 
 duty to Sir John de Walton, the governor, who will decide what is to bo 
 done; in this case, my “only duty will be to place you in his hands at 
 Douglas Castle.” 
 
 “ Must you do this ?” said Augustine. 
 
 “ Certainly,” replied the knight, “ or be answerable for neglecting my 
 duty.” 
 
 “ But if I become bound to answer your loss with a large sum of money, 
 a large tract of land”- 
 
 “No treasure, no land,—supposing such at your disposal,” answered the 
 knight, “ can atone for disgrace; and, besides, boy, how should I trust to 
 your warrant, were my avarice such as would induce me to listen to such 
 proposals ?” 
 
 2c2 
 
330 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ I must then prepare to attend you instantly to the Castle of Douglas 
 and the presence of Sir John de Walton?’^ replied Augustine. 
 
 “Young man/’ answered De Valence, “there is no remedy, since if you 
 delay me longer, I must carry you thither by force.” 
 
 “ What will be the consequence to my father?” said the youth. 
 
 “ That,” replied the knight, “ will depend exactly on the nature of your 
 confession and his; something you both have to say, as is evident from the 
 terms of the letter Sir John de Walton conveyed to you ; and I assure you, 
 you were better to speak it out at once than to risk the consequences of 
 more delay. I can admit of no more trifling; and, believe me, that your 
 fate will be entirely ruled by your own frankness and candour.” 
 
 “ I must prepare, then, to travel at your command,” said the youth. 
 “ But this cruel disease still hangs around me, and Abbot Jerome, whose 
 leech-craft is famous, will himself assure you that I cannot travel without 
 danger of ray life ; and that while I was residing in this convent, I de¬ 
 clined every opportunity of exercise which was offered me by the kindness 
 of the garrison at Hazelside, lest I might by mishap bring the contagion 
 among your men.” 
 
 “ The youth says right,” said the abbot; “ the archers and men-at-arms 
 have more than once sent to invite this lad to join in some of their military 
 games, or to amuse them, perhaps, with some of his minstrelsy; but he 
 has uniformly declined doing so; and, according to my belief, it is the 
 effects of this disorder which have prevented his accepting an indulgence 
 "so natural to his age, and in so dull a place as the convent of Saint Bride 
 must needs seem to a youth bred up in the world.” 
 
 “ Do you then hold, reverend father,” said Sir Aymer, “ that there is 
 real danger in carrying this youth to the castle to-night, as I proposed?” 
 
 “I conceive such danger,” replied the abbot, “to exist, not only as it 
 may occasion the relapse of the poor youth himself, but as particularly 
 likely, no preparations having been made, to introduce the infection 
 among your honourable garrison ; for it is in these relapses, more than in 
 the first violence of the malady, that it has been found most contagious.” 
 
 “Then,” said the knight, “you must be content, my friend, to give a 
 share of your room to an archer, by way of sentinel.” 
 
 “I cannot object,” said Augustine, “provided my unfortunate vicinity 
 does not endanger the health of the poor soldier.” 
 
 “ He will be as ready to do his duty,” said the abbot, “ without the door 
 of the apartment as within it; and if the youth should sleep soundly, which 
 the presence of a guard in his chamber might prevent, he is the more likely 
 to answer your purpose on the morrow.” 
 
 “ Let it be so,” said Sir Aymer ; “ so you are sure that you do not minister 
 any facility of escape.” 
 
 “ The apartment,” said the monk, “ hath no other entrance than that 
 which is guarded by the archer; but, to content you, I shall secure the door 
 in your presence.” 
 
 “So be it, then,” said the Knight of Valence; “ this done, I myself will 
 lie down without doffing my mail-shirt, and snatch a sleep till the ruddy 
 dawn calls me again to duty, when you, Augustine, will hold yourself ready 
 to attend me to our Castle of Douglas.” 
 
 The bells of the convent summoned the inhabitants and inmates of Saint 
 Bride to morning prayers at the first peep of day. When this duty was 
 over, the knight demanded his prisoner. The abbot marshalled him to the 
 door of Augustine’s chamber. The sentinel who was stationed there, armed 
 with a brown-bill, or species of partisan, reported that he had heard no 
 motion in the apartment during the whole night. The abbot tapped at the 
 door, but received no answer. He knocked again louder, but the silence 
 was unbroken from within. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 331 
 
 “What moans this?’^ said the reverend ruler of the convent of Saint 
 Bride ; “ my young patient has certainly fallen into a syncope or swoon 
 
 “I wish, Father Abbot,’’ said the knight, “that he may not have made 
 his escape instead, an accident which both you and I may be required to 
 answer, since, according to our strict duty, we ought to have kept sight of 
 him, and detained him in close custody until daybreak.” 
 
 “ I trust your worship,” said the abbot, “ only anticipates a misfortune 
 which I cannot think possible.” 
 
 “ We shall speedily see,” said the knight; and raising his voice, he called 
 aloud, so as to be heard within, “ Bring crow-bars and levers, and burst me 
 that door into splinters without an instant’s delay.” 
 
 ’J'he loudness of his voice, and the stern tone in which he spoke, soon 
 brought around him the brethren of the house, and two or three soldiers 
 of his own party, who were already busy in caparisoning their horses. The 
 displeasure of the young knight was manifested by his flushed features, and 
 the abrupt manner in which he again repeated his commands for breaking 
 open the door. This was speedily performed, though it required the appli¬ 
 cation of considerable strength, and as the shattered remains fell crashing 
 into the apartment, De Valence sprung, and the abbot hobbled, into the 
 cell of the prisoner, which, to the fultilment of their worst suspicions, they 
 found empty. 
 
 (CliO|ittr tilt (fUntntlj. 
 
 Where is he T Hjis the deep earth swallow’d him ? 
 
 Or hath he melted like some airy phantom 
 
 That shuns the approach of mom and the young sun? 
 
 Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, 
 
 And pass’d beyond the circuit of the sight 
 With things of the night’s shadows? 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 The disappearance of the youth, whose disguise and whose fate have, we 
 hope, inclined our readers to take some interest in him, will require some 
 explanation ere we proceed with the other personages of the story, and we 
 shall set about giving it accordingly. 
 
 When Augustine was consigned to his cell for the second time on the 
 preceding evening, both the monk and the young Knight of Valence had 
 seen the key turned upon him, and had heard him secure the door in the 
 inside with the bolt which had been put on at his request by sister Ursula, 
 in whose affections the youth of Augustine, his extreme handsomeness, and, 
 above all, his indisposition of body and his melancholy of mind, had gained 
 him considerable interest. 
 
 So soon, accordingly, as Augustine re-entered his apartment, he was 
 greeted in a whisper by the sister, who, during the interval of his absence, 
 had contrived to slip into the cell, and having tappiced herself behind the 
 little bed, came out with great appearance of joy, to greet the return of the 
 youth. The number of little attentions, the disposal of holly boughs, and 
 such other evergreens as the season permitted, showed the anxiety of the 
 holy sisters to decorate the chamber of their guest, and the greetings of 
 sister Ursula expressed the same friendly interest, at the same time inti¬ 
 mating that she was already in some degree in possession of the stranger’s 
 mystery. 
 
 As Augustine and the holy sister were busied in exchange of confidence, 
 the extraordinary dificrence between their countenances and their persons 
 
332 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 must have struck any one who might have been accidentally a witness of 
 their interview. The dark pilgrim’s robe of the disguised female was not 
 a stronger contrast to the white woollen garment worn by the votaress of 
 Saint Bride, than the visage of the nun, seamed with many a ghastly scar, 
 and the light of one of her eyes extinguished for ever, causing it to roll a 
 sightless luminary in her head, was to the beautiful countenance of Augus¬ 
 tine, now bent with a confidential, and even affectionate look, upon the 
 extraordinary features of her companion. 
 
 “You know,” said the supposed Augustine, “the principal part of my 
 story ; can you, or will you, lend me your assistance ? If not, my dearest 
 sister, you must consent to witness my death, rather than my shame. Yes, 
 sister Ursula, I will not be pointed at by the finger of scorn, as the thought¬ 
 less maiden who sacrificed so much for a young man, of whose attachment 
 she was not so well assured as she ought to have been. I will not be 
 dragged before De Walton, for the purpose of being compelled, by threats 
 of torture, to declare myself the female in honour of whom he holds the 
 Dangerous Castle. No doubt, he might be glad to give his hand in wed¬ 
 lock to a damsel whose dowry is so ample; but who can tell whether he will 
 regard me with that respect which every woman would wish to command, 
 or pardon that boldness of which I have been guilty, even though its conse¬ 
 quences have been in his own favour?” 
 
 “Nay, my darling daughter,” answered the nun, “comfort yourself; for 
 in all I can aid you, be assured I will. My means are somewhat more than 
 my present situation may express, and, be assured, they shall be tried to 
 the uttermost. Methinks, I still hear that lay which you sung to the other 
 sisters and myself, although I alone, touched by feelings kindred to yours, 
 had the address to comprehend that it told your own tale.” 
 
 “I am yet surprised,” said Augustine, speaking beneath her breath, “how 
 I had the boldness to sing in your ears the lay, which, in fact, was the his¬ 
 tory of my disgrace.” 
 
 “ Alas ! that you will say so,” returned the nun ; “ there was not a word 
 but what resembled those tales of love and of high-spirited daring which 
 the best minstrels love to celebrate, and the noblest knights and maidens 
 weep at once and smile to hear. The Lady Augusta of Berkely, a great 
 heiress, according to the world, both in land and movable goods, becomes 
 the King’s ward by the death of her parents; and thus is on the point of 
 being given away in marriage to a minion of the King of England, whom 
 . in these Scottish valleys, we scruple not to call a peremptory tyrant.” 
 
 “I must not say so, my sister,” said the pilgrim; “and yet, true it is, 
 that the cousin of the obscure parasite Gaviston, on whom the king wished 
 to confer my poor hand, was neither by birth, merit, nor circumstance, 
 worthy of such an alliance. Meantime, I heard of the fame of Sir John 
 de Walton; and I heard of it not with the less interest that his feats of 
 chivalry were said to adorn a knight, who, rich in everything else, was poor 
 in worldly goods, and in the smiles of fortune. I saw this Sir John de 
 Walton, and I acknowledge that a thought, which had already intruded 
 itself on my imagination, became, after this interview, by frequent recur¬ 
 rence, more familiar, and more welcome to me. Methought that the daughter 
 of a powerful English family, if she could give away with her hand such 
 wealth as the world spoke of, would more justly and honourably bestow it 
 in remedying the errors of fortune in regard to a gallant knight like De 
 AValton, than in patching the revenues of a beggarly Frenchman, whose 
 only merit was in being the kinsman of a man who was very generally de¬ 
 tested by the whole kingdom of England, excepting the infatuated monarch 
 himself.” 
 
 “Nobly designed, my daughter,” said the nun ; “ what more worthy of a 
 noble heart, possessing riches, beauty, birth, and rank, than to confer them 
 all upon indigent and chivalrous merit?” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 333 
 
 “ Such, dearest sister, was my intention,replied Augustine; “ but I 
 have, perhaps, scarce sufficiently explained the manner in which I meant 
 to proceed. By the advice of a minstrel of our house, the same who is now 
 prisoner at Douglas, I caused exhibit a large feast upon Christmas eve, and 
 sent invitations abroad to the young knights of noble name who were known 
 to spend their leisure in quest of arms and adventures. When the tables 
 were drawn, and the feast concluded, Bertram, as had been before de¬ 
 vised, was called upon to take his harp. He sung, receiving from all who 
 were present the attention due to a minstrel of so much fame. The theme 
 which he chose, was the frequent capture of this Douglas Castle, or, as the 
 poet termed it, Castle Dangerous. ‘ Where are the champions of the re¬ 
 nowned Edward the First,^ said the minstrel, ‘ when the realm of England 
 cannot furnish a man brave enough, or sufficiently expert in the wars, to 
 defend a miserable hamlet of the North against the Scottish rebels, who 
 have vowed to retake it over our soldiers’ heads ere the year rolls to an end? 
 Where are the noble ladies, whose smiles used to give countenance to the 
 Knights of Saint George’s Cross ? Alas ! the spirit of love and of chivalry 
 is alike dead amongst us—our knights are limited to petty enterprises—and 
 our noblest heiresses are given as prizes to strangers, as if their own country 
 had no one to deserve them.’ — Here stopt the harp; and I shame to say, 
 that I myself, as if moved to enthusiasm by the song of the minstrel, arose, 
 and taking from my neck the chain of gold which supported a crucifix of 
 special sanctity, I made my vow, always under the King’s permission, that 
 1 would give my hand, and the inheritance of my fathers, to the good knight, 
 being of noble birth and lineage, who should keep the Castle of Douglas in 
 the King of England’s name, for a year and a day. I sat down, my dearest 
 sister, deafened with the jubilee in which my guests expressed their applause 
 of my supposed patriotism. Yet some degree of pause took place amidst 
 the young knights, who might reasonably have been supposed ready to 
 embrace this offer, although at the risk of being encumbered with Augusta 
 of Berkely.” 
 
 “ Shame on the man,” said sister Ursula, “ who should think so! Put 
 your beauty alone, ray dearest, into consideration, and a true knight ought 
 to have embraced the dangers of twenty Castles of Douglas, rather than 
 let such an invaluable opportunity of gaining your favour be lost.” 
 
 “ It may be that some in reality thought so,” said the pilgrim ; “ but it 
 was supposed that the king’s favour might be lost by those who seemed too 
 anxious to thwart his royal purpose upon his ward’s hand. At any rate, 
 greatly to my joy, the only person who availed himself of the offer I had 
 made was Sir John de Walton ; and as his acceptance of it was guarded by 
 a clause, saving and reserving the king’s approbation, I hope he has not suf¬ 
 fered any diminution of Edward’s favour.” 
 
 “ Assure yourself, noble and high-spirited young lady,” replied the nun, 
 “that there is no fear of thy generous devotion hurting thy lover with the 
 King of England. Something we hear concerning worldly passages, even 
 in this remote nook of Saint Bride’s cloister; and the report goes among 
 the English soldiers that their king was indeed offended at your putting 
 your will in opposition to his own ; yet, on the other hand, this preferred 
 lover, Sir John de Walton, was a man of such extensive fame, and your 
 offer was so much in the character of better but not forgotten times, that 
 even a king could not at the beginning of a long and stubborn war deprive 
 an errant cavalier of his bride, if she should be duly won by his sword and 
 lance.” 
 
 “Ah ! dearest sister Ursula!” sighed the disguised pilgrim, “but, on the 
 other hand, how much time must pass by in the siege, by defeating which 
 that suit must needs be advanced? AVhile I sat in my lonely castle, tidings 
 came to astound me with the numerous, or rather the constant dangers, 
 with which my lover was surrounded, until at length, in a moment I think 
 
334 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 of madness, I resolved to sot out in this masculine disguise ; and having 
 myself with my own eyes^seen in what situation I had placed my knight, I 
 determined to take such measures in respect to shortening the term of his 
 trial, or otherwise, as a sight of Douglas Castle, and — why should I deny 
 it? — of Sir John de AValton, might suggest. Perhaps you, my dearest 
 sister, may not so well understand my being tempted into flinching from 
 the resolution which I had laid down for my own honour, and that of my 
 lover; but consider, that my resolution was the consequence of a moment 
 of excitation, and that the course which I adopted was the conclusion of a 
 long, wasting, sickening state of uncertainty, the effect of which was to 
 weaken the nerves which were once highly strung with love of my country, 
 as I thought; but in reality, alas! with fond and anxious feelings of a more 
 selfish description.” 
 
 “ Alas!” said sister Ursula, evincing the strongest symptoms of interest 
 and compassion, “ am I the person, dearest child, whom you suspect of in¬ 
 sensibility to the distresses which are the fruit of true love ? Do you sup¬ 
 pose that the air which is breathed within these walls has the property upon 
 the female heart, of such marvellous fountains as they say change into stone 
 the substances which are immersed into their waters? Hear my tale, and 
 judge if it can be thus with one who possesses my causes of grief. And 
 do not fear for loss of time; we must let our neighbours at Hazelside be 
 settled for the evening, ere I furnish you with the means of escape ; and 
 you must have a trusty guide, for whose fidelity I will be responsible, to 
 direct your path through these woods, and protect you in case of any danger, 
 too likely to occur in these troublesome times. It will thus be nigh an hour 
 ere you depart; and sure I am that in no manner can you spend the time 
 better than in listening to distresses too similar to your own, and flowing 
 from the source of disappointed affection which you must needs sympathize 
 with.” 
 
 The distresses of the Lady Augusta did not prevent her being in some 
 degree affected, almost ludicrously, with the singular contrast between the 
 hideous countenance of this victim of the tender passion, and the cause to 
 which she imputed her sorrows ; but it was not a moment for giving way to 
 a sense of the ridiculous, which would have been in the highest degree 
 oflTensive to the sister of Saint Bride, whose good-will she had so many 
 reasons to conciliate. She readily, therefore, succeeded in preparing her¬ 
 self to listen to the votary with an appearance of sympathy, which might 
 reward that which she had herself experienced at the hands of sister Ursula; 
 while the unfortunate recluse, with an agitation which made her ugliness 
 still more conspicuous, narrated, nearly in a whisper, the following circum¬ 
 stances :— 
 
 “My misfortunes commenced long before I was called sister Ursula, or 
 secluded as a votaress within these walls. My father was a noble Norman, 
 who, like many of his countrymen, sought and found fortune at the court of 
 the King of Scotland. He was endowed with the sheriffdom of this county, 
 and Maurice de Hattely, or Ilautlieu, was numbered among the wealthy 
 and powerful barons of Scotland. AVherefore should I deny it, that the 
 daughter of this baron, then called Margaret de Hautlieu, was also distin- 
 tinguished among the great and fair of the land ? It can be no censurable 
 vanity which provokes me to speak the truth, and unless I tell it myself, 
 you could hardly suspect what a resemblance I once bore even to the lovely 
 Lady Augusta of Berkely. About this time broke out those unfortunate 
 feuds of Bruce and Baliol, which have been so long the curse of this coun¬ 
 try. My father, determined in his choice of party by the arguments of his 
 wealthy kinsmen at the court of Edward, embraced with passion the faction 
 of the English interest, and became one of the keenest partisans, at first of 
 John Baliol, and afterwards of the English monarch. None among the 
 Anglocised-Scottish, as his party was called, were so zealous as he for the 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 335 
 
 red cross, and no one was more detested by his countrymen who followed 
 the national standard of Saint Andrew and the patriot Wallace. Among 
 those soldiers of the soil, Malcolm Fleming of Biggar was one of the most 
 distinguished by his noble birth, his high acquirements, and his fame in 
 chivalry. I saw him ; and the ghastly spectre who now addresses you must 
 not be ashamed to say, that she loved, and was beloved by, one of the hand¬ 
 somest youths in Scotland. Our attachment was discovered to my father 
 almost ere we had owned it to each other, and he was furious both against 
 my lover and myself; he placed me under the charge of a religious woman 
 of this rule, and I was immured within the house of Saint Bride, where my 
 father shamed not to announce he would cause me to take the veil by force, 
 unless I agreed to wed a youth bred at the English court, his nephew; and, 
 as Heaven had granted him no son, the heir, as he had resolved, of the 
 house of Ilautlieu. I was not long in making my election. I protested 
 that death should be my choice, rather than any other husband excepting 
 Malcolm Fleming, Neither was my lover less faithful; he found means to 
 communicate to me a particular night on which he proposed to attempt to 
 storm the nunnery of Saint Bride, and carry me from hence to freedom and 
 the greenwood, of which AFallace was generally called the king. In an 
 evil hour—an hour I think of infatuation and witchery — I suffered the 
 abbess to wheedle the secret out of me, which I might have been sensible 
 would appear more horribly flagitious to her than to any other woman that 
 breathed ; but I had not taken the vows, and I thought Wallace and Fleming 
 had the same charms for every body as for me, and the artful woman gave 
 me reason to believe that her loyalty to Bruce was without a flaw of sus¬ 
 picion, and she took part in a plot of w'hich my freedom was the object. 
 The abbess engaged to have the English guards removed to a distance, and 
 in appearance the troops were withdrawn. Accordingly, in the middle of 
 the night appointed, the window of my cell, which was two stories from the 
 ground, was opened without noise; and never were my eyes more gladdened 
 than, as ready disguised and arrayed for flight, even in a horseman’s dress, 
 like yourself, fairest Lady Augusta, I saw Malcolm Fleming spring into the 
 apartment, lie rushed towards me; but at the same time my father with 
 ten of his strongest men filled the room, and cried their war-cry of Baliol. 
 Blow'S were instantly dealt on every side. A form like a giant, however, 
 appeared in the midst of the tumult, and distinguished himself, even to my 
 half-giddy eye, by the ease with which he bore down and dispersed those 
 who fought against our freedom. My father alone offered an opposition 
 which threatened to prove fatal to him ; for Wallace, it was said, could foil 
 any Hvo martial champions that ever drew sword. Brushing from him the 
 armed men, as a lady would drive away with her fan a swarm of trouble¬ 
 some flies, he secured me in one arm, used his other for our mutual pro¬ 
 tection, and I found myself in the act of being borne in safety down the 
 ladder by which my deliverers had ascended from without,—but an evil fate 
 awaited this attempt. 
 
 “ My father, whom the Champion of Scotland had spared for my sake, or 
 rather for Fleming’s, gained by his victor’s compassion and lenity a fearful 
 advantage, and made a remorseless use of it. Having only his left hand to 
 oppose to the maniac attempts of my father, even the strength of Wallace 
 could not prevent the assailant, with all the energy of desperation, from 
 throwing down the ladder, on which his daughter was perched like a dove 
 in the grasp of an eagle. The champion saw our danger, and exerting Ids 
 inimitable strength and agility, cleared himself and me from the ladder, and 
 leaped free of the moat of the convent, into which we must otherwise have 
 l)cen precipitated. The Champion of Scotland was saved in the desperate 
 attempt, but 1 who fell among a heap of stones and rubbish, I the disobe¬ 
 dient daughter, wellnigh the apostate vestal, waked only from a long bed 
 of sickness, to find myself the disfigured wretch, which you now see me. I 
 
336 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 then learned that Malcolm had escaped from the fray, and shortly after I 
 heard, with feelings less keen perhaps than they ought to have been, that 
 iny father was slain in one of the endless battles which took place between 
 the contending factions. If he had lived, I might have submitted to the 
 completion of my fate; but since he was no more, I felt that it would be a 
 preferable lot to be a beggar in the streets of a Scottish village, than an 
 abbess in this miserable house of Saint Bride ; nor was even that poor object 
 of ambition, on which my father used to expatiate when desirous of per¬ 
 suading me to enter the monastic state by milder means than throwing me 
 off the battlements, long open to me. The old abbess died of a cold caught 
 the evening of the fray; and the place, which might have been kept open 
 until I was capable of filling it, was disposed of otherwise, when the English 
 thought fit to reform, as they termed it, the discipline of the house; and 
 instead of electing a new abbess, sent hither two or three friendly monks, 
 who have now the absolute government of the community, and wield it 
 entirely according to the pleasure of the English. But I, for one, who have 
 had the honour to be supported by the arms of the Champion of my coun¬ 
 try, will not remain here to be commanded by this Abbot Jerome. I will 
 go forth, nor do I fear to find relations and friends, who will provide a more 
 fitting place of refuge for Margaret de Ilautlieu than the convent of Saint 
 Bride ; you, too, dearest lady, shall obtain your freedom, and it will be well 
 to leave such information as will make Sir John de Walton aware of the 
 devotion with which his happy fate has inspired you.^^ 
 
 “It is not, then, your own intention,’' said the Lady Augusta, “to return 
 into the world again, and you are about to renounce the lover, in a union 
 with whom you and he once saw your joint happiness?” 
 
 “ It is a question, my dearest child,” said sister Ursula, “ which I dare 
 not ask myself, and to which I am absolutely uncertain what answer I should 
 return. I have not taken the final and irrevocable vows ; I have done 
 nothing to alter my situation with regard to Malcolm Fleming. He also, 
 by the vows plighted in the Chancery of Heaven, is my affianced bridegroom, 
 nor am I conscious that I less deserve his faith, in any respect now, than at 
 the moment when it was pledged to me; but, I confess, dearest lady, that 
 rumours have reached me, which sting me to the quick; the reports of my 
 wounds and scars are said to have estranged the knight of my choice. I 
 am now, indeed, poor,” she added, with a sigh, “ and I am no longer pos¬ 
 sessed of those personal charms, which they say attract the love, and fix 
 the fidelity, of the other sex. I teach myself, therefore, to think, in my 
 moments of settled resolution, that all betwixt me and Malcolm Fleming is 
 at an end, saving good wishes on the part of both towards the other; and 
 yet there is a sensation in my bosom which whispers, in spite of my reason, 
 that if I absolutely believed that which I now say, there would be no object 
 on earth worthy my living for in order to attain it. This insinuating pre¬ 
 possession whispers, to my secret soul, and in very opposition to my reason 
 and understanding, that Malcolm Fleming, who could pledge his all upon 
 the service of his country, is incapable of nourishing the versatile affection 
 of an ordinary, a coarse, or a venal character. Methinks, were the difference 
 upon his part instead of mine, he would not lose his interest in my eyes, 
 because he was seamed with honourable scars, obtained in asserting the 
 freedom of his choice, but that such wounds would, in my opinion, add to 
 his merit, whatever they took away from his personal comeliness. Ideas 
 rise on my soul, as if Malcolm and Margaret might yet be to each other all 
 that their affections once anticipated with so much security, and that a 
 change, which took nothing from the honour and virtue of the beloved per¬ 
 son, must rather add to, than diminish, the charms of the union. Look at 
 me, dearest Lady Augusta! — look me—'if you have courage — full in the 
 face, and tell me whether I do not rave when my fancy is thus converting 
 mere possibilities into that which is natural and probable.” 
 
C A S T Ti K D A N (3 E R 0 U S. 
 
 837 
 
 The Lady of Berkel^, conscious of the necessity, raised her eyes on the 
 unfortunate nun, afraid of losing her own chance of deliverance by the 
 mode in which she should conduct herself in this crisis; yet not willing at 
 tlie same time to flatter the unfortunate Ursula, with suggesting ideas for 
 which her own sense told her she could hardly find any rational grounds. 
 But her imagination, stored with the minstrelsy of the time, brought back 
 to her recollection the Loathly Lady in “ The marriage of Sir Gawain,^^ and 
 she conducted her reply in the following manner: — 
 
 “ You ask me, my dear Lady Margaret, a trying question, which it would 
 be unfriendly to answer otherwise than sincerely, and most cruel to answer 
 w'ith too much rashness. It is true, that what is called beauty, is the first 
 quality on which we of the weaker sex learn to set a value ; we are flattered 
 by the imputation of personal charms, whether we actually possess them or 
 not; and no doubt we learn to place upon them a great deal more conse¬ 
 quence than in reality is found to belong to them. Women, however, even 
 such as are held by their own sex, and perhaps in secret by themselves, 
 as devoid of all pretensions to beauty, have been known to become, from 
 their understanding, their talents, or their accomplishments, the undoubted 
 objects of the warmest attachment. Wherefore then should you, in the 
 mere rashness of your apprehension, deem it impossible that your Malcolm 
 Fleming should be made of that porcelain clay of the earth, which despises 
 the passing captivations of outward form in comparison to the charms of 
 true affection, and the excellence of talents and virtue 
 
 The nun pressed her companion’s hand to her bosom, and answered her 
 with a deep sigh. 
 
 “ I fear,” she said, “ you flatter me; and yet in a crisis like this, it does 
 one good to be flattered, even as cordials, otherwise dangerous to the consti¬ 
 tution, are wisely given to support a patient through a paroxysm of agony, 
 and enable him to endure at least what they cannot cure. Answer only one 
 question, and it will be time to drop this conversation. Could you, sweet 
 lady — you upon w'hom fortune has bestowed so many charms — could any 
 argument make you patient under the irretrievable loss of your personal 
 advantages, with the concomitant loss, as in my case is most probable, of that 
 lover for whom you have already done so much ?” 
 
 The English lady cast her eyes again on her friend, and could not help 
 shuddering a little at the thought of her own beautiful countenance being 
 exchanged for the seamed and scarred features of the Lady of Ilautlieu, 
 irregularly lighted by the beams of a single eye. 
 
 “ Believe me,” she said, looking solemnly upwards, “ that even in the 
 case which you suppose, I would not sorrow so much for myself, as I would 
 for the poor-spirited thoughts of the lover who could leave me because those 
 transitory charms (which must in any case erelong take their departure) 
 had fled ere yet the bridal day. It is, however, concealed by the decrees of 
 Providence, in what manner, or to what extent, other persons, with whose 
 disposition we are not fully acquainted, may be affected by such changes. 
 I can only assure you that my hopes go with yours, and that there is no 
 difficulty which shall remain in your path in future, if it is in my power to 
 remove it.—Hark !”- 
 
 “ It is the signal of our freedom,” replied Ursula, giving attention to 
 something resembling the whoop of the night-owl. “We must prepare to 
 leave the convent in a few minutes. Have you anything to take with you ?” 
 
 “Nothing,” answered the Lady of Berkely, “except the few valuables, 
 which I scarce know why I brought with me on my flight hither. ^ This 
 scroll, which I shall leave behind, gives my faithful minstrel permission to 
 save himself, by confessing to Sir John de Walton who the person really is 
 whom he has had within his reach.” 
 
 “ It is strange,” said the novice of Saint Bride, “ through what extraor¬ 
 dinary labyrinths this Love, this Will-of-the-Wisp, guides his votaries, 
 
 VoL, Xlf.—22 2n 
 
338 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Take heed as you descend; this trap-door, carefully concealed, curiously 
 jointed and oiled, leads to a secret postern, where I conceive the horses 
 already wait, which will enable us speedily to bid adieu to Saint Bride’s — 
 Heaven’s blessing on her, and on her convent! We can have no advantage 
 from any light, until we are in the open air.” 
 
 During this time, sister Ursula, to give.her for the last time her conventual 
 name, exchanged her stole, or loose upper garment, for the more succinct' 
 cloak and hood of a horseman. She led the way through divers passages, 
 studiously complicated, until the Lady of Berkely, with throbbing heart, 
 stood in the pale and doubtful moonlight, which was shining with grey 
 uncertainty upon the walls of the ancient building. The imitation of an 
 owlet’s cry directed them to a neighbouring large elm, and on approaching 
 it, they were aware of three horses, held hj one, concerning whom they 
 could only see that he was tall, strong, and accoutred in the dress of a man- 
 at-arms. 
 
 “ The sooner,” he said, “ we are gone from this place. Lady Margaret, it 
 is so much the better. You have only to direct the course which we shall 
 ^ hold.” 
 
 Lady Margaret’s answer was given beneath her breath ; and replied to 
 with a caution from the guide to ride slowly and silently for the first quarter 
 of an hour, by which time inhabited places would be left at a distance. 
 
 (Cjinpltr tliE Cindftlj. 
 
 Great was the astonishment of the young Knight of Valence and the 
 reverend Father Jerome, when, upon breaking into the cell, they discovered 
 the youthful pilgrim’s absence; and, from the garments which were left, 
 saw every reason to think that the one-eyed novice, sister Ursula, had ac¬ 
 companied him in his escape from custody. A thousand thoughts thronged 
 upon Sir Aymer, how shamefully he had suffered himself to be outwitted 
 by the artifices of a boy and of a novice. His reverend companion in error 
 felt no less contrition for having recommended to the knight a mild exer¬ 
 cise of his authority. Father Jerome had obtained his preferment as abbot 
 upon the faith of his zeal for the cause of the English monarch, with the 
 affected interest in which he was at a loss to reconcile his proceedings of 
 the last night. A hurried enquiry took place, from which little could be 
 learned, save that the young pilgrim had most certainly gone off with the 
 Lady Margaret de Hautlieu, an incident at which the females of the convent 
 expressed surprise, mingled with a great deal of horror; while that of the 
 males, whom the news soon reached, was qualified with a degree of wonder, 
 which seemed to be founded upon the very different personal appearance of 
 the two fugitives. 
 
 “ Sacred Virgin,” said a nun, “who could have conceived the hopeful 
 votaress, sister Ursula, so lately drowned in tears for her father’s untimely 
 fate, capable of eloping with a boy scarce fourteen years old!” 
 
 “And, holy Saint Bride I” said the Abbot Jerome, “what could have made 
 so handsome a young man lend his arm to assist such a nightmare as sister 
 Ursula, in the commission of so great an enormity? Certainly he can neither 
 plead temptation nor seduction, but must have gone, as the worldly phrase 
 is,—to the devil with a dish-clout.” 
 
 “ I must disperse the soldiers to pursue the fugitives,” said De Valence, 
 “ unless this letter, which the pilgrim must have left behind him, shall con¬ 
 tain some explanations respecting our mysterious prisoner.” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 839 
 
 After viewing the contents with some surprise, lie read aloud,—“ Tho 
 undersigned, late residing in the house of Saint Bride, do you, hither 
 Jerome, the abbot of said house, to know, that finding you were disposed to 
 treat me as a prisoner and a spy, in the sanctuar}’^ to which you had received 
 me as a distressed person, I have resolved to use my natural liberty, with 
 which you have no right to interfere, and therefore have withdrawn myself 
 from your abbacy. Moreover, finding that the novice called in your 
 convent sister Ursula (who hath, by monastic rule and discipline, a fair 
 title to return to the world unless she is pleased, after a year’s novitiate, 
 to profess herself sister of your order) is determined to use such privilege, 
 I joyfully take the opportunity of her company in this her lawful resolu¬ 
 tion, as being what is in conformity to the law of God, and the precepts 
 of Saint Bride, which gave you no authority to detain any person in your 
 convent by force, who hath not taken upon her irrevocably the vows of the 
 order. 
 
 “To you. Sir John de Walton, and Sir Aymer de Valence, knights of 
 England, commanding the garrison of Douglas Dale, I have only to saj’’, 
 that you have acted and are acting against me under a mystery, the solution 
 of which is comprehended in a secret known only to my faithful minstrel, 
 Bertram of the many Lays, as whose son I have found it convenient to pass 
 myself. But as I cannot at this time prevail upon myself personally to 
 discover a secret which cannot well be unfolded without feelings of shame, 
 I not only give permission to the said Bertram the minstrel, but I charge 
 and command him that he tell to you the purpose with which I came origi¬ 
 nally to the Castle of Douglas. When this is discovered, it will only remain 
 to express my feelings towards the two knights, in return for the pain and 
 agony of mind which their violence and threats of further severities have 
 occasioned me. 
 
 “ And first respecting Sir Aymer de Valence, I freely and willingly forgive 
 him for having been involved in a mistake to which I myself led the way, 
 and I shall at all times be happy to meet with him as an acquaintance, and 
 never to think farther of his part in these few days’ history, saving as matter 
 of mirth and ridicule. 
 
 “But respecting Sir John de Walton, I must request of him to consider 
 whether his conduct towards me, standing as we at present do towards each 
 other, is such as he himself ought to forget or I ought to forgive ; and I trust 
 he will understand me when I tell him, that all former connexions must 
 henceforth be at an end between him and the supposed “ Augustine.” 
 
 “ This is madness,” said the abbot, when he had read the letter,—“ very 
 midsummer madness ; not unfrequently an accompaniment of this pestilen¬ 
 tial disease, and I should do well in requiring of those soldiers who shall 
 first apprehend this youth Augustine, that they reduce his victuals imme¬ 
 diately to water and bread, taking care that the diet do not exceed in measure 
 what is necessary to sustain nature ; nay, I should be warranted by the 
 learned, did I recommend a sufficient intermixture of flagellation with belts, 
 stirrup-leathers, or surcingles, and fiiiling those, with riding-whips, switches, 
 and the like.” 
 
 “ Hush ! my reverend father,” said De Valence, “ a light begins to break 
 in upon me. John de Walton, if my suspicions be true, would sooner expose 
 his own flesh to be hewn from his bones, than have this Augustine’s finger 
 stung by a gnat. Instead of treating this youth as a madman, I for my own 
 part, will be contented to avow that I myself have been bewitched and fasci¬ 
 nated ; and by my honour, if I send out my attendants in quest of the fugi¬ 
 tives, it shall be with the strict charge, that, when apprehended, they treat 
 them with all respect, and protect them, if they object to return to this house, 
 to any honourable place of refuge which they may desire.” 
 
 “ I hope,” said the abbot, looking strangely confused, “ I shall be first 
 
340 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 heard in behalf of the Church concerning this affair of an abducted nun? 
 You see yourself, Sir Knight, that this scapegrace of a minstrel avouches 
 neither repentance nor contrition at his share in a matter so flagitious/^ 
 
 “ You shall be secured an opportunity of being fully heard,^^ replied the 
 knight, “ if you shall find at last that you really desire one. Meantime, I 
 must back, without a moment’s delay, to inform Sir John de Walton of the 
 turn which affairs have taken. Farewell, reverend father. By my honour 
 we may wish each other joy that we have escaped from a troublesome 
 charge, which brought as much terror with it as the phantoms of a fearful 
 dream, and is yet found capable of being dispelled by a cure as simple as 
 that of awakening the sleeper. But, by Saint Bride ! both churchmen and 
 laymen are bound to sympathise with the unfortunate Sir John de Walton. 
 I tell thee, father, that if this letter ”—touching the missive with his finger— 
 “ is to be construed literally, as far as respects him, he is the man most to 
 be pitied betwixt the brink of Solway and the place where we now stand. 
 Suspend thy curiosity, most worthy churchman, lest there should be more in 
 this matter than I myself see; so that, while thinking that I have lighted on 
 the true explanation, I may not have to acknowledge that I have been again 
 leading you into error. Sound to horse there! Ho !” he called out from 
 the window of the apartment; “ and let the party I brought hither prepare 
 to scour the woods on their return.” 
 
 “By my faith !” said Father Jerome, “I am right glad that this young 
 nut-cracker is going to leave me to my own meditation. I hate when a 
 young person pretends to understand whatever passes, while his betters are 
 obliged to confess that it is all a mystery to them. Such an assumption is 
 like that of the conceited fool, sister Ursula, who pretended to read with a 
 single eye a manuscript which I myself could not find intelligible with the 
 assistance of my spectacles.” 
 
 This might not have quite pleased the young knight, nor was it one of 
 those truths which the abbot would have chosen to deliver in his hearing. 
 But the knight had shaken him by the hand, said adieu, and was already 
 at Hazelside, issuing particular orders to little troops of the archers and 
 others, and occasionally chiding Thomas Dickson, who, with a degree of 
 curiosity which the English knight was not very willing to excuse, had 
 been endeavouring to get some account of the occurrences of the night. 
 
 “ Peace, fellow!” he said, “ and mind thine own business, being well 
 assured that the hour will come in which it will require all the attention 
 thou canst give, leaving others to take care of their own affairs.” 
 
 “ If I am suspected of any thing,” answered Dickson, in a tone rather 
 dogged and surly than otherwise, “ methinks it were but fair to let me know 
 what accusation is brought against me. I need not tell you that chivalry 
 prescribes that a knight should not attack an enemy undefied.” 
 
 “When you are a knight,” answered Sir Aymer de Valence, “it will be 
 time enough for me to reckon with you upon the points of form due to you 
 by the laws of chivalry. Meanwhile, you had best let me know what share 
 you have had in playing off the martial phantom which sounded the rebel¬ 
 lious slogan of Douglas in the town of that name ?” 
 
 “ I know nothing of what you speak,” answered the goodman of Hazel- 
 side. 
 
 “ See then,” said the knight, “ that you do not engage yourself in the 
 affairs of other people, even if your conscience warrants that you are in no 
 danger from your own.” 
 
 So saying, he rode off, not waiting any answer. The ideas which filled 
 his head were to the following purpose. 
 
 “ I know not how it is, but one mist seems no sooner to clear away than 
 we find ourselves engaged in another. I take it for granted that tlie dis¬ 
 guised damsel is no other than the goddess of Walton’s private idolatry, 
 who has cost him and me so much trouble, and some certain degree of mis- 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 341 
 
 understanding during these last weeks. By my honour! this fair lady is 
 right lavish in the pardon which she has so frankly bestowed upon me, and 
 if she is willing to be less complaisant to Sir John de Walton, why then — 
 And what then? — It surely does not infer that she would receive me into 
 that place in her affections, from which she has just expelled De Walton? 
 Nor, if she did, could I avail myself of a change in favour of myself, at 
 the expense of my friend and companion in arms. It were a folly even to 
 dream of a thing so improbable. But with respect to the other business, it 
 is worth serious consideration. Yon sexton seems to have kept company 
 with dead bodies, until he is unfit for the society of the living; and as to 
 that Dickson of Ilazelside, as they call him, there is no attempt against the 
 English during these endless wars, in which that man has not been con¬ 
 cerned ; had my life depended upon it, I could not have prevented myself 
 from intimating my suspicions of him, let him take it as he lists. 
 
 So saying, the knight spurred his horse, and arriving at Douglas Castle 
 without farther adventure, demanded in a tone of greater cordiality than he 
 had of late used, whether he could be admitted to Sir John de Walton, 
 having something of consequence to report to him. He was immediately 
 ushered into an apartment, in which the governor was seated at his solitary 
 breakfast. Considering the terms upon which they had lately stood, the 
 governor of Douglas Dale was somewhat surprised at the easy familiarity 
 with which De Valence now approached him. 
 
 “Some uncommon news,’^ said Sir John, rather gravely, “have brought 
 me the honour of Sir Aymer de Valence’s company.” 
 
 “ It is,” answered Sir Aymer, “ what seems of high importance to your 
 interest. Sir John de Walton, and therefore I were to blame if I lost a 
 moment in communicating it.” 
 
 “I shall be proud to profit by your intelligence,” said Sir John de 
 Walton. 
 
 “And I too,” said the young knight, “am loth to lose the credit of having 
 penetrated a mystery which blinded Sir John de Walton. At the same 
 time, I do not wish to be thought capable of jesting with you, which might 
 be the case were I, from misapprehension, to give a false key to this matter. 
 AVith your permission, then, we will proceed thus: We go together to the 
 place of Bertram the minstrel’s confinement. I have in my possession a 
 scroll from the young person who was intrusted to the care of the Abbot 
 Jerome; it is written in a delicate female hand, and gives authority to 
 the minstrel to declare the purpose which brought them to this vale of 
 Douglas.” 
 
 “It must be as you say,” said Sir John de AValton, “although lean 
 scarce see occasion for adding so much form to a mystery which can be ex¬ 
 pressed in such small compass.” 
 
 Accordingly the two knights, the warder leading the way, proceeded to 
 the dungeon to which the minstrel had been removed. 
 
 (Clinpttr tliB '^jiirtttntj). 
 
 The doors of the stronghold being undone, displayed a dungeon such as 
 in those days held victims hopeless of escape, but in which the ingenious 
 knave of modern times would scarcely have deigned to remain many hours. 
 The huge rings by which the fetters were soldered together, and attached 
 to the human body, were, when examined minutely, found to be clenched 
 
342 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 together by riveting so very thin, that when rubbed with corrosive acid, or 
 patiently ground with a bit of sandstone, the hold of the fetters upon each 
 other might easily be forced asunder, and the purpose of them entirely 
 frustrated. The locks also, large, and apparently very strong, were so 
 coarsely made, that an artist of small ingenuity could easily contrive to get 
 the better of their fastenings upon the same principle. The daylight found 
 its way to the subterranean dungeon only at noon, and through a passage 
 which was purposely made tortuous, so as to exclude the rays of the sun, 
 while it presented no obstacle to wind or rain. The doctrine that a prisoner 
 was to be esteemed innocent until he should be found guilty by his peers, 
 was not understood in those days of brute force, and he was only accom¬ 
 modated with a lamp or other alleviation of his misery, if his demeanour 
 was quiet, and he appeared disposed to give his jailor no trouble by attempt¬ 
 ing to make his escape. Such a cell of confinement was that of Bertram, 
 whose moderation of temper and patience had nevertheless procured for 
 him such mitigations of his fate as the warder could grant. He was per¬ 
 mitted to carry into his cell the old book, in the perusal of which he found 
 an amusement of his solitude, together with writing materials, and such 
 other helps towards spending his time as were consistent with his abode in 
 the bosom of the rock, and the degree of information with which his min¬ 
 strel craft had possessed him. He raised his head from the table as the 
 knights entered, while the governor observed to the young knight:— 
 
 “ As you seem to think yourself possessed of the secret of this prisoner, 
 I leave it to you. Sir Aymer de Valence, to bring it to light in the manner 
 which you shall judge most expedient. If the man or his son have suffered 
 unnecessary hardship, it shall be my duty to make amends—which, I sup¬ 
 pose, can be no very important matter.^^ 
 
 Bertram looked up, and fixed his eyes full upon the governor, but read 
 nothing in his looks which indicated his being better acquainted than before 
 with the secret of his imprisonment. Yet, upon turning his eye towards 
 Sir Aymer, his countenance evidently lighted up, and the glance which 
 passed between them was one of intelligence. 
 
 “ You have my secret, then,^^ said he, “ and you know who it is that 
 passes under the name of Augustine V’ 
 
 Sir Aymer exchanged with him a look of acquiescence; while the eyes 
 of the governor glancing wildly from the prisoner to the knight of Valence, 
 exclaimed,— 
 
 “ Sir Aymer de Valence, as you are belted knight and Christian man, as 
 you have honour to preserve on earth, and a soul to rescue after death, I 
 charge you to tell me the meaning of this mystery! It may be that you 
 conceive, with truth, that you have subject of complaint against me ; — If 
 so, I will satisfy you as a knight may.^^ 
 
 The minstrel spoke at the same moment. 
 
 “ I charge this knight,^^ he said, “ by his vow of chivalry, that he do not 
 divulge any secret belonging to a person of honour and of character, unless 
 he has positive assurance that it is done entirely by that person’s own 
 consent.” 
 
 “ Let this note remove your scruples,” said Sir Aymer, putting the scroll 
 into the hands of the minstrel; “ and for you. Sir John de Walton, far from 
 retaining the least feeling of any misunderstanding which may have existed 
 between us, I am disposed entirely to bury it in forgetfulness, as having 
 arisen out of a series of mistakes which no mortal could have comprehended. 
 And do not be offended, my dear Sir John, when I protest, on my knightly 
 faith, that I pity the pain which I think this scroll is likely to give you, and 
 that if my utmost efforts can be of the least service to you in unravelling 
 this tangled skein, I will contribute them with as much earnestness as ever 
 I did aught in my life. This faithful minstrel will now see that he can have 
 no difficulty in yielding up a secret, which I doubt not, but for the writing 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 843 
 
 I liave just put into his hands, he ^TOuld have continued to keep with un¬ 
 shaken fidelity/^ 
 
 Sir Aymer now placed in De Walton’s hand a note, in which he had, ere 
 he left Saint Bride’s convent, signified his own interpretation of the mys¬ 
 tery ; and the governor had scarcely read the name it contained, before the 
 same name was pronounced aloud by Bertram, who, at the same moment, 
 handed to the governor the scroll which he had received from the Knight 
 of Valence. 
 
 The white plume which floated over the knight’s cap of maintenance, 
 which was woim as a headpiece within doors, was not more pale in com¬ 
 plexion than was the knight himself at the unexpected and surprising in¬ 
 formation, that the lady who was, in chivalrous phrase, empress of his 
 thoughts, and commander of his actions, and to whom, even in less fantastic 
 times, he must have owed the deepest gratitude for the generous election 
 which she had made in his favour, was the same person whom he had 
 threatened with personal violence, and subjected to hardships and affronts 
 which he would not willingly have bestowed even upon the meanest of her 
 sex. 
 
 Yet Sir John de Walton seemed at first scarcely to comprehend the 
 numerous ill consequences which might probably follow this unhappy com¬ 
 plication of mistakes. He took the paper from the minstrefs hand, and 
 while his eye, assisted by the lamp, wandered over the characters without 
 apparently their conveying any distinct impression to his understanding, 
 De Valence even became alarmed that he was about to lose his faculties. 
 
 “For Heaven’s sake, sir,” he said, “ be a man, and support with manly 
 steadiness these unexpected occurrences—I would fain think they will reach 
 to nothing else—which the wit of man could not have prevented. This fair 
 lady, I would fain hope, cannot be much hurt or deeply offended by a train 
 of circumstances, the natural consequence of your anxiety to discharge 
 perfectly a duty upon which must depend the accomplishment of all the 
 hopes she had permitted you to entertain. In God’s name, rouse up, sir; 
 let it not be said, that an apprehended frown of a fair lady hath damped to 
 such a degree the courage of the boldest knight in England; be what men 
 have called you, ‘Walton the Unwavering;’ in Heaven’s name, let us at 
 least see that the lady is indeed offended, before we conclude that she is 
 irreconcilably so. To whose fault are we to ascribe the source of all these 
 errors ? Surely, with all due respect, to the caprice of the lady herself, 
 which has engendered such a nest of mistakes. Think of it as a man, and 
 as a soldier. Suppose that you yourself, or I, desirous of proving the 
 fidelity of our sentinels, or for any other reason, good or bad, attempted to 
 enter this Dangerous Castle of Douglas without giving the password to the 
 warders, would we be entitled to blame those upon duty, if, not knowdng 
 our persons, they manfully refused us entrance, made us prisoners, and 
 mishandled us while resisting our attempt, in terms of the orders which we 
 ourselves had imposed upon them? What is there that makes a difference 
 between such a sentinel and yourself, John de Walton, in this curious 
 affair, which, by Heaven ! would rather form a gay subject for the min¬ 
 strelsy of this excellent bard, than the theme of a tragic lay ? Come ! look 
 not thus. Sir John de Walton ; be angry, if you will, with the lady who 
 has committed such a piece of folly, or with me who have rode up and down 
 nearly all night on a fool’s errand, and spoiled my best horse, in absolute 
 uncertainty how I shall get another till my uncle of Pembroke and I shall 
 be reconciled; or, lastly, if you desire to be totally absurd in your wrath, 
 direct it against this worthy minstrel on account of his rare fidelity, and 
 punish him for that for which he better deserves a chain of gold. Let pas¬ 
 sion out, if you will; but chase this desponding gloom from the brow of a 
 man and a belted knight.” 
 
344 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Sir John de Walton made an effort to speak, and- succeeded with some 
 difficulty. 
 
 “ Aymer de Valence,he said, “ in irritating a madman you do but sport 
 with your own life and then remained silent. 
 
 “ I am glad you can say so much,^^ replied his friend; “ for I was not 
 jesting when I said I would rather that you were at variance with me, than 
 that you laid the whole blame on yourself. It would be courteous, I think, 
 to set this minstrel instantly at liberty. Meantime, for his lady's sake, I 
 will entreat him, in all honour, to be our guest till the Lady Augusta de 
 Berkely shall do us the same honour, and to assist us in our search after 
 her place of retirement. — Good minstrel," he continued, “you hear what 
 I say, and you will not, I suppose, be surprised, that in all honour and 
 kind usage, you find yourself detained for a short space in this Castle of 
 Douglas ?" 
 
 “You seem, Sir Knight," replied the minstrel, “not so much to keep 
 your eye upon the right of doing what you should, as to possess the might 
 of doing what you would. I must necessarily be guided by your advice, 
 since you have the power to make it a command." 
 
 “ And I trust," continued De Valence, “ that when your mistress and 
 you again meet, we shall have the benefit of your intercession for any thing 
 which we mify have done to displeasure her, considering that the purpose 
 of our action wag exactly the reverse." 
 
 “Let me," said Sir John de Walton, “say a single word. I will offer 
 thee a chain of gold, heavy enough to bear down the weight of these 
 shackles, as a sign of regret for having condemned thee to suffer so many 
 ind’gnities." 
 
 “Enough said. Sir John," said De Valence; “let us promise no more till 
 ihis good minstrel shall see some sign of performance. Follow me this 
 vny, and I will tell thee in private of other tidings, which it is important 
 that you should know." 
 
 So saying, he withdrew De Walton from the dungeon, and sending for 
 the old knight. Sir Philip de Montenay, already mentioned, who acted as 
 seneschal of the castle, he commanded that the minstrel should be enlarged 
 from the dungeon, well looked to in other respects, yet prohibited, though 
 with every mark of civility, from leaving the castle without a trusty 
 attendant. 
 
 “And now. Sir John de Walton," he said, “ methinks you are a little 
 churlish in not ordering me some breakfast, after I have been all night 
 engaged in your affairs; and a cup of muscadel would, I think, be no bad 
 induction to a full consideration of this perplexed matter." 
 
 “ Thou knowest," answered De Walton, “ that thou mayest call for what 
 thou wilt, provided always thou tellest me, without loss of time, what else 
 thou knowest respecting the will of the lady, against whom we have all 
 sinned so grievously — and I, alas, beyond hope of forgiveness!" 
 
 “Trust me, I hope," said the Knight of Valence, “the good lady bears 
 me no malice, as indeed she has expressly renounced any ill-will against 
 me. The words, you see, are as plain as you yourself may read — ‘ The 
 lady pardons poor Aymer de Valence, and willingly, for having been in¬ 
 volved in a mistake, to which she herself led the way; she herself will at 
 all times be happy to meet with him as an acquaintance, and never to think 
 farther of these few days’ history, except as matter of mirth and ridicule.’ 
 So it is expressly written and set down." 
 
 “Yes," replied Sir John de Walton, “but see you not that her offending 
 lover is expressly excluded from the amnesty granted to the lesser offender ? 
 Mark you not the concluding paragraph?" He took the scroll with a 
 trembling hand, and read with a discomposed voice its closing words. “ It 
 is even so: ‘ All former connexion naust henceforth be at an end between 
 him and the supposed Augustine.’ Explain to me how the reading of 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 345 
 
 these words is reconcilable to anything but their plain sense of condemna¬ 
 tion and forfeiture of contract, implying destruction of the hopes of Sir 
 John de Walton?’' 
 
 “You are somewhat an older man than I, Sir Knight,” answered De 
 Valence, “and I will grant, by far the wiser and more experienced ; yet I 
 will uphold that there is no adopting the interpretation which you seem to 
 have afi&xed in your mind to this letter, without supposing the preliminary, 
 that the fair writer was distracted in her understanding, — nay, never start, 
 look wildly, or lay your hand on your sword, I do not affirm this is the 
 case. I say again, that no woman in her senses would have pardoned a 
 common acquaintance for his behaving to her with unintentional disre¬ 
 spect and unkindness, during the currency of a certain masquerade, and, 
 at the same time, sternly and irrevocably broke off with the lover to whom 
 her troth was plighted, although his error in joining in the offence was 
 neither grosser nor more protracted than that of the person indifferent to 
 her love.” 
 
 “ Do not blaspheme,” said Sir John de Walton ; “and forgive me, if, in 
 justice to truth and to the angel whom I fear I have forfeited for ever, I 
 point out to you the difference which a maiden of dignity and of feeling 
 must make between an offence towards her, committed by an ordinary 
 acquaintance, and one of precisely the same kind offered by a person who 
 is bound by the most undeserved preference, by the most generous benefits, 
 and by every thing which can bind human feeling, to think and reflect 
 ere he becomes an actor in any case in which it is possible for her to 
 be concerned.” 
 
 “Now, by mine honour,” said Aymer de Valence, “I am glad to hear 
 thee make some attempt at reason, although it is but an unreasonable kind 
 of reason too, since its object is to destroy thine own hopes, and argue 
 away thine own chance of happiness; but if I have, in the progress of 
 this affair, borne me sometimes towards thee, as to give not only the 
 governor, but even the friend, some cause of displeasure, I will make it up 
 to thee now, John de Walton, by trying to convince thee in spite of thine 
 own perverse logic. But here comes the muscadel and the breakfast; wilt 
 thou take some refreshment; — or shall we go on without the spirit of 
 muscadel ?” 
 
 “ For Heaven’s sake,” replied De Walton, “ do as thou wilt, so thou make 
 me clear of thy M^ell-intended babble.” 
 
 “ Nay, thou shalt not brawl me out of my powers of argument,” said Do 
 Valence, laughing, and helping himself to a brimming cup of wine; “if 
 thou acknowledgest thyself conquered, I am contented to give the victory 
 to the inspiring strength of the jovial liquor.” 
 
 “ Do as thou listest,” said De Walton, “ but make an end of an argument 
 which thou canst not comprehend.” 
 
 “ I deny the charge,” answered the younger knight, wiping his lips, after 
 having finished his draught; “and listen, Walton the Warlike, to a chapter 
 in the history of women, in which thou art more unskilled than I would 
 wish thee to be. Thou canst not deny that, be it right or wrong, the lady 
 Augusta hath ventured more forward with you than is usual upon the sea 
 of affection ; she boldly made thee her choice, while thou wert as yet known 
 to her only as a flower of English chivalry, — faith, and I respect her for 
 her frankness — but it was a choice, which the more cold of her own sex 
 might perhaps claim occasion to term rash and precipitate.—Nay, be not, I 
 pray thee, offended—I am fixr from thinking or saying so ; on the contrary, 
 1 will uphold with my lance, her selection of John de Walton against the 
 minions of a court, to be a wise and generous choice, and her owm behaviour 
 as alike candid and noble. But she herself is not unlikely to dread unjust 
 misconstruction ; a fear of which may not improbably induce her, upon any 
 occasion, to seize some opportunity of showing an unwonted and unusual 
 
W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 346 
 
 rigour towards her lover, in order to balance her having extended tov^arda 
 him, in the beginning of their intercourse, somewhat of an unusual degree 
 of frank encouragement. Nay, it might be easy for her lover so far to take 
 part against himself, by arguing as thou dost, when out of thy senses, as to 
 make it difficult for her to withdraw from an argument which he himself 
 was foolish enough to strengthen ; and thus, like a maiden too soon taken at 
 her first nay-say, she shall perhaps be allowed no opportunity of bearing 
 hw3rself according to her real feelings, or retracting a sentence issued with 
 consent of the party whose hopes it destroys.’^ 
 
 “I have heard thee, De Valence,^^ answered the governor of Douglas 
 Dale; “ nor is it difficult for me to admit, that these thy lessons may serve 
 as a chart to many a female heart, but not to that of Augusta de Berkely. 
 By my life, I say I would much sooner be deprived of the merit of those 
 few deeds of chivalry which thou sayest have procured for me such enviable 
 distinction, than I would act upon them with the insolence, as if I said that 
 my place in the lady’s bosom was too firmly fixed to be shaken even by the 
 success of a worthier man, or by my own gross failure in respect to the 
 object of my attachment. No, herself alone shall have power to persuade 
 me that even goodness equal to that of an interceding saint will restore me 
 to the place in her affections which I have most unworthily forfeited, by a 
 stupidity only to be compared to that of brutes.” 
 
 “ If you are so minded,” said Aymer De Valence, “I have only one word 
 more—forgive me if I speak it peremptorily—the lady, as you say, and say 
 truly, must be the final arbitress in this question. My arguments do not 
 extend to insisting that you should claim her hand, whether she herself 
 will or no; but, to learn her determination, it is necessary that you should 
 find out where she is, of which I am unfortunately not able to inform you.” 
 
 “ How ! what mean you !” exclaimed the governor, who now only began 
 to comprehend the extent of his misfortune; “ whither hath she tied ? or 
 with whom ?” 
 
 “ She is fled, for what I know,” said De Valence, “in search of a more 
 enterprising lover than one who is so willing to interpret every air of frost 
 as a killing blight to his hopes; perhaps she seeks the Black Douglas, or 
 some such hero of the Thistle, to reward with her lands, her lordships, and 
 beauty, those virtues of enterprise and courage, of which John de Walton 
 was at one time thought possessed. But, seriously, events are passing 
 around us of strange import. I saw enough last night, on my way to Saint 
 Bride’s, to make me suspicious of every one. I sent to you as a prisoner 
 the old sexton of the church of Douglas. I found him contumacious as to 
 some enquiries which I thought it proper to prosecute; but of this more at 
 another time. The escape of this lady adds greatly to the difficulties which 
 encircle this devoted castle.” 
 
 “Aymer de Valence,” replied De Walton, in a solemn and animated tone, 
 “Douglas Castle shall be defended, as we have hitherto been able, with the 
 aid of heaven, to spread from its battlements the broad banner of St. George. 
 Come of me what lists during my life, I will die the faithful lover of Au¬ 
 gusta de Berkely, even although I no longer live as her chosen knight. 
 There are cloisters and hermitages”- 
 
 “ Ay, marry are there,” replied Sir Aymer; “ and girdles of hemp, more¬ 
 over, and beads of oak ; but all these we omit in our reckonings, till we 
 discover where the Lady Augusta is, and what she purposes to do in this 
 matter.” 
 
 “You say well,” replied De Walton; “let us hold counsel together by 
 what means we shall, if possible, discover the lady’s too hasty retreat, by 
 which she has done me great wrong; I mean, if she supposed her com¬ 
 mands would not have been fully obeyed, had she honoured with them the 
 governor of Douglas Dale, or any who are under his command.” 
 
 “Now,” replied De Valence, “you again speak like a true son of chi- 
 
CAS T L E DA N (} E D 0 U S. 
 
 847 
 
 valry. With your permission I would summon this minstrel to our 
 presence. Ilis fidelity to his mistress has been remarkable; and, as mat¬ 
 ters stand now, we must take instant measures for tracing the place of her 
 retreat.’^ 
 
 (01jn{itEr tjiE /nnrtttntjj. 
 
 The way is long, my children, long and rough— 
 
 The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark; 
 
 But he that creeps from cradle on to grave. 
 
 Unskill’d save in the velvet course of fortune, 
 
 Hath miss’d the discipline of noble hearts. 
 
 Old Plat. 
 
 It was yet early in the day, when, after the Governor and De Valence 
 had again summoned Bertram to their councils, the garrison of Douglas was 
 mustered, and a number of small parties, in addition to those already des¬ 
 patched by De Valence from Hazelside, were sent out to scour the woods in 
 pursuit of the fugitives, with strict injunctions to treat them, if overtaken, 
 with the utmost respect, and to obey their commands, keeping an eye, how¬ 
 ever, on the place where they might take refuge. To facilitate this result, 
 some who were men of discretion were intrusted with the secret who the 
 supposed pilgrim and the fugitive nun really were. The whole ground, 
 whether forest or moorland, within many miles of Douglas Castle, was 
 covered and traversed by parties, whose anxiety to detect the fugitives was 
 equal to the reward for their safe recovery, liberally offered by De Walton 
 and De Valence. They spared not, meantime, to make such enquiries in 
 all directions as might bring to light any machinations of the Scottish in¬ 
 surgents which might be on foot in those wild districts, of which, as we have 
 said before, De Valence, in particular, entertained strong suspicions. Their 
 instructions were, in case of finding such, to proceed against the persons 
 engaged, by arrest and otherwise, in the most rigorous manner, such as 
 had been commanded by De Walton himself at the time when the Black 
 Douglas and his accomplices had been the principal objects of his wakeful 
 suspicions. These various detachments had greatly reduced the strength 
 of the garrison ; yet, although numerous, alert, and despatched in every 
 direction, they had not the fortune either to fall on the trace of the Lady 
 of Berkely, or to encounter any party whatever of the insurgent Scottish. 
 
 jMeanwhile, our fugitives had, as we have seen, set out from the convent 
 of St. Bride under the guidance of a cavalier, of whom the Lady Augusta 
 knew nothing, save that he was to guide their steps in a direction where 
 they would not be exposed to the risk of being overtaken. At length Mar¬ 
 garet de Ilautlieu herself spoke upon the subject. 
 
 “ You have made no enquiry,^^ she said, “ Lady Augusta, whither you 
 are travelling, or under whose charge, although methinks it should much 
 concern you to know.’^ 
 
 “ Is it not enough for me to be aware,” answered Lady Augusta, “ that I 
 am travelling, kind sister, under the protection of one to whom you yourself 
 trust as to a friend; and why need I be anxious for any farther assurance 
 of my safety ?” 
 
 “ Simply,” said Margaret de Ilautlieu, “ because the persons with whom, 
 from national as well as personal circumstances, I stand connected, are per¬ 
 haps not exactly the protectors to whom you, lady, can with such perfect 
 safety intrust yourself.” 
 
348 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ In what sense/’ said the Lady Augusta, “ do you use these words ?” 
 
 “ Because,” replied Margaret de Ilautlieu, “ the Bruce, the Douglas, Mal¬ 
 colm* Fleming, and others of that party, although they are incapable of 
 abusing such an advantage to any dishonourable purpose, might never¬ 
 theless, under a strong temptation, consider you as an hostage thrown into 
 their hands by Providence, through whom they might meditate the possi¬ 
 bility of gaining some benefit to their dispersed and dispirited party.” 
 
 “They might make me,” answered the Lady Augusta, “the subject of 
 such a treaty, when I was dead, but, believe me, never while I drew vital 
 breath. Believe me also that, with whatever pain, shame, or agony, I would 
 again deliver myself up to the power of De Walton, yes, I would rather put 
 myself in his hands — what do I say? kis/ —I would rather surrender my¬ 
 self to the meanest archer of my native country, than combine with its foes 
 to work mischief to merry England — my own England — that country 
 which is the envy of every other country, and the pride of all who can term 
 themselves her natives!” 
 
 “ I thought that your choice might prove so,” said Lady Margaret; “ and 
 since you have honoured me with your confidence, gladly would I provide 
 for your liberty by placing you as nearly in the situation which you your¬ 
 self desire, as my poor means have the power of accomplishing. In half an 
 hour we shall be in danger of being taken by the English parties, which 
 will be instantly dispersed in every direction in quest of us. Now, take 
 notice, lady, I know a place in which I can take refuge with my friends and 
 countrymen, those gallant Scots, who have never even in this dishonoured 
 age bent the knee to Baal. For their honour, their nicety of honour, I 
 could in other days have answered with my own ; but of late, I am bound 
 to tell you, they have been put to those trials by which the most generous 
 affections may be soured, and driven to a species of frenzy, the more wild 
 that it is founded originally on the noblest feelings. A person who feels 
 himself deprived of his natural birthright, denounced, exposed to confisca¬ 
 tion and death, because he avouches the rights of his king, the cause of his 
 country, ceases on his part to be nice or precise in estimating the degree of 
 retaliation which it is lawful for him to exercise in the requital of such in¬ 
 juries; and, believe me, bitterly should I lament having guided you into a 
 situation which you might consider afflicting or degrading.” 
 
 “ In a word then,” said the English lady, “ what is it you apprehend I 
 am like to suffer at the hands of your friends, whom I must be excused for 
 terming rebels ?” 
 
 “ If,” said the sister Ursula, “ your friends, whom I should term oppres¬ 
 sors and tyrants, take our land and our lives, seize our castles, and confis¬ 
 cate oHir property, you must confess, that the rough laws of war indulge 
 mine with the privilege of retaliation. There can be no fear, that such 
 men, under any circumstances, would ever exercise cruelty or insult upon 
 a lady of your rank ; but it is another thing to calculate that they will 
 abstain from such means of extorting advantage from your captivity as are 
 common in warfare. You would not, I think, wish to be delivered up to 
 the English, on consideration of Sir John de Walton surrendering the Castle 
 of Douglas to its natural lord; yet, were you in the hands of the Bruce or 
 Douglas, although I can answer for your being treated with all the respect 
 which they have the means of showing, yet I own, their putting you at such 
 a ransom might be by no means unlikely.” 
 
 “ I would sooner die,” said the Lady Berkely, “ than have my name 
 mixed up in a treaty so disgraceful; and De Walton’s reply to it would, I 
 am certain, be to strike the head from the messenger, and throw it from the 
 highest tower of Douglas Castle.” 
 
 “Where, then, lady, would you now go,” said sister Ursula, “were the 
 choice in your power ?” 
 
 “ To my own castle,” answered Lady Augusta, “ where, if necessary, I 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 349 
 
 could be defended even against the king himself, until I could place at least 
 my person under the protection of the Church.’^ 
 
 “ In that case,^’ replied Margaret de Ilautlieu, “ my power of rendering 
 you assistance is only precarious, yet it comprehends a choice which I will 
 willingly submit to your decision, notwithstanding I thereby subject the 
 secrets of my friends to some risk of being discovered and frustrated. But 
 the confidence which you have placed in me, imposes on me the necessity 
 of committing to you a like trust. It rests with you, whether you will pro¬ 
 ceed with me to the secret rendezvous of the Douglas and his friends, which 
 I may be blamed for making known, and there take your chance of the re¬ 
 ception which you may encounter, since I cannot warrant you of any thing 
 save honourable treatment, so far as your person is concerned; or if you 
 should think this too hazardous, make the best of your way at once for the 
 Border; in which last case I will proceed as far as I can with you towards 
 the English line, and then leave you to pursue your journey, and to obtain 
 a guard and a conductor among your own countrymen. Meantime, it will 
 be well for me if I escape being taken, since the abbot would not shrink at 
 inflicting upon me the death due to an apostate nun.’^ 
 
 “ Such cruelty, my sister, could hardly be inflicted upon one who had 
 never taken the religious vows, and who still, according to the laws of the 
 Church, had a right to make a choice between the world and the veil.’^ 
 
 “ Such choice as they gave their gallant victims,^^ said Lady Margaret, 
 “ who have fallen into English hands during these merciless wars, — such 
 choice as they gave to Wallace, the Champion of Scotland, — such as they 
 gave to Ilay, the gentle and the free, — to Sommerville, the flower of chi¬ 
 valry,— and to Athol, the blood relation of King Edward himself—all of 
 whom were as much traitors, under which name they were executed, as 
 Margaret de Ilautlieu is an apostate nun, and subject to the rule of the 
 cloister.’’ 
 
 She spoke with some eagerness, for she felt as if the English lady imputed 
 to her more coldness than she was, in such doubtful circumstances, conscious 
 of manifesting. 
 
 “ And after all,” she proceeded, “ you. Lady Augusta de Berkely, what 
 do you venture, if you run the risk of falling into the hands of your lover? 
 AVdiat dreadful risk do you incur? You need not, methinks, fear being im¬ 
 mured between four walls, with a basket of bread and a cruise of water, 
 which, were I seized, would be the only support allowed to me for the short 
 space that^my life would be prolonged. Nay, even were you to be betrayed 
 to the rebel Scots, as you call tliem, a captivity among the hills, sweetened 
 by the hope of deliverance, and rendered tolerable by all the alleviations 
 which the circumstances of your captors allowed them the means of supply¬ 
 ing, were not, I think, a lot so very hard to endure.” 
 
 “ Nevertheless,” answered the Lady of Berkely, “ frightful enough it 
 must have appeared to me, since, to fly from such, I threw myself upon 
 your guidance.” 
 
 ‘•And, whatever you think or suspect,” answered the novice, “ I am as 
 true to you as ever was one maiden to another; and as sure as ever sister 
 Ursula was true to her vows, although they were never completed, so will I 
 be faithful to your secret, even at the risk of betraying my own.” 
 
 “ Hearken, lady!” she said, suddenly pausing, “ do you hear that?” 
 
 The sound to which she alluded was the same imitation of the cry of an 
 owlet, which the lady had before heard under the walls of the convent. 
 
 “ These sounds,” said Margaret de Ilautlieu, “ announce that one is near, 
 more able than I am to direct us in this matter. I must go forward and 
 speak with him ; and this man, our guide, will remain by you for a little 
 space; nor, when he quits your bridle, need you wait for any other signal, 
 but ride forward on the woodland path, and obey the advice and directions 
 which will be given you.” 
 
 2e 
 
350 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 “ Stay ! stay! sister Ursula I” cried the Lady de Berkely—“ abandon me 
 not in this moment of uncertainty and distress I” 
 
 “ It must be, for the sake of both,^^ returned Margaret de Hautlieu. “ I 
 also am in uncertainty—I also am in distress—and patience and obedience 
 are the only virtues which can save us both/^ 
 
 So saying, she struck her horse with the riding rod, and moving briskly 
 forward, disappeared among the tangled boughs of a thicket. The Lady 
 of Berkely would have followed her companion, but the cavalier who at¬ 
 tended them laid a strong hand upon the bridle of her palfrey, with a look 
 wliich implied that he would not permit her to proceed in that direction. 
 Terrified, therefore, though she could not exactly state a reason why, the 
 Lady of Berkely remained with her eyes fixed upon the thicket, instinct¬ 
 ively, as it were, expecting to see a band of English archers, or rugged 
 Scottish insurgents, issue from its tangled skirts, and doubtful which she 
 should have most considered as the objects of her terror. In the distress 
 of her uncertainty, she again attempted to move forward, but the stern 
 check which her attendant again bestowed upon her bridle, proved suffi¬ 
 ciently that in restraining her wishes, the stranger was not likely to spare 
 the strength which he certainly possessed. At length, after some ten mi¬ 
 nutes had elapsed, the cavalier withdrew his hand from her bridle, and 
 pointing with his lance towards the thicket, through which there winded a 
 narrow, scarce visible path, seemed to intimate to the lady that her road 
 lay in that direction, and that he would no longer prevent her following it. 
 
 “ Do you not go with me ‘i” said the lady, who, having been accustomed 
 to this man’s company since they left the convent, had by degrees come to 
 look upon him as a sort of protector. He, however, gravely shook his head, 
 as if to excuse complying with a request, which it was not in his power tc 
 grant; and turning his steed in a different direction, retired at a pace which 
 soon carried him from her sight. She had then no alternative but to take 
 the path of the thicket, which had been followed by Margaret de Hautlieu, 
 nor did she'pursue it long before coming in sight of a singular spectacle. 
 
 The trees grew wider as the lady advanced, and when she entered the 
 thicket, she perceived that, though hedged in as it were by an enclosure of 
 copsewood, it was in the interior altogether occupied by a few of the mag¬ 
 nificent trees, such as seemed to have been the ancestors of the forest, and 
 which, though few in number, were sufficient to overshade all the unoccu¬ 
 pied ground, by the great extent of their complicated branches. Beneath 
 one of these lay stretched something of a grey colour, which, as it drew 
 itself together, exhibited the figure of a man sheathed in armour, but 
 strangely accoutred, and in a manner so bizarre, as to indicate some of the 
 wild fancies peculiar to the knights of that period. His armour was inge¬ 
 niously painted, so as to represent a skeleton ; the ribs being constituted by 
 the corselet and its back-piece. The shield represented an owl with its 
 wings spread, a device which was repeated upon the helmet, which appeared 
 to be completely covered by an image of the same bird of ill omen. But 
 that which was particularly calculated to excite surprise in the spectator, 
 was the great height and thinness of the figure, which, as it arose from the 
 ground, and placed itself in an erect posture, seemed rather to resemble an 
 apparition in the act of extricating itself from the grave, than that of an 
 ordinary man rising upon his feet. The horse, too, upon which the lady 
 rode, started back and snorted, either at the sudden change of posture of 
 this ghastly specimen of chivalry, or disagreeably affected by some odour 
 which accompanied his presence. The lady herself manifested some alarm, 
 for although she did not utterly believe she was in the presence of a super 
 natural being, yet, among all the strange half-frantic disguises of chivalry 
 this was assuredly the most uncouth which she had ever seen ; and, con¬ 
 sidering how often the knights of the period pushed their dreamy fancies 
 to the borders of insanity, it seemed at best no very safe adventure to meet 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 351 
 
 ono accoutred in the embloins of the King of Terrors himself, alone, and 
 in the midst of a wild forest. Be the knight’s character and purposes what 
 they might, she resolved, however, to accost him in the language and man¬ 
 ner observed in romances upon such occasions, in the hope even that if ho 
 were a madman ho might prove a peaceable one, and accessible to civility. 
 
 “ Sir Knight,” she said, in as firm a tone as she could assume, “ right 
 sorry am I, if, by my hasty approach, I have disturbed your solitary medi¬ 
 tations. My horse, sensible 1 think of the presence of yours, brought me 
 hither, without my being aware whom or what I was to encounter.” 
 
 “ I am one,” answered the stranger, in a solemn tone, “ whom few men 
 seek to meet, till the time comes that they can avoid me no longer.” 
 
 “You s^ieak. Sir Knight,” replied the Lady de Berkely, “ according to 
 the dismal character of which it has pleased you to assume the distinction. 
 May I appeal to one whose exterior is so formidable, for the purpose of 
 requesting some directions to guide me through this wild wood; as, for in¬ 
 stance, what is the name of the nearest castle, town, or hostelry, and by 
 what course I am best likely to reach such ?” 
 
 “ It is a singular audacity,” answered the Knight of the Tomb, “ that 
 would enter into conversation with him who is termed the Inexorable, the 
 Unsparing, and the Pitiless, whom even the most miserable forbears to call 
 to his assistance, lest his prayers should be too soon answered.” 
 
 “ fSir Knight,” replied the Lady Augusta, “ the character which you have 
 assumed, unquestionably for good reasons, dictates to you a peculiar course 
 of speech; but although your part is a sad one, it does not, I should sup¬ 
 pose, render it necessary for you to refuse those acts of civility to w'hich 
 you must have bound yourself in taking the high vows of chivalry.” 
 
 “ If you will trust to my guidance,” replied the ghastly figure, “ there is 
 only one condition upon which I can grant you the information which you 
 require; and that is, that you follow my footsteps without any questions 
 asked as to the tendency of our journey.” 
 
 “ I suppose I must submit to your conditions,” she answered, “ if you are 
 indeed pleased to take upon yourself the task of being my guide. In my 
 heart I conceive you to be one of the unhappy gentlemen of Scotland, who 
 are now in arms, as they say, for the defence of their liberties. A rash 
 undertaking has brought me within the sphere of your influence, and now 
 the only favour I have to request of you, against whom I never did, nor 
 planned any evil, is the guidance which your knowledge of the country 
 permits you easily to afibrd me in my way to the frontiers of England. Be¬ 
 lieve that what I may see of your haunts or of your practices, shall be to 
 me things invisible, as if they were actually concealed by the sepulchre 
 itself, of the king of which it has pleased you to assume the attributes ; 
 and if a sum of money, enough to be the ransom of a wealthy earl, will 
 purchase such a favour at need, such a ransom will be frankly paid, and 
 with as much fidelity as ever it was rendered by a prisoner to the knight by 
 whom he was taken. Do not reject me, princely Bruce—noble Douglas — 
 if indeed it is to either of these that I address'myself in this my last extre¬ 
 mity— men speak of both as fearful enemies, but generous knights and 
 faithful friends. Let me entreat you to remember h^w much you would 
 wish your own friends and connexions to meet wdth compassion under 
 similar circumstances, at the hands of the knights of England.” 
 
 “ And have they done so ?” replied the Knight, in a voice more gloomy 
 than before, “or do you act wisely, while imploring the protection of one 
 whom you believe to be a true Scottish knight, for no other reason than the 
 extreme and extravagant misery of his appearance ? — is it, I say, well or 
 wise to remind him of the mode in which the lords of England have treated 
 the lovely maidens and the high-born dames of Scotland ? Have not their 
 prison cages been suspended from the battlements of castles, that their 
 captivity might loe kept in view of every base burgher, who should desire 
 
 
WAVEELEY NOVELS. 
 
 352 
 
 to look upon the miseries of the noblest peeresses, yea, even the Queen of 
 Scotland?* Is this a recollection which can inspire a Scottish knight with 
 compassion towards an English lady ? or is it a thought w^hich can do aught 
 but swell the deeply sworn hatred of Edward Plantagenet, the author of 
 these evils, that boils in every drop of Scottish blood which still feels the 
 throb of life? No; — it is all you can expect, if, cold and pitiless as the 
 sepulchre I represent, I leave you unassisted in the helpless condition in 
 which you describe yourself to be/^ 
 
 “ You will not be so inhuman,'' replied the lady ; “ in doing so you must 
 surrender every right to honest fame, which you have won either by sword 
 or lance. You must surrender every pretence to that justice which affects 
 the merit of supporting the weak against the strong. You must make it 
 your principle to avenge the wrongs and tyranny of Edward Plantagenet 
 upon the dames and damosels of England, who have neither access to his 
 councils, nor perhaps give him their approbation in his wars against Scot¬ 
 land." 
 
 “ It would not then," said the Knight of the Sepulchre, “ induce you to 
 depart from your request, should I tell you the evils to which you would 
 subject yourself should we fall into the hands of the English troops, and 
 should they find you under such ill-omened protection as my own ?" 
 
 “ Be assured," said the lady, “ the consideration of such an event does 
 not in the least shake my resolution, or desire of confiding in your protec¬ 
 tion. You may probably know who I am, and may judge how far even 
 Edward would hold himself entitled to extend punishment towards me." 
 
 “ How am I to know you," replied the ghastly cavalier, “ or your circum¬ 
 stances? They must be extraordinary indeed, if they could form a check, 
 either of justice or humanity, upon the revengeful feelings of Edward. All 
 who know him are well assured that it is no ordinary motive that will in¬ 
 duce him to depart from the indulgence of his evil temper. But be it as it 
 may, you, lady, if a lady you be, throw yourself as a burden upon me, and 
 I must discharge myself of my trust as I best may; for this purpose you 
 must be guided implicitly by my directions, which will be given after the 
 fashion of those of the spiritual world, being intimations, rather than de¬ 
 tailed instructions for your conduct, and expressed rather by commands, 
 than by any reason or argument. In this way it is possible that I may be 
 of service to you; in any other case, it is most likely that I may fail you at 
 need, and melt from your side like a phantom which dreads the approach 
 of day." 
 
 “ You cannot be so cruel!" answered the lady. “ A gentleman, a knight, 
 and a nobleman—and I persuade myself I speak to all—hath duties which 
 he cannot abandon." 
 
 “He has, I grant it, and they are most sacred to me," answered the 
 Spectral Knight; “ but I have also duties whose obligations are doubly 
 binding, and to which I must sacrifice those which would otherwise lead 
 me to devote myself to your rescue. The only question is whether you feel 
 inclined to accept my protection on the limited terms on which alone I can 
 extend it, or whether you deem it better that each go their own way, and 
 limit themselves to their own resources, and trust the rest to Providence ?" 
 
 “ Alas!" replied the lady, “ beset and hard pressed as I am, to ask me to 
 form a resolution for myself, is like calling on the wretch in the act of fall¬ 
 ing from a precipice, to form a calm judgment by what twig he may best 
 gain the chance of breaking his fall. His answer must necessarily be, that 
 he will cling to that which he can easiest lay hold of, and trust the rest to 
 Providence. I accept therefore your olfer of protection in the modified way 
 you are pleased to limit it, and I put my faith in Heaven and in you. To 
 
 • The Queen of Robert the Bruce, and the Countess of Buchan, by whom, as one of Macduff’s descent, he 
 was crowned at Scone, were secured in the manner described. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 353 
 
 aid me effectually, however, you must know my name and my circum¬ 
 stances.’’ 
 
 “ All these,” answered the Knight of the Sepulchre, “ have already been 
 told me by your late companion ; for deem not, young lady, that either 
 beauty, rank, extended domains, unlimited wealth, or the highest accom¬ 
 plishments, can weigh any thing in the consideration of him who wears the 
 trappings of the tomb, and whose affections and desires are long buried in 
 the charnel-house.” 
 
 “ May your faith,” said the Lady Augusta de Berkely, “ be as steady as 
 your words appear severe, and I submit to your guidance, without the least 
 doubt or fear that it will prove otherwise than as I venture to hope.” 
 
 Cjin|itn tljB /iftBEntlj. 
 
 Like the dog following its master, when engaged in training him to the 
 sport in which he desires he should excel, the Lady Augusta felt herself 
 occasionally treated with a severity, calculated to impress upon her the 
 most implicit obedience and attention to the Knight of the Tomb, in M^hom 
 she had speedily persuaded herself she saw a principal man among the 
 retainers of Douglas, if not James of Douglas himself. Still, however, the 
 ideas which the lady had formed of the redoubted Douglas, were those of 
 a knight highly accomplished in the duties of chivalry, devoted in particular 
 to the service of the fair sex, and altogether unlike the personage with 
 whom she found herself so strangely united, or rather for the present en¬ 
 thralled to. Nevertheless, when, as if to abridge farther communication, 
 he turned short into one of the mazes of the wood, and seemed to adopt a 
 pace, which, from the nature of the ground, the horse on which the Lady 
 Augusta was mounted had difficulty to keep up with, she followed him with 
 the alarm and speed of the young spaniel, which from fear rather than 
 fondness, endeavours to keep up with the track of its severe master. The 
 simile, it is true, is not a very polite one, nor entirely becoming an age, 
 when women were worshipped with a certain degree of devotion ; but such 
 circumstances as the present were also rare, and the Lady Augusta de 
 Berkely could not but persuade herself that the terrible champion, whose 
 name had been so long the theme of her anxiety, and the terror indeed of 
 the whole country, might be able, some way or other, to accomplish her 
 deliverance. She, therefore, exerted herself to the utmost, so as to keep 
 pace with the phantom-like apparition, and followed the knight, as the 
 evening shadow keeps watch upon the belated rustic. 
 
 As the lady obviously suffered under the degree of exertion necessary to 
 keep her palfrey from stumbling in these steep and broken paths, the Knight 
 of the Tomb slackened his pace, looked anxiously around him, and muttered 
 apparently to himself, though probably intended for his companion’s ear, 
 “ There is no occasion for so much haste.” 
 
 lie proceeded at a slower rate, until they seemed to be on the brink of a 
 ravine, being one of many irregularities on the surfiice of the ground, effected 
 by the sudden torrents peculiar to that country, and which, winding among 
 the trees and copse-wood, formed, as it were, a net of places of conceal¬ 
 ment, opening into each other, so that there was perhaps no place in the 
 world so tit for the purpose of ambuscade. The spot where the borderer 
 Turnbull had made his escape at the hunting match, was one specimen of 
 this broken country, and perhaps connected itself with the various thickets 
 and passes through which the knight and pilgrim occasionally seemed to 
 
 VoL. X1I.~23 2 e2 
 
354 
 
 WAVE 11 LEY NOVELS. 
 
 take their way, though that ravine was at a considerable distance from their 
 present route. 
 
 Meanwhile the knight led the way, as if rather with the purpose of be¬ 
 wildering the Lady Augusta amidst these interminable woods, than follow¬ 
 ing any exact or fixed path. Here they ascended, and anon appeared to 
 descend in the same direction, finding only boundless -wildernesses, and 
 varied combinations of tangled woodland scenery. Such part of the coun¬ 
 try as seemed arable, the knight appeared carefully to avoid; yet he could 
 not direct his course with so much certainty but that he occasionally crossed 
 the path of inhabitants and cultivators, who showed a consciousness of so 
 singular a presence, but never as the lady observed evinced any symptoms 
 of recognition. The inference was obvious, that the spectre knight was 
 known in the country, and that he possessed adherents or accomplices there, 
 who were at least so far his friends, as to avoid giving any alarm, which 
 might be the means of his discovery. The well-imitated cry of the night- 
 owl, too frequent a guest in the wilderness that its call should be a subject 
 of surprise, seemed to be a signal generally understood among them ; for it 
 was heard in different parts of the wood, and the Lady Augusta, experienced 
 in such journeys by her former travels under the guidance of the minstrel 
 Bertram, was led to observe, that on hearing such wild notes, her guide 
 changed the direction of his course, and betook himself to paths which led 
 through deeper wilds, and more impenetrable thickets. This happened so 
 often, that a new alarm came upon the unfortunate pilgrim, which suggested 
 other motives of terror. Was she not the confidant, and almost the tool of 
 some artful design, laid with a view to an extensive operation, which was 
 destined to terminate, as the efforts of Douglas had before done, in the sur¬ 
 prise of his hereditary castle, the massacre of the English garrison — and 
 finally in the dishonour and death of that Sir John de Walton, upon whose 
 fate she had long believed, or taught herself to believe, that her own was 
 dependent? 
 
 It no sooner flashed across the mind of the Lady Augusta that she was 
 engaged in some such conspiracy with a Scottish insurgent, than she shud¬ 
 dered at the consequences of the dark transactions in which she had now 
 become involved, and which appeared to have a tendency so very different 
 from what she had at first apprehended. 
 
 The hours of the morning of this remarkable day, being that of Palm 
 Sunday, were thus drawn out in wandering from place to place ; while the 
 Lady de Berkely occasionally interposed by petitions for liberty, which she 
 endeavoured to express in the most moving and pathetic manner, and by 
 offers of wealth and treasures, to which no answer whatever was returned 
 by her strange guide. 
 
 At length, as if worn out by his captive’s importunity, the knight, coming 
 close up to the bridle-rein of the Lady Augusta, said in a solemn tone— 
 
 “ I am, as you may well believe, none of those knights who roam through 
 wood and wild, seeking adventures, by which I may obtain grace in the eyes 
 of a fair lady: Yet will I to a certain degree grant the request which thou 
 dost solicit so anxiously, and the arbitration of thy fate shall depend upon 
 the pleasure of him to whose will thou hast expressed thyself ready to sub¬ 
 mit thine own. I will, on our arrival at the place of our destination, which 
 is now at hand, write to Sir John de Walton, and send my letter, together 
 with thy fair self, by a special messenger. He will, no doubt, speedily attend 
 our summons, and thou shalt thyself be satisfied, that even he who has as 
 yet appeared deaf to entreaty, and insensible to earthly affections, has still 
 some sympathy for beauty and for virtue. I will put the choice of safety, 
 and thy future happiness, into thine own hands, and those of the man whom 
 thou hast chosen; and thou mayst select which thou wilt betwixt those and 
 misery.” 
 
 While he thus spoke, one of those ravines or clefts in the earth seemed to 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 355 
 
 yuwn before them, and entering it at the upper end, the spectre knight, 
 with an attention which he had not yet shown, guided the lady’s courser by 
 the rein down the broken and steep path by which alone the bottom of the 
 tangled dingle was accessible. 
 
 When placed on tirm ground after the dangers of a descent, in which her 
 palfrey seemed to be sustained by the personal strength and address of the 
 singular being who had hold of the bridle, the lady looked with some as¬ 
 tonishment at a place so well adapted for concealment as that which she 
 had now reached. It appeared evident that it was used for this purpose, 
 for more than one stifled answer was given to a very low bugle-note emitted 
 by the Knight of the Tomb; and when the same note was repeated, about 
 half a score of armed men, some wearing the dress of soldiers, others those 
 of shepherds and agriculturists, showed themselves imperfectly, as if ac¬ 
 knowledging the summons. 
 
 (Uljnpttr tjjt liittnitlj. 
 
 “Hail to you, my gallant friends!” said the Knight of the Tomb to his 
 companions, who seemed to welcome him with the eagerness of men en¬ 
 gaged in the same perilous undertaking. “ The winter has passed over, 
 the festival of Palm Sunday is come, and as surely as the ice and snow of 
 this season shall not remain to chill the earth through the ensuing summer, 
 so surely we, in a few hours, keep our word to those southern braggarts, 
 who think their language of boasting and malice has as much force over 
 our Scottish bosoms, as the blast possesses over the autumn fruits; but it is 
 not so. While we choose to remain concealed, they may as vainly seek to 
 descry us, as a housewife would search for the needle she has dropped 
 among the withered foliage of yon gigantic oak. Yet a few hours, and the 
 lost needle shall become the exterminating sword of the Genius of Scotland, 
 avenging ten thousand injuries, and especially the life of the gallant Lord 
 Douglas, cruelly done to death as an exile from his native country.” 
 
 An exclamation between a yell and a groan burst from the assembled 
 retainers of Douglas, upon being reminded of the recent death of their 
 chieftain ; while they seemed at the same time sensible of the necessity of 
 making little noise, lest they should give the alarm to some of the numerous 
 English parties which were then traversing different parts of the forest. 
 The acclamation, so cautiously uttered, had scarce died away in silence, 
 when the Knight of the Tomb, or, to call him by his proper name, Sir 
 James Douglas, again addressed his handful of faithful followers. 
 
 “One effort, my friends, may yet be made to end our strife with the 
 Southron without bloodshed. Fate has within a few hours thrown into my 
 power the young heiress of Berkely, for whose sake it is said Sir John de 
 Walton keeps with such obstinacy the castle which is mine by inheritance. 
 Is there one among you who dare go, as the honourable escort of Augusta 
 de Berkely, bearing a letter, explaining the terms on which I am willing to 
 restore her to her lover, to freedom, and to her English lordships?” 
 
 “ If there is none other,” said a tall man, dressed in the tattered attire 
 of a woodsman, and being, in fact, no other than the very Michael Turn- 
 bull, who had already given so extraordinary a proof of his undaunted man¬ 
 hood, “ I will gladly be the person who will be the lady’s henchman on this 
 expedition.” 
 
 “ Thou art never wanting,” said the Douglas, “ where a manly deed is to 
 
35G 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 Lc done ; but remember, this lady must pledge to us her word and oath 
 that she will hold herself our faithful prisoner, rescue or no rescue ; that 
 she will consider herself as pledged for the life, freedom, and fair usage of 
 Michael Turnbull ; and that if Sir John de Walton refuse my terms, she 
 must hold herself obliged to return with Turnbull to our presence, in order 
 to be disposed of at our pleasure.’’ 
 
 There was much in these conditions, which struck the Lady Augusta with 
 natural doubt and horror; nevertheless, strange as it may seem, the decla¬ 
 ration of the Douglas gave a species of decision to her situation, which 
 might have otherwise been unattainable; and from the high opinion which 
 she entertained of the Douglas’s chivalry, she could not bring herself to 
 think, that any part which he might play in the approaching drama would 
 be other than that which a perfect good knight would, under all circum¬ 
 stances, maintain towards his enemy. Even with respect to De Walton, she 
 felt herself relieved of a painful difficulty. The idea of her being dis¬ 
 covered by the knight himself, in a male disguise, had preyed upon her 
 spirits; and she felt as if guilty of a departure from the laws of woman¬ 
 hood, in having extended her favour towards him beyond maidenly limits ; 
 a step, too, which might tend to lessen her in the eyes of the lover for whom 
 she had hazarded so much. 
 
 “The heart, she said, is lightly prized, 
 
 Tiiat is but lightly won; 
 
 And long shall mourn the heartless man, 
 
 That leaves his love too soon.” 
 
 On the other hand, to be brought before him as a prisoner, was indeed a 
 circumstance equally perplexing as unpleasing, but it was one which was 
 beyond her control, and the Douglas, into whose hands she had fallen, ap¬ 
 peared to her to represent the deity in the play, whose entrance was almost 
 sufficient to bring its perplexities to a conclusion ; she therefore not unwill¬ 
 ingly submitted to take what oaths and promises were required by the 
 party in whose hands she found herself, and accordingly engaged to be a 
 true prisoner, whatever might occur. Meantime she strictly obeyed the 
 directions of those who had her motions at command, devoutly praying that 
 circumstances, in themselves so adverse, might nevertheless work together 
 for the safety of her lover and her own freedom. 
 
 A pause ensued, during which a slight repast.was placed before the Lady, 
 Augusta, who was well-nigh exhausted with the fatigues of her journey. 
 
 Douglas and his partisans, meanwhile, whispered together, as if unwilling 
 she should hear their conference ; while, to purchase their good-will, if pos¬ 
 sible, she studiously avoided every appearance of listening. 
 
 After some conversation, Turnbull, who appeared to consider the lady as 
 peculiarly his charge, said to her in a harsh voice, “ Do not fear, lady; no 
 wrong shall be done you; nevertheless, you must be content for a space to 
 be blindfolded.” 
 
 She submitted to this in silent terror; and the trooper, wrapping part 
 of a mantle round her head, did not assist her to remount her palfrey, but 
 lent her his arm to support her in this blinded state. 
 
 (CjjnptBr tljE linButBEntl). 
 
 The ground which they traversed was, as Lady Augusta could feel, very 
 broken and uneven, and sometimes, as she thought, encumbered with ruins, 
 which were difficult to surmount. The strength of her comrade assisted her 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 357 
 
 forward on such occasions; but his help was so roughly administered, that 
 the lady once or twice, in fear or suffering, was compelled to groan or sigh 
 heavily, whatever was her desire to suppress such evidence of the apprehen¬ 
 sion which she underwent, or the pain which she endured. Presently, upon 
 an occasion of this kind, she was distinctly sensible that the rough woodsman 
 was removed from her side, and another of the party substituted in his stead, 
 whose voice, more gentle than that of his companions, she thought she liad 
 lately heard. 
 
 “ Noble lady,’' were the words, “ fear not the slightest injury at our hands, 
 and accept of my ministry instead of that of my henchman, who has gone 
 forward with our letter; do not think me presuming on my situation if I 
 bear you in my arms through ruins where you could not easily move alone 
 and blindfold.” 
 
 At the same time the Lady Augusta Berkely felt herself raised from the 
 earth in the strong arms of a man, and borne onward with the utmost 
 gentleness, without the necessity of making those painful exertions which 
 had been formerly required. She was ashamed of her situation ; but, how¬ 
 ever delicate, it was no time to give vent to complaints, which might have 
 given offence to persons whom it was her interest to conciliate. She, 
 therefore, submitted to necessity, and heard the following words whispered 
 in her ear. 
 
 “ Fear nothing ; there is no evil intended you; nor shall Sir John de Walton, 
 if he loves you as you deserve at his hand, receive any harm on our part. 
 We call on him but to do justice to ourselves and to you; and be assured 
 you will best accomplish your own happiness by aiding our views, which 
 are equally in favour of your wishes and your freedom.” 
 
 The Lady Augusta would have made some answer to this, but her breath, 
 betwixt fear and the speed with which she was transported, refused to permit 
 her to use intelligible accents. Meantime she began to be sensible that 
 she was enclosed within some building, and probably a ruinous one — for 
 although the mode of her transportation no longer permitted her to ascertain 
 the nature of her path in any respect distinctly, yet the absence of the 
 external air—which was, however, sometimes excluded, and sometimes ad¬ 
 mitted in furious gusts—intimated that she was conducted through buildings 
 partly entire, and in other places admitting the wind through wide rents 
 and gaps. In one place it seemed to the lady as if she passed through a 
 considerable body of people, all of whom observed silence, although there 
 was sometimes heard among them a murmur, to which every one present 
 in some degree contributed, although the general sound did not exceed a 
 whisper. Her situation made her attend to every circumstance, and she did 
 not fail to observe that these persons made way for him who bore her, until 
 at length she became sensible that he descended by the regular steps of a 
 stair, and that she was now alone excepting his company. Arrived, as it 
 appeared to the lady, on more level ground, they proceeded on their singular 
 road by a course which appeared neither direct nor easy, and through an 
 atmosphere which was close to a smothering degree, and felt at the same 
 time damp and disagreeable, as if from the vapours of a new-made grave. 
 Her guide again spoke. 
 
 “Bear up. Lady Augusta, for a little longer, and continue to endure that 
 atmosphere which must be one day common to us all. By the necessity of 
 my situation, I must resign my present office to your original guide, and can 
 only give 3 'ou m 3 ' assurance, that neither he, nor any one else, shall offer 
 3 0U the least incivility or insult—and on this you may rely, on the faith of 
 a man of honour.” 
 
 He placed her, as he said these words, upon the soft turf, and, to her 
 infinite refreshment, made her sensible that she was once more in the open 
 air, and free from the smothering atmosphere which had before oppressed 
 her like that of a charnel-house. At the same time, she breathed in a 
 
358 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 whisper an anxious wish that she might he permitted to disencumber 
 herself from the folds of the mantle which excluded almost the power of 
 breathing, though intended only to prevent her seeing by what road she 
 travelled. She immediately found it unfolded, agreeably to her request, 
 and hastened, with uncovered eyes, to take note of the scene around her. 
 
 It was overshadowed by thick oak trees, among which stood some rem¬ 
 nants of buildings, or what might have seemed such, being perhaps the 
 same in which she had been lately wandering. A clear fountain of living 
 water bubbled forth from under the twisted roots of one of those trees, and 
 olfered the lady the opportunity of a draught of the pure element, and in 
 w'hich she also bathed her face, which had received more than one scratch 
 in the course of her journey, in spite of the care, and almost the tenderness, 
 with which she had latterly been borne along. The cool water speedily 
 stopt the bleeding of those trifling injuries, and the application served at 
 the same time to recall.the scattered senses of the damsel herself. Her 
 first idea was, whether an attempt to escape, if such should appear possi¬ 
 ble, was not advisable. A moment’s reflection, however, satisfied her that 
 such a scheme was not to be thought of: and such second thoughts were 
 confirmed by the approach of the gigantic form of the-huntsman Turnbull, 
 the rough tones of whose voice were heard before his figure was obvious to 
 her eye. 
 
 “ Were you impatient for my return, fair lady? Such as I,” he continued 
 in an ironical tone of voice, “ who are foremost in the chase of wild stags 
 and silvan cattle, are not in use »to lag behind, when fair ladies, like you, 
 are the objects of pursuit; and if I am not so constant in my attendance as 
 you might expect, believe me, it is because I was engaged in another matter, 
 to wdiich I must sacrifice for a little even the duty of attending on you.” 
 
 “I offer no resistance,” said the lady; “forbear, however, in discharging 
 thy duty, to augment my uneasiness by thy conversation, for thy master 
 hath pledged me his word that he will not suffer me to be alarmed or ill 
 treated.” 
 
 “ Nay, fair one,” replied the huntsman, “ I ever thought it was fit to make 
 interest by soft words with fair ladies ; but if you like it not, I have no such 
 pleasure in hunting for fine holyday terms, but that I can with equal ease 
 hold myself silent. Come, then, since we must wait upon this lover of yours 
 ere morning closes, and learn his last resolution touching a matter which is 
 become so strangely complicated, I will hold no more intercourse with you 
 as a female, but talk to you as a person of sense, although an Englishwo¬ 
 man.” 
 
 “ You will,” replied the lady, “ best fulfil the intentions of those by whose 
 orders you act, by holding no society with me whatever, otherwise than is 
 necessary in the character of guide.” 
 
 The man lowered his brows, yet seemed to assent to what the Lady of 
 Berkely proposed, and remained silent as they for some time pursued their 
 course, each pondering over their own share of meditation, which probably 
 turned upon matters essentially different. At length the loud blast of a 
 bugle was heard at no great distance from the unsocial fellow-travellers. 
 “ That is the person we seek,” said Turnbull; “ I know his blast from any 
 other who frequents this forest, and my orders are to bring you to speech 
 of him.” 
 
 The blood darted rapidly through the lady’s veins at the thought of being 
 thus unceremoniously presented to the knight, in whose favour she had con¬ 
 fessed a rash preference more agreeable to the manners of those times, when 
 exaggerated sentiments often inspired actions of extravagant generosity, than 
 in our days, when every thing is accounted absurd which does not turn upon 
 a motive connected with the immediate selfish interests of the actor himself. 
 When Turnbull, therefore, winded his horn, as if in answer to the blast 
 which they had heard, the lady was disposed to fly at the first impulse of 
 
V 
 
 CASTLE DANGEROUS. 359 
 
 shame and of fear. Turnbull perceived her intention, and caught hold of 
 her with no very gentle grasp, saying — “ hJay, lady, it is to be understood 
 that you play your own part in the drama, which, unless you continue on 
 the stage, will conclude unsatisfactorily to us all, in a combat at outrance 
 between your lover and me, when it will appear which of us is most worthy 
 of your favour/^ 
 
 “ I will be patient,” said the lady, bethinking her that even this strange 
 man^s presence, and the compulsion which he appeared to use towards her, 
 was a sort of excuse to her female scruples, for coming into the presence of 
 her lover, at least at her first appearance before him, in a disguise which 
 her feelings confessed was not extremely decorous, or reconcilable to the 
 dignity of her sex. 
 
 The moment after these thoughts had passed through her mind, the tramp 
 of a horse was heard approaching ; and Sir John de Walton, pressing 
 through the trees, became aware of the presence of his lady, captive, as it 
 seemed, in the grasp of a Scottish outlaw, who was only known to him by 
 his former audacity at the hunting-match. 
 
 Ilis surprise and joy only supplied the knight with those hasty expres¬ 
 sions— “Caitiff, let go thy hold I or die in thy profane attempt to conti'ol 
 the motions of one whom the very sun in heaven should be proud to obey.” 
 At the same time, apprehensive that the huntsman might hurry the lady 
 from his sight by means of some entangled path — such as upon a former 
 occasion had served him for escape Sir John de Walton dropt his cumbrous 
 lance, of which the trees did not permit him the perfect use, and springing 
 from his horse, approached Turnbull with his drawn sword. 
 
 The Scotchman, keeping his left hand still upon the lady’s mantle, 
 uplifted with his right his battle-axe, or Jedwood staff, for the purpose of 
 parrying and returning the blow of his antagonist, but the lady spoke. 
 
 “ Sir John de AValton,” she said, “for heaven’s sake, forbear all violence, 
 till you hear upon what pacific object I am brought hither, and by what 
 peaceful means these wars may be put an end to. This man, though an 
 enemy of yours, has been to me a civil and respectful guardian ; and I 
 entreat you to forbear him while he speaks the purpose for which he has 
 brought me hither.” 
 
 “ To speak of compulsion and the Lady de Berkely in the same breath, 
 would itself be cause enough for instant death,” said the Governor of 
 Douglas Castle; “ but you command, lady, and I spare his insignificant life, 
 although I have causes of complaint against him, the least of which were 
 good warrant, had he a thousand lives, for the forfeiture of them all.” 
 
 “John de AValton,” replied Turnbull, “this lady Avell knows that no fear 
 of thee operates in my mind to render this a peaceful meeting; and were I 
 not withheld by other circumstances of great consideration to the Douglas 
 as well as thyself, I should have no more fear in facing the utmost thou 
 couldst do, than I have now in levelling that sapling to the earth it grows 
 upon.” 
 
 So saying, Michael Turnbull raised his battle-axe, and struck from a 
 neighbouring oak-tree a branch, wellnigh as thick as a mail’s arm, which 
 (with all its Dvigs and leaves) rushed to the ground between De Walton and 
 the Scotchman, giving a singular instance of the keenness of his weapon, 
 and the strength and dexterity with which he used it. 
 
 “ Let there be truce, then, between us, good fellow,” said Sir John do 
 Walton, “since it is the lady’s pleasure that such should be the case, and 
 let me know what thou hast to say to me respecting her?” 
 
 “On that subject,” said Turnbull, “my words are few, but mark them. 
 Sir Englishman. The Lady Augusta Berkely, wandering in this country, 
 has become a prisoner of the noble Lord Douglas, the rightful inheritor of 
 the Castle and lordship, and he finds himself obliged to attach to the liberty 
 of this lady the following conditions, being in all respects such as good and 
 
860 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 V 
 
 lawful warfare entitles a knight to exact. That is to say, in all honour and 
 safety the Lady Augusta shall be delivered to Sir John de Walton, or those 
 whom he shall name, for the purpose of receiving her. On the other hand, 
 the Castle of Douglas itself, together with all out-posts or garrisons there¬ 
 unto belonging, shall be made over and surrendered by Sir John do Walton, 
 in the same situation, and containing the same provisions and artillery, as 
 are now within their walls; and the space of a month of truce shall be per¬ 
 mitted to Sir James Douglas and Sir John de Walton farther to regulate the 
 terms of surrender on both parts, having first plighted their knightly word 
 and oath, that in the exchange of the honourable lady for the foresaid castle, 
 lies the full import of the present agreement, and that every other subject 
 of dispute shall, at the pleasure of the noble knights foresaid, be honourably 
 compounded and agreed betwixt them ; or at their pleasure, settled knightly 
 by single coirtbat according to usage, and in a fair field, before any honour¬ 
 able person, that may possess power enough to preside.'^ 
 
 It is not easy to conceive the astonishment of Sir John de Walton at 
 hearing the contents of this extraordinary cartel; he looked towards the 
 Lady of Berkely with that aspect of despair with which a criminal may be 
 supposed to see his guardian angel prepare for departure. Through her 
 mind also similar ideas flowed, as if they contained a concession of what 
 she had considered as the summit of her wishes, but under conditions 
 disgraceful to her lover, like the cherub’s fiery sword of yore, which was a 
 barrier between our first parents and the blessings of Paradise. Sir John 
 de Walton, after a moment’s hesitation, broke silence in these words: — 
 
 “ Noble lady, you may be surprised if a condition be imposed upon me, 
 having for its object your freedom; and if Sir John de Walton, already 
 standing under those obligations to you, which he is proud of acknow¬ 
 ledging, should yet hesitate on accepting, with the utmost eagerness, what 
 must ensure your restoration to freedom and independence; but so it is, 
 that the words now spoken have thrilled in mine ear without reaching to 
 my understanding, and I must pray the Lady of Berkely for pardon if I 
 take time to reconsider them for a short space.” 
 
 “And I,” replied Turnbull, “ have only power to allow you half an hour 
 for the consideration of an offer, in accepting which, methinks, you should 
 jump shoulder-height instead of asking any time for reflection. What does 
 this cartel exact, save what your duty as a knight implicitly obliges you to? 
 You have engaged yourself to become the agent of the tyrant Edward, in 
 holding Douglas Castle, as his commander, to the prejudice of the Scottish 
 nation, and of the Knight of Douglas Dale, who never, as a community or 
 as an individual, were guilty of the least injury towards you ; you are there¬ 
 fore prosecuting a false path, unworthy of a good knight. On the other 
 hand, the freedom and safety of your lady is now proposed to be pledged to 
 you, with a full assurance of her liberty and honour, on consideration of 
 your withdrawing from the unjust line of conduct, in which you have suf¬ 
 fered yourself to be imprudently engaged. If you persevere in it, you place 
 your own honour, and the lady’s happiness, in the hands of men whom you 
 have done everything in your power to render desperate, and whom, thus 
 irritated, it is most probable you may find such.” 
 
 “ It is not from thee at least,” said the knight, “ that I shall learn to esti¬ 
 mate the manner in which Douglas will explain the laws of war, or De 
 Walton receive them at his dictating.” 
 
 “I am not, then,” said Turnbull, “received as a friendly messenger? 
 Farewell, and think of this lady as<being in any hands but those which are 
 safe, while you make up at leisure your mind upon the message I have 
 brought you. Come, madam, we must be gone.” 
 
 So saying, he seized upon the lady’s hand, and pulled her, as if to force 
 her to withdraw. The lady had stood motionless, and almost senseless, 
 \vhile these speeches were exchanged between the warriors; but when she 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 3(31 
 
 felt the grasp of Michael Turnbull, she exclaimed, like one almost beside 
 herself with fear — “ Help me, He Walton !” 
 
 The knight, stung to instant rage, assaulted the forester with the utmost 
 fury, and dealt him with his long sword, almost at unawares,* two or three 
 heavy blows, by which he was so wounded that he sunk backvs'ards in the 
 thicket, and De Walton was about to despatch him, when he was prevented 
 by the anxious cry of the lady — “Alas! De Walton, wdiat have you done? 
 This man was only an ambassador, and should have passed free from injury, 
 while he confined himself to the delivery of what he was charged with ; and 
 if thou hast slain him, who knows how frightful may prove the vengeance 
 exacted 1’^ 
 
 The voice of the lady seemed to recover the huntsman from the efiects 
 of the blows he had received: he sprung on his feet, saying—“Never mind 
 me, nor think of my becoming the means of making mischief. The knight, 
 in his haste, spoke without giving me warning and defiance, which gave 
 him an advantage which, I think, he would otherwise have scorned to have 
 taken in such a case. I will renew tho combat on fairer terms, or call 
 another champion, as the knight pleases.’^ With these words he disap¬ 
 peared. 
 
 “Fear not, empress of De AValton’s thoughts,’^ answered the knight, 
 “but believe, that if we regain together tho shelter of Douglas Castle, and 
 the safeguard of Saint George’s Cross, thou may’st laugh at all. And if 
 you can but pardon, what I shall never bo able to forgive myself, the mole¬ 
 like blindness which did not recognise the sun while under a temporary 
 eclipse, the task cannot be named too hard for mortal valour to achieve 
 which I shall not willingly undertake, to wipe out the memory of my 
 grievous fault.” 
 
 “ Mention it no more,” said the lady ; “ it is not at such a time as this, 
 when our lives are for the moment at stake, that quarrels upon slighter 
 topics are to be recurred to. I can tell you, if you do not yet know, that 
 the Scots are in arms in this vicinity, and that even the earth has yawned 
 to conceal them from the sight of your garrison.” 
 
 “ Let it yawn, then,” said Sir John de Walton, “ and suffer every fiend in 
 the infernal abyss to escape from his prison-house and reinforce our ene¬ 
 mies— still, fairest, having received in thee a pearl of matchless price, my 
 spurs shall be hacked from my heels by the basest scullion, if I turn my 
 horse’s head to the rear before the utmost force these ruffians can assemble, 
 either upon earth or from underneath it. In thy name I defy them all to 
 instant combat.” 
 
 As Sir John de Walton pronounced these last words, in something of an 
 exalted tone, a tall cavalier, arrayed in black armour of the simplest form, 
 stepped forth from that part of the thicket where Turnbull had disappeared. 
 “I am,” he said, “James of Douglas, and your challenge is accepted. 1, 
 the challenged, name the arms our knightly weapons as we now wear them, 
 and our place of combat this field or dingle, called the Bloody Sykes, the 
 time being instant, and the combatants, like true knights, foregoing each 
 advantage on either side.” * 
 
 “ So be it, in God’s name,” said the English knight, who, though sur¬ 
 prised at being called upon to so sudden an encounter with so formidable a 
 warrior as young Douglas, was too proud to dream of avoiding the combat. 
 Making a sign to the lady to retire behind him, that he might not lose the 
 advantage which he had gained by setting her at liberty from the forester, 
 he drew his sword, and with a deliberate and prepared attitude of offence, 
 moved slowly to the encounter. It was a dreadful one, for the courage and 
 
 * 'I’he ominous name of Bloodmire-sink or Syke, marks a narrow hollow to the north-west of Douglas 
 Castle, from which it is distant about the third of a mile. Mr. Haddow states, that according to local tra¬ 
 dition. the name was given in consequence of Sir James Douglas having at this spot intercepted and slam 
 part of I lie garrison of the castle, while De Walton was in command. 
 
 O 
 
 V 
 
362 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 skill both of the native Lord of Douglas Dale, and of De Walton, were 
 among the most renowned of the times, and perhaps the world of chivalry 
 could hardly have produced two knights more famous. Their blows fell as 
 if urged by some mighty engine, where they were met and parried with 
 equal strength and dexterity; nor seemed it likely, in the course of ten 
 minutes’ encounter, that an advantage would be gained by either combatant 
 over the other. An instant they stopped by mutually implied assent, as it 
 seemed, for the purpose of taking breath, during which Douglas said, “ I 
 beg that this noble lady may understand, that her own freedom is no way 
 concerned in the present contest, which entirely regards the injustice done 
 by this Sir John de Walton, and by his nation of England, to the memory 
 of my father, and to my own natural rights.” 
 
 “You are generous. Sir Knight,” replied the lady; “but in what circum¬ 
 stances do you place me, if you deprive me of my protector by death or 
 captivity, and leave me alone in a foreign land ?” 
 
 “If such should be the event of the combat,” replied Sir James, “the 
 Douglas himself, lady, will safely restore thee to thy native land; for never 
 did his sword do an injury for which he was not willing to make amends 
 with the same weapon; and if Sir John de Walton will make the slightest 
 admission that he renounces maintaining the present strife, were it only by 
 yielding up a feather from the plume of his helmet, Douglas will renounce 
 every purpose on his part which can touch the lady’s honour or safety, and 
 the combat may be suspended until the national quarrel again brings us 
 together.” 
 
 Sir John de Walton pondered a moment, and the lady, although she did 
 not speak, looked at him with eyes which plainly expressed how much she 
 wished that he would choose the less hazardous alternative. But the 
 knight’s own scruples prevented his bringing the case to so favourable an 
 arbitrement. 
 
 “Never shall it be said of Sir John de Walton,” he replied, “that he 
 compromised, in the slightest degree, his own honour, or that of his country. 
 This battle may end in my defeat, or rather death, and in that case my 
 earthly prospects are closed, and I resign to Douglas, with my last breath, 
 the charge of the Lady Augusta, trusting that he will defend her with his 
 life, and find the means of replacing her with safety in the halls of her 
 fathers. But while I survive, she may have a better, but will not need 
 another protector than he who is honoured by being her own choice; nor 
 will I yield up, were it a plume from my helmet, implying that I have 
 maintained an unjust quarrel, either in the cause of England, or of the 
 fairest of her daughters. Thus fiir alone I will concede to Douglas — an 
 instant truce, provided the lady shall not be interrupted in her retreat to 
 England, and the combat be fought out upon another day. The castle and 
 territory of Douglas is the property of Edward of England, the governor in 
 his name is the rightful governor, and on this point I will fight while my 
 eyelids are unclosed.” 
 
 “ Time flies,” said Douglas, “ without waiting for our resolves; nor is 
 there any part of his motions of such value as that which is passing with 
 every breath of vital air which we presently draw. Why should we adjourn 
 till to-morrow that which can be as well finished to-day ? Will our swords 
 be sharper, or our arms stronger to wield them, than they are at this 
 moment? Douglas will do all which knight can do to succour a lady in 
 distress ; but he will not grant to her knight the slightest mark of deference, 
 which Sir John de Walton vainly supposes himself able to extort by force 
 of arms.” 
 
 With these words, the knights engaged once more in mortal combat, and 
 the lady felt uncertain whether she should attempt her escape through the 
 devious paths of the wood, or abide the issue of this obstinate fight. It 
 was rather her desire to see the fate of Sir John de Walton, than any other 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 363 
 
 consideration, -wliich induced her to remain, as if fascinated, upon the spot, 
 where one of the fiercest quarrels ever fouj^ht was disputed by two of the 
 bravest champions that ever drew sword. At last the lady attempted to put 
 a stop to the combat, by appealing to the bells which began to ring for the 
 service of the day, which was Palm Sunday. 
 
 “For Heaven’s sake,” she said—“for your own sakes, and for that of 
 lady’s love, and the duties of chivalry, hold your hands only for an hour, 
 and take chance, that where strength is so equal, means will be found of 
 converting the truce into a solid peace. Think this is Palm Sunday, and 
 will you defile with blood such a peculiar festival of Christianity ! Intermit 
 your feud at least so far as to pass to the nearest church, bearing with you ' 
 branches, not in the ostentatious mode of earthly conquerors, but as render¬ 
 ing due homage to the rules of the blessed Church, and the institutions of 
 our holy religion.” 
 
 “ I was on my road, fair lady, for that purpose, to the holy church of 
 Douglas,” said the Englishman, “ when I was so fortunate as to meet you 
 at this place; nor do I object to proceed thither even now, holding truce for 
 an hour, and I fear not to find there friends to whom I can commit you with 
 assurance of safety, in case I am unfortunate in the combat which is now 
 broken off, to be resumed after the service of the day.” 
 
 “ I also assent,” said the Douglas, “ to a truce for such short space ; nor 
 do I fear that there may be good Christians enough at the church, who will 
 not see their master overpowered by odds. Let us go thither, and each take 
 the chance of what Heaven shall please to send us.” 
 
 From these words Sir John de Walton little doubted that Douglas had 
 assured himself of a party among those who should there assemble; but he 
 doubted not of so many of the garrison being present as would bridle every 
 attempt at rising; and the risk, he thought, was worth incurring, since ho 
 should thereby secure an opportunity to place Lady Augusta de Berkely in 
 safety, at least so far as to make her liberty depend on the event of a general 
 conflict, instead of the precarious issue of a combat between himself and 
 Douglas. 
 
 Both these distinguished knights were inwardly of opinion, that the pro¬ 
 posal of the lady, though it relieved them from their present conflict, by no 
 means bound them to abstain* from the consequences which an accession of 
 force might add to their general strength, and each relied upon his supe¬ 
 riority, in some degree provided for by their previous proceedings. Sir 
 John de Walton made almost certain of meeting with several of his bands 
 of soldiers, who were scouring the country and traversing the woods by his 
 direction; and Douglas, it may be supposed, had not ventured himself in 
 person, where a price was set upon his head, without being attended by a 
 sufficient number of approved adherents, placed in more or less connexion 
 with each other, and stationed for mutual support. Each, therefore, enter¬ 
 tained well-grounded hopes, that by adopting the truce proposed, he would 
 ensure himself an advantage over his antagonist, although neither exactly 
 knew in what manner or to Avhat extent this success was to be obtained. 
 
364 
 
 WAVE K LEY NOVELS. 
 
 (C|lE|itBr tji:e figljtBnttli. 
 
 His talk was of another world — his bodiments 
 Strange, doubtful, and mysterious; those who heard him 
 Listen’d as to a man in feverish dreams, 
 
 Who speaks of other objects than the present, 
 
 And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 
 
 Old Plat. 
 
 On the same Palm Sunday when De Walton and Douglas measured to¬ 
 gether their mighty swords, the minstrel Bertram was busied with the 
 ancient Book of Prophecies, which we have already mentioned as the sup¬ 
 posed composition of Thomas the Rhymer, but not without many anxieties 
 as to the fate of his lady, and the events which were passing around him. 
 As a minstrel he was desirous of an auditor to enter into the discoveries 
 which he should make in that mystic volume, as well as to assist in passing 
 away the time; Sir John de Walton had furnished him, in Gilbert Green- 
 leaf the archer, with one who was well contented to play the listener 
 “ from morn to dewy eve,’^ provided a flask of Gascon wine, or a stoup of 
 good English ale, remained on the board. It may be remembered that De 
 Walton, when he dismissed the minstrel from the dungeon, was sensible 
 that he owed him some compensation for the causeless suspicion which had 
 dictated his imprisonment, more particularly as he was a valued servant, 
 and had shown himself the faithful confidant of the Lady Augusta de 
 Berkely, and the person who was moreover likely to know all the motives 
 and circumstances of her Scottish journey. To secure his good wishes 
 was, therefore, politic; and De Walton had intimated to his faithful archer 
 that he was to lay aside all suspicion of Bertram, but at the same time keep 
 him in sight, and, if possible, in good humour with the governor of the 
 castle, and his adherents. Greenleaf accordingly had no doubt in his own 
 mind, that the only way to please a minstrel was to listen with patience 
 and commendation to the lays which he liked best to sing, or the tales 
 which he most loved to tell; and in order to ensure the execution of his 
 master's commands, he judged it necessary to demand of the butler such 
 store of good liquor, as could not fail to enhance the pleasure of his society. 
 
 Having thus fortified himself with the means of bearing a long interview 
 with the minstrel, Gilbert Greenleaf proposed to confer upon him the bounty 
 of an early breakfast, which, if it pleased him, they might wash down with 
 a cup of sack, and, having his master’s commands to show the minstrel any 
 thing about the castle which he might wish to see, refresh their overwearied 
 spirits by attending a part of the garrison of Douglas to the service of the 
 day, which, as we have already seen, was of peculiar sanctity. Against 
 such a proposal the minstrel, a good Christian by profession, and, by his 
 connexion with the joyous science, a good fellow, having no objections to 
 offer, the two comrades, who had formerly little good-will towards each 
 other, commenced their morning’s repast on that fated Palm Sunday, with 
 all manner of cordiality and good fellowship. 
 
 “ Do not believe, worthy minstrel,” said the archer, “ that my master in 
 any respect disparages your worth or rank in referring you for company or 
 conversation to so poor a man as myself. It is true I am no officer of this 
 garrison ; yet for an old archer, who, for these thirty years, has lived by 
 bow and bowstring, I do not (Our Lady make me thankful!) hold less 
 share in the grace of Sir John de W’alton, the Earl of Pembroke, and other 
 approved good soldiers, than many of those giddy young men on whom com¬ 
 missions are conferred, and to whom confidences are intrusted, not on ac¬ 
 count of what they have done, but what^ their ancestors have done boiore 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 365 
 
 them. I pray you to notice among them one youth placed at our head in 
 De Walton's absence, and who bears the honoured name of Aymer do Va¬ 
 lence, being the same with that of the Earl of Pembroke, of whom I havo 
 spoken ; this knight has also a brisk young page, whom men call Fabian 
 llarbothel." 
 
 “ Is it to these gentlemen that your censure applies?" answered the min¬ 
 strel; “ I should have judged differently, having never, in the course of my 
 experience, seen a young man more courteous and amiable than the young 
 knight you named." 
 
 “ I nothing dispute that it may be so," said the archer, hastening to 
 amend the false step which he had made; “ but in order that it should be 
 so, it will be necessary that he conform to the usages of his uncle, taking 
 the advice of experienced old soldiers in the emergencies which may present 
 themselves; and not believing, that the knowledge which it takes many 
 years of observation to acquire, can be at once conferred by the slap of the 
 flat of a sword, and the magic words, ‘Rise up. Sir Arthur'—or however 
 the case may be." 
 
 “ Doubt not. Sir Archer," replied Bertram, “ that I am fully aware of 
 the advantage to be derived from conversing with men of experience like 
 you; it benefiteth men of every persuasion, and I myself am oft reduced 
 to lament my want of sufficient knowledge of armorial bearings, signs, and 
 cognizances, and would right fain have thy assistance, where I am a 
 stranger alike to the names of places, of persons, and description of banners 
 and emblems by which great families are distinguished from each other, so 
 absolutely necessary to the accomplishment of my present task." 
 
 • “ Pennons and banners," answered the archer, “ I have seen right many, 
 and can assign, as is a soldier’s wont, the name of the leader to the emblem 
 under which he musters his followers ; nevertheless, worthy minstrel, I can¬ 
 not presume to understand what you call prophecies, with or under war¬ 
 ranted authority of old painted books, expositions of dreams, oracles, 
 revelations, invocations of damned spirits, judicials, astrologicals, and othe.r 
 gross and palpable offences, whereby men, pretending to have the assistance 
 of the devil, do impose upon the common people, in spite of the warnings 
 of the Privy Council; not however, that I suspect you, worthy minstrel, of 
 busying yourself with these attempts to explain futurity, which are danger¬ 
 ous attempts, and may be truly said to be penal, and part of treason." 
 
 “There is something in what you say," replied the minstrel; “yet it 
 applieth not to books and manuscripts such as I have been consulting; 
 part of which things therein written having already come to pass, authorize 
 us surely to expect the completion of the rest; nor would I have much diffi¬ 
 culty in showing you from this volume, that enough has been already proved 
 true, to entitle us to look with certainty to the accomplishment of that which 
 remains." 
 
 “ I should be glad to hear that," answered the archer, who entertained 
 little more than a soldier's belief respecting prophecies and auguries, but 
 yet cared not bluntly to contradict the minstrel upon such subjects, as ho 
 had been instructed by Sir John de Walton to comply with his humour. 
 Accordingly the minstrel began to recite verses, which, in our time, the 
 ablest interpreter could not make sense out of. 
 
 “ When the cock crows, keep well his comb, 
 
 For tlie fox and the fulmart they are false both. 
 
 When the raven and the rook have rounded together, 
 
 And the kid in his cliff shall accord to the same. 
 
 Then shall they be bold, and soon to battle Uiereafter. 
 
 Then the birds of the raven rugs and reives, 
 
 And the leal men of Lotliian are loupma- on their horse; 
 
 Then shall the poor people be spoiled full near. 
 
 And the Abbeys be burnt truly that stand upon Tweed 
 They shall burn and slay, and gieat reif make ; 
 
 There shrill no poor man who say wliose man he is: 
 
 Then shall the land be lawless, for love there is none. 
 
 I'hen falset shall have foot fully five years; 
 
 2f2 
 
866 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 Then truth surely shall be tint, and none shall lippen to other; 
 
 The one cousing shall not trust the other, i 
 Mot the son the father, nor the father the son: 
 
 For to have his goods he would have him hanged.” ' 
 
 6tc. &c. <kc. 
 
 The archer listened to these mystic prognostications, which were not the 
 less wearisome that they were, in a considerable degree, unintelligible; at 
 the same time subduing his Hotspur-like disposition to tire of the recitation, 
 yet at brief intervals comforting himself with an application to the wine 
 flagon, and enduring as he might what he neither understood nor took 
 interest in. Meanwhile the minstrel proceeded with his explanation of the 
 dubious and imperfect vaticinations of w^hich we have given a sufficient 
 specimen. 
 
 “ Could you wish,^^ said he to Greenleaf, “ a more exact description of the 
 miseries which have passed over Scotland in these latter days ? Have not 
 these the raven and rook, the fox and the fulmart, explained; either because 
 the nature of the birds or beasts bear an individual resemblance to those 
 of the knights who display them on their banners, or otherwise are bodied 
 forth by actual blazonry on their shields, and come openly into the field to 
 ravage and destroy ? Is not the total disunion of the land plainly indicated 
 by these words, that connexions of blood shall be broken asunder, that kins¬ 
 men shall not trust each other, and that the father and son, instead of put¬ 
 ting faith in their natural connexion, shall seek each other^s life, in order to 
 enjoy his inheritance ? The leal men of Lothian are distinctly mentioned as 
 taking arms, and there is plainly allusion to the other events of these late 
 Scottish troubles. The death of this last 'William is obscurely intimated 
 under the type of a hound, which was that good lord’s occasional cogni¬ 
 zance. 
 
 The hound that was hairn u then muzzled shall be, 
 
 Who loved him worst shall weep for his wreck; 
 
 Yet shall .a whelp rise of the same race, 
 
 I'hat rudely shall roar, and rule the whole north, 
 
 And quit the whole quarrel of old deeds done, 
 
 Thou^ he from his hold be kept back awhile. 
 
 True Thomas told me this in a troublesome time. 
 
 In a harvest morning at Eldoun hills.’ ” 
 
 “ This hath a meaning. Sir Archer,^’ continued the minstrel, and which 
 flies as directly to its mark as one of your own arrows, although there may 
 be some want of wisdom in making the direct explication. Being, however, 
 upon assurance with you, I do not hesitate to tell you, that in my opinion 
 this lion’s whelp that awaits its time, means this same celebrated Scottish 
 prince, Robert the Bruce, who, though repeatedly defeated, has still, while 
 hunted with bloodhounds, and surrounded by enemies of every sort, main¬ 
 tained his pretensions to the crown of Scotland, in despite of King Edward, 
 now reigning.” 
 
 “ Minstrel,” answered the soldier, “ you are my guest, and we have sat 
 down together as friends to this simple meal in good comradeship. I must 
 tell thee, however, though I am loath to disturb our harmony, that thou art 
 the first who hast adventured to speak a word before Gilbert Greenleaf in 
 favour of that outlawed traitor, Robert Bruce, who has by his seditions so 
 long disturbed the peace of this realm. Take my advice, and be silent on 
 this topic; for, believe me, the sword of a true English archer will spring 
 from its scabbard without consent of its master, should it hear aught said 
 to the disparagement of bonny St. George and his ruddy cross; nor shall 
 the authority of Thomas the Rhymer, or any other prophet in Scotland, 
 England, or Wales, be considered as an apology for such unbecoming pre¬ 
 dictions.” 
 
 “I were loth to give offence at any time,” said the minstrel, “much more 
 to provoke you to anger, when I am in the very act of experiencing your 
 hospitality. I trust, however, you will remember that I do not come your 
 uninvited guest, and that if I speak to you of future events, I do so without 
 having the least intention to add my endeavour to bring them to pass; for. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 3G7 
 
 God knows, it is many years since my sincere prayer has been for peace 
 and happiness to all men, and particularly honour and happiness to the 
 land of Bowmen, in w’hich I was born, and which I am bound to remember 
 in my prayers beyond all other nations in the world.” 
 
 “ It is well that you do so,” said the archer; “ for so you shall best main¬ 
 tain your bounden duty to the fair land of your birth, which is the richest 
 that the sun shines upon. Something, however, I w'ould know, if it suits 
 with your pleasure to tell me, and that is, whether you find anything in these 
 rude rhymes appearing to affect the safety of the Castle of Douglas, where 
 we now are ? — for, mark me, Sir Minstrel, I have observed that these 
 mouldering parchments, when or by whomsoever composed, have so far a 
 certain coincidence with the truth, that when such predictions which they 
 contain are spread abroad in the country, and create rumours of plots, con¬ 
 spiracies, and bloody w'ars, they are very apt to cause the very mischances 
 which they would be thought only to predict.” 
 
 “ It were not very cautious in me,” said the minstrel, “ to choose a pro¬ 
 phecy for my theme, which had reference to any attack on this garrison; 
 for in such case I should, according to your ideas, lay myself under sus¬ 
 picion of endeavouring to forward what no person could more heartily regret 
 than myself.” 
 
 “Take my word for it, good friend,” said the archer, “that it shall not 
 be thus with thee ; for I neither will myself conceive ill of thee, nor report 
 thee to Sir John de Walton as meditating harm against him or his garrison 
 — nor, to speak truth, would Sir John de Walton be willing to believe any 
 one who did. He thinks highly, and no doubt deservedly, of thy good faith 
 towards thy lady, and would conceive it unjust to suspect the fidelity of one 
 who has given evidence of his willingness to meet death rather than betray 
 the least secret of his mistress.” 
 
 “ In preserving her secret,” said Bertram, “ I only discharged the duty 
 of a faithful servant, leaving it to her to judge how long such a secret ought 
 to be preserved ; for a faithful servant ought to think as little of the issue 
 towards himself of the commission wdiich he bears, as the band of flock silk 
 concerns itself with the secret of the letter which it secures. And, touching 
 your question — I have no objections, although merely to satisfy your 
 curiosity, to unfold to you that these old prophecies do contain some intima¬ 
 tions of wars befalling in Douj^las Dale, between an haggard, orwnld hawk, 
 which I take to be the cognizance of Sir John de Walton, and the three 
 stars, or martlets, which is the cognizance of the Douglas; and more par¬ 
 ticulars I could tell of these onslaughts, did I know whereabouts is a place 
 in these woods termed Bloody Sykes, the scene also, as I comprehend, of 
 slaughter and death, between the followers of the three stars and those who 
 hold the part of the Saxon, or King of England.” 
 
 “ Such a place,” replied Gilbert Greenleaf, “ I have heard often mentioned 
 by that name among the natives of these parts ; nevertheless it is vain to 
 seek to discover the precise spot, as these wily Scots conceal from us with 
 care every thing respecting the geography of their country, as it is called 
 by learned men ; but we may here mention the Bloody Sykes, Bottomless 
 Myre, and other places, as portentous names, to wdiich their traditions 
 attach some signification of war and slaughter. If it suits your wish, how¬ 
 ever, we can, on our way to the church, try to find this place called Bloody 
 Sykes, which I doubt not we shall trace out long before the traitors "who 
 meditate an attack upon us wall find a powder sufficient for the attempt.” 
 
 Accordingly the minstrel and archer, the latter of whom was by this 
 time reasonably well refreshed with wine, marched out of the castle of 
 Douglas, without w’aiting for others of the garrison, resolving to seek the 
 dingle bearing the ominous name of Bloody Sykes, concerning which the 
 archer only knew that by mere accident he had heard of a place bearing 
 
368 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 such a name, at the hunting match made under the auspices of Sir John 
 de Walton, and knew that it lay in the woods somewhere near the town of 
 Douglas and in the vicinage of the castle. 
 
 (Cliaptir ttiB M'mimi)}. 
 
 Hotspur. I cannot choose; sometimes he angers me 
 With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, 
 
 Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies; 
 
 And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
 
 A clipt-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven, 
 
 A couching lion, and a ramping cat. 
 
 And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff, 
 
 As puts me from my faith. 
 
 King Henry IV. 
 
 The conversation between the minstrel and the ancient archer naturally 
 pursued a train somewhat resembling that of Hotspur and Glendower, in 
 which Gilbert Greenleaf by degrees took a larger share than was apparently 
 consistent with his habits and education; but the truth was that as he 
 exerted himself to recall the recognisances of military chieftains, their 
 war-cries, emblems, and other types by which they distinguished them¬ 
 selves in battle, and might undoubtedly be indicated in prophetic rhymes, 
 he began to experience the pleasure which most men entertain when they 
 find themselves unexpectedly possessed of a faculty which the moment calls 
 upon them to employ, and renders them important in the possession of. 
 The minstrehs sound good sense was certainly somewhat surprised at the 
 inconsistencies sometimes displayed by his companion, as he was carried 
 olF by the willingness to make show of his newly-discovered faculty on the 
 one hand, and, on the other, to call to mind the prejudices which he had 
 nourished during his whole life against minstrels, who, with the train of 
 legends and fables, were the more likely to be false, as being generally de¬ 
 rived from the “ North Countrie.^^ 
 
 As they strolled from one glade of the forest to another, the minstrel 
 began to be surprised at the number of Scottish votaries whom they met, 
 and who seemed to be hastening to the church, and, as it appeared by the 
 boughs which they carried, to assist in the ceremony of the day. To each 
 of these the archer put a question respecting the existence of a place called 
 Blood}’’ Sykes, and where it was to be found — but all seemed either to be 
 ignorant on the subject, or desirous of evading it, for which they found 
 some pretext in the jolly archer’s manner of irfterrogation, which savoured 
 a good deal of the genial breakfast. The general answer was, that they 
 knew no such place, or had other matters to attend to upon the morn of a 
 holy-tide than answering frivolous questions. At last, when, in one or two 
 instances, the answer of the Scottish almost approached to sullenness, the 
 minstrel remarked it, observing that there was ever some mischief on foot 
 when the people of this country could not find a civil answer to their betters, 
 which is usually so ready among them, and that they appeared to be making 
 a strong muster for the service of Palm Sunday. 
 
 “You will doubtless, Sir Archer,” continued the minstrel, “make your 
 report to your knight accordingly; for I promise you, that if you do not, I 
 myself, whose lady’s freedom is also concerned, will feel it my duty to 
 place before Sir John de Walton the circumstances which make me enter¬ 
 tain suspicion of this extraordinary confluence of Scottish men, and the 
 surliness which has replaced their wonted courtesy of manners.” 
 
CASTLE LANQEROUS. 
 
 369 
 
 “ Tush, Sir Minstrel,” replied the archer, displeased at Bertram’s inter¬ 
 ference, “ believe me, that armies have ere now depended on my report to 
 the general, which has always been perspicuous and clear, according to the 
 duties of war. Your walk, my worthy friend, has been in a separate de¬ 
 partment, such as affairs of peace, old songs, prophecies, and the like, in 
 which it is far from my thoughts to contend with you ; but credit me, it 
 will be most for the reputation of both, that we do not attempt to interfere 
 with what concerns each other.” 
 
 “ It is far from my wish to do so,” replied the minstrel; “ but I would 
 wish that a speedy return should be made to the castle, in order to ask Sir 
 John de Walton’s opinion of that which we have but just seen.” 
 
 “ To this,” replied Greenleaf, “ there can be no objection; but, would 
 you seek the governor at the hour which now is, you will find him most 
 readily by going to the church of Douglas, to which he regularly wends on 
 occasions such as the present, with the principal part of his officers, to 
 ensure, by his presence, that no tumult arise (of which there is no little 
 dread) between the English and the Scottish. Let us therefore hold to our 
 original intention of attending the service of the day, and we shall rid our¬ 
 selves of these entangled woods, and gain the shortest road to the church 
 of Douglas.” 
 
 “ Let us go, then, with all despatch,” said the minstrel; “ and with the 
 greater haste, that it appears to me that something has passed on this very 
 spot this morning, which argues that the Christian peace due to the day 
 has not been inviolably observed. What mean these drops of blood?” 
 alluding to those which had flowed from the wounds of Turnbull—> 
 “ Wherefore is the earth impressed with these deep tints, the footsteps of 
 armed men advancing and retreating, doubtless, according to the chances 
 of a fierce and heady conflict?” 
 
 “ By Our Lady,” returned Greenleaf, “ I must own that thou seest clear. 
 What were my eyes made of when they permitted thee to be the first 
 discoverer of these signs of conflict? Here are feathers of a blue plume, 
 which I ought to remember, seeing my knight assumed it, or at least per¬ 
 mitted me to place it in his helmet, this morning, in sign of returning hope, 
 from the liveliness of its colour. But here it lies, shorn from his head, 
 and, if I may guess, by no friendly hand. Come, friend, to the church—to 
 the church — and thou shalt have my example of the manner in wdiich De 
 Walton ought to be supported when in danger.” 
 
 He led the way through the town of Douglas, entering at the southern 
 gate, and up the very street in wLich Sir Aymer de Valence had charged 
 the Phantom Knight. 
 
 We can now say more fully, that the church of Douglas had originally 
 been a stately Gothic building, whose towers, arising high above the walls 
 of the town, bore witness to the grandeur of its original construction. It 
 was now partly ruinous, and the small portion of open space which was 
 retained for public worship w^as fitted up in the family aisle where its 
 deceased lords rested from worldly labours and the strife of war. From 
 the open ground in the front of the building, their eye could pursue a con¬ 
 siderable part of the course of the river Douglas, which approached the 
 town from the south-west, bordered by a line of hills fantastically diver¬ 
 sified in their appearance, and in many places covered with copsewood, 
 which descended towards the valley, and formed a part of the tangled and 
 intricate woodland by which the town was surrounded. The river itself, 
 sweeping round the west side of the town, and from thence northward, 
 supplied that large inundation or artificial piece of water which we 
 have already mentioned. Several of the Scottish people, bearing wdllow 
 branches, or those of yew, to represent the palms which were the symbol of 
 the day, seemed wandering in the churchyard as if to attend the approach 
 of some person of peculiar sanctity, or procession of monks and friars, 
 
 VoL. XII. —24 
 
3T0 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 come to render the homage due to the solemnity. At the moment almost 
 that Bertram and his companion entered the churchyard, the Lady of 
 Berkely, who was in the act of following Sir John*^de Walton into the 
 church, after having witnessed his conflict with the young Knight of 
 Douglas, caught a glimpse of her faithful minstrel, and instantly deter¬ 
 mined to regain the company of that old servant of her house and con¬ 
 fidant of her fortunes, and trust to the chance afterwards of being rejoined 
 by Sir John de AValton, with a sufi&cient party to provide for her safety, 
 which she in no respect doubted it would be his care to collect. She darted 
 away accordingly from the path in which she was advancing, and reached 
 the place where Bertram, with his new acquaintance Greenleaf were making 
 some enquiries of the soldiers of the English garrison, whom the service of 
 the day had brought there. 
 
 Lady Augusta Berkely, in the meantime, had an opportunity to say 
 privately to her faithful attendant and guide, “ Take no notice of me, friend 
 Bertram, but take heed, if possible, that we be not again separated from 
 each other.^^ Having given him this hint, she observed that it was adopted 
 by the minstrel, and that he presently afterwards looked round and set his 
 eye upon her, as, mufiled in her pilgrim’s cloak, she slowly withdrew to 
 another part of the cemetery, and seemed to halt, until, detaching himself 
 from Greenleaf, he should find an opportunity of joining her. 
 
 Nothing, in truth, could have more sensibly affected the faithful minstrel 
 than the singular mode of communication which acquainted him that his 
 mistress was safe, and at liberty to choose her own motions, and, as he 
 might hope, disposed to extricate herself from the dangers which sur¬ 
 rounded her in Scotland, by an immediate retreat to her own country and 
 domain. He would gladly have approached and joined her, but she took 
 an opportunity by a sign to caution him against doing so, while at the same 
 time he remained somewhat apprehensive of the consequences of bringing 
 her under the notice of his new friend, Greenleaf, who might perhaps think 
 it proper to busy himself so as to gain some favour with the knight who 
 was at the head of the garrison. Meantime the old archer continued his 
 conversation with Bertram, while the minstrel, like many other men simi¬ 
 larly situated, heartily wished that his well-m-eaning companion had been a 
 hundred fathoms under ground, so his evanishment had given him license 
 to join his mistress; but all he had in his power was to approach her as 
 near as he could, without creating any suspicion. 
 
 “ I would pray you, worthy minstrel,” said Greenleaf, after looking care¬ 
 fully round, “ that we may prosecute together the theme which we were 
 agitating before we came hither; is it not your opinion, that the Scottish 
 natives have fixed this very morning for some of those dangerous attempts 
 which they have repeatedly made, and which are so carefully guarded 
 against by the governors placed in this district of Douglas by our good 
 King Edward, our rightful sovereign?” 
 
 “ I cannot see,” replied the minstrel, “ on what grounds you found such 
 an apprehension, or what you see here in the churchyard different from 
 that you talked of as we approached it, when you held me rather in scorn, 
 for giving way to some suspicions of the same kind.” 
 
 “ Do you not see,” added the archer, “ the numbers of men, with strange 
 faces, and in various disguisements, who are thronging about these ancient 
 ruins, which are usually so solitary ? Yonder, for example, sits a boy who 
 seems to shun observation, and whose dress, I will be sworn, has never been 
 shaped in Scotland.” 
 
 “ And if he is an English pilgrim,” replied the minstrel, observing that 
 the archer pointed towards the Lady of Berkely, “ he surely affords less 
 matter of suspicion.” 
 
 “ I know not that,” said old Greenleaf, “ but I think it will bo my duty 
 to inform Sir John de Walton, if I can reach him, that there are many per- 
 
CASTLE DANCE nous. 
 
 871 
 
 sons here, who in outward appearance neither belong to the garrison, nor 
 to this part of the country.’’ 
 
 “ Consider,” said Bertram, “ before you harass with accusation a poor 
 young man, and subject him to the consequences which must necessarily 
 attend upon suspicions of this nature, how many circumstances call forth 
 men peculiarly to devotion at this period. Not only is this the time of the 
 triumphal entrance of the founder of the Christian religion into Jerusalem, 
 but the day itself is called Dominica Confitentium, or the Sunday of Con¬ 
 fessors, and the palm-tree, or the box and yew, which are used as its sub¬ 
 stitutes, and which are distributed to the priests, are burnt solemnly to 
 ashes, and those ashes distributed among the pious, by the priests, upon the 
 Ash-Wednesday of the succeeding year, all which rites and ceremonies in 
 our country, are observed, by order of the Christian Church ; nor ought you, 
 gentle archer, nor can you without a crime, persecute those as guilty of 
 designs upon your garrison, who can ascribe their presence here to their 
 desire to discharge the duties of the day ; and look ye at yon numerous 
 procession approaching with banner and cross, and, as it appears, consist¬ 
 ing of some churchman of rank, and his attendants; let us first enquire 
 wdio he is, and it is probable we shall find in his name and rank sufiicient 
 security for the peaceable and orderly behaviour of those whom piety has 
 this (lay assembled at the church of Douglas.” 
 
 Crcenleaf accordingly made the investigation recommended by his com¬ 
 panion, and received information that the holy man who headed the pro¬ 
 cession, was no other than tlie diocesan of the district, the Bishop of Glas¬ 
 gow, who had come to give his countenance to the rites with which the day 
 was to be sanctified. 
 
 The prelate accordingly entered the walls of the dilapidated churchyard, 
 preceded by his cross-bearers, and attended by numbers, with boughs of 
 yew and other evergreens, used on the festivity instead of palms. Among 
 them the holy father showered his blessing, accompanied by signs of the 
 cross, which were met with devout exclamations by such of the worshippers 
 as crowded around him: — “ To thee, reverend father, we apply for pardon 
 for our ofiences, which we humbly desire to confess to thee, in order that 
 we may obtain pardon from Heaven.” 
 
 In this manner the congregation and the dignified clergyman met together, 
 exchanging pious greeting, and seemingly intent upon nothing but the rites 
 of the day. The acclamations of the congregation, mingled with the deep 
 voice of tlie officiating priest, dispensing the sacred ritual; the whole form¬ 
 ing a scene which, conducted with the Catholic skill and ceremonial, was 
 at once imposing and affecting. 
 
 The archer, on seeing the zeal with which the people in the churchyard, 
 as well as a number who issued from the church, hastened proudly to salute 
 the bishop of the diocese, was rather ashamed of the suspicions wdiich he’ 
 had entertained of the sincerity of the good man’s purpose in coming 
 hither. Taking advantage of a fit of devotion, not perhaps very common 
 with old Greenleaf, who at this moment thrust himself forward to share in 
 those spiritual advantages which the prelate was dispensing, Bertram 
 slipped clear of his English friend, and, gliding to the side of the Lady 
 Augusta, exchanged, by tlie pressure of the hand, a mutual congratulation 
 upon having rejoined company. On a sign by the minstrel, they withdrew 
 to the inside of the church, so as to remain unobserved amidst the crowd, 
 in which they were favoured by the dark shadows of some parts of the 
 building. 
 
 The body of the church, broken as it was, and hung round with the ar¬ 
 morial trophies of the last Lords of Douglas, furnished rather the appearance 
 of a sacrilegiously desecrated ruin, than the inside of a holy place ; yet 
 some care appeared to have been taken to prepare it for the service of the 
 day. At the lower end hung the great escutcheon of William Lord of 
 
 
372 
 
 WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 Douglas, who had lately died a prisoner in England ; around that escutch¬ 
 eon were placed the smaller shields of his sixteen ancestors, and a deep 
 black shadow was diffused by the whole mass, unless where relieved by the 
 glance of the coronets, or the glimmer of bearings particularly gay in em¬ 
 blazonry. I need not say that in other respects the interior of the church 
 was much dismantled, it being the very same place in which Sir Aymer de 
 Valence held an interview with the old sexton ; and who now, drawing into 
 a separate corner some of the straggling parties whom he had collected and 
 brought to the church, kept on the alert, and appeared ready for an attack 
 as well at mid-day as at the witching hour of midnight. This was the 
 more necessary, as the eye of Sir John de Walton seemed busied in search¬ 
 ing from one place to another, as if unable to find the object he was in quest 
 of, which the reader will easily understand to be the Lady Augusta de 
 Berkely, of whom he had lost sight in the pressure of the multitude. 
 At the eastern part of the church was fitted up a temporary altar, by the 
 side of which, arrayed in his robes, the Bishop of Glasgow had taken his 
 place, with such priests and attendants as composed his episcopal retinue. 
 His suite was neither numerous nor richly attired, nor did his own appear¬ 
 ance present a splendid specimen of the wealth and dignity of the epis¬ 
 copal order. When he laid down, however, his golden cross, at the stern 
 command of the King of England, that of simple wood, which he assumed 
 instead thereof, did not possess less authority, nor command less awe among 
 the clergy and people of the diocese. 
 
 The various persons, natives of Scotland, now gathered around, seemed 
 to watch his motions, as those of a descended saint, and the English waited 
 in mute astonishment, apprehensive that at some unexpected signal an 
 attack would be made upon them, either by the powers of earth or heaven, 
 or perhaps by both in combination. The truth is, that so great was the de¬ 
 votion of the Scottish clergy of the higher ranks to the interests of the 
 party of Bruce, that the English had become jealous of permitting them to 
 interfere even with those ceremonies of the Church which were placed under 
 their proper management, and thence the presence of the Bishop of Glas¬ 
 gow, officiating at a high festival in the church of Douglas, was a circum¬ 
 stance of rare occurrence, and not unattended both with wonder and 
 suspicion. A council of the Church, however, had lately called the distin¬ 
 guished prelates of Scotland to the discharge of their duty on the festivity 
 of Palm Sunday, and neither English nor Scottish saw the ceremony with 
 indifference. An unwonted silence which prevailed in the church, filled, 
 as it appeared, with persons of different views, hopes, wishes, and expecta¬ 
 tions, resembled one of those solemn pauses which often take place before 
 a strife of the elements, and are well understood to be the forerunners of 
 some dreadful concussion of nature. All animals, according to their 
 various nature, express their sense of the approaching tempest; the cattle, 
 the deer, and other inhabitants of the walks of the forest, withdraw to the 
 inmost recesses of their pastures; the sheep crowd into their fold ; and the 
 dull stupor of universal nature, whether animate or inanimate, presages its 
 speedily awakening into general convulsion and disturbance, when the lurid 
 lightning shall hiss at command of the diapason of the thunder. 
 
 It was thus that, in deep suspense, those who had come to the church in 
 arms, at the summons of Douglas, awaited and expected every moment a 
 signal to attack, while the soldiers of the English garrison, aware of the 
 evil disposition of the natives towards them, were reckoning every moment 
 when the well-known shouts of “Bows and bills should give signal for a 
 general conflict, and both parties, gazing fiercely upon each other, seemed 
 to expect the fatal onset. 
 
 Notwithstanding the tempest, which appeared every moment ready to 
 burst, the Bishop of Glasgow proceeded with the utmost solemnity to per¬ 
 form the ceremonies proper to the day; he paused from time to time to 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 3T3 
 
 Burvey the thron<^, as if to calculate whether the turbulent passions of those 
 around him would be so long kept under as to admit of his duties being 
 brought to a close in a manner becoming the time and place. 
 
 The prelate had just concluded the service, when a person advanced 
 towards him with a solemn and mournful aspect, and asked if the reverend 
 father could devote a few moments to administer comfort to a dying man, 
 who was lying wounded close by. 
 
 The churchman signified a ready acquiescence, amidst a stillness which, 
 when he surveyed the lowering brows of one party at least of those who 
 were in the church, boded no peaceful termination to this fated day. The 
 father motioned to the messenger to show him the way, and proceeded on 
 his mission, attended by some of those who were understood to be followers 
 of the Douglas. 
 
 There was something peculiarly striking, if not suspicious, in the inter¬ 
 view which followed. In a subterranean vault was deposited the persorvof 
 a large tall man, whose blood flowed copiously through two or three ghastly 
 wounds, and streamed amongst the trusses of straw on which he lay; while 
 his features exhibited a mixture of sternness and ferocity, which seemed 
 prompt to kindle into a still more savage expression. 
 
 The reader will probably conjecture that the person in question was no 
 other than Michael Turnbull, who, wounded in the rencounter of the morn¬ 
 ing, had been left by some of his friends upon the straw, which was ar¬ 
 ranged for him by way of couch, to live or die as he best could. The pre¬ 
 late, on entering the vault, lost no time in calling the attention of the 
 ■wounded man to the state of his spiritual affairs, and assisting him to such 
 comfort as the doctrine of the Church directed should be administered to 
 departing sinners. The words exchanged between them were of that grave 
 and severe character which passes between the ghostly father and his pupil, 
 when one world is rolling away from the view of the sinner, and another is 
 displaying itself in all its terrors, and thundering in the ear of the penitent 
 that retribution which the deeds done in the flesh must needs prepare him 
 to expect. This is one of the most solemn meetings which can take place 
 between earthly beings; and the courageous character of the Jedwood 
 forester, as well as the benevolent and pious expression of the old church¬ 
 man, considerably enhanced the pathos of the scene. 
 
 “ Turnbull,^^ said the churchman, “ I trust you will believe me when I say 
 that it grieves my heart to see thee brought to this situation by wounds 
 which it is my duty to tell you, you must consider mortal.^' 
 
 “ Is the chase ended, then V’ said the Jedwood man with a sigh. “ I care 
 not, good father, for I think I have borne me as becomes a gallant quarry, 
 and that the old forest has lost no credit by me, whether in pursuit, or in 
 bringing to bay; and even in this last matter, methinks this gay English 
 knight would not have come ofi* wdth such advantage had the ground on 
 which we stood been alike indifferent to both, or had I been aware of his 
 onset; but it will be seen, by any one who takes the trouble to examine, 
 that poor Michael Turnbull’s foot slipped twice in the melee, otherwise it 
 had not been his fate to be lying here in the dead-thraw;* while yonder 
 southron would probably have died like a dog, upon this bloody straw, in his 
 place.” 
 
 The bishop replied, advising his penitent to turn from vindictive thoughts 
 respecting the death of others, and endeavour to fix his attention upon his 
 own departure from existence, which seemed shortly about to take place. 
 
 “Nay,” replied the wounded man, “you, father, undoubtedly know best 
 what is fit for me to do; yet methinks it would not be very well with me if 
 I had prolonged to this time of day the task of revising my life, and I am 
 not the man to deny that mine has been a bloody and a desperate one. But 
 
 * Or death agony. 
 2 G 
 
W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 874 
 
 you will grant me I never bore malice to a brave enemy for having done me 
 an injury, and show me the man, being a Scotchman born, and having a 
 natural love for his own country, who hath not, in these times, rather pre¬ 
 ferred a steel cap to a hat and feather, or who hath not been more conver¬ 
 sant with drawn blades than with prayer-book ; and you yourself know, 
 father, whether, in our proceedings against the English interest, we have 
 not uniformly had the countenance of the sincere fathers of the Scottish 
 Church, and Avhether we have not been exhorted to take arms and make use 
 of them for the honour of the King of Scotland, and the defence of our own 
 rights/’ 
 
 “Undoubtedly,” said the prelate, “such have been our exhortations 
 towards our oppressed countrymen, nor do I now teach you a different doc¬ 
 trine ; nevertheless, having now blood around me, and a dying man before 
 me, I have need to pray that I have not been misled from the true path, and 
 thus become the means of misdirecting others. May Heaven forgive me if 
 I have done so, since I have only to plead my sincere and honest intention 
 in excuse for the erroneous counsel which I may have given to you and 
 others touching these wars. I am conscious that encouraging you so to 
 stain your swords in blood, I have departed in some degree from the cha¬ 
 racter of my profession, which enjoins that we neither shed blood, nor are 
 the occasion of its being shed. May Heaven enable us to obey our duties, 
 and to repent of our errors, especially such as have occasioned the death or 
 distress of our fellow-creatures. And, above all, may this dying Christian 
 become aware of his errors, and repent with sincerity of having done to 
 others that which he would not willingly have suffered at their hand !” 
 
 “ For that matter,” answered Turnbull, “ the time has never been when I 
 would not exchange a blow with the best man who ever lived; and if I was 
 not in constant practice of the sword, it was because I have been brought 
 up to the use of the Jedwood-axe, which the English call a partisan, and 
 which makes little difference, I understand, from the sword and poniard.” 
 
 “The distinction is not great,” said the bishop; “but I fear, my friend, 
 that life taken with what you call a Jedwood-axe, gives you no privilege 
 over him who commits the same deed, and inflicts the same injury, with any 
 other weapon.” 
 
 “ Nay, worthy father,” said the penitent, “ I must own that the effect of 
 the weapons is the same, as far as concerns the man who suffers; but I 
 would pray of you information, why a Jedwood man ought not to use, as is 
 the custom of his country, a Jedwood-axe, being, as is implied in the name, 
 the offensive weapon proper to his country?” 
 
 “The crime of murder,” said the bishop, “consists not in the weapon 
 with which the crime is inflicted, but in the pain which the murderer inflicts 
 upon his fellow-creature, and the breach of good order which he introduces 
 into heaven’s lovely and peaceable creation ; and it is by turning your 
 repentance upon this crime that you may fairly expect to propitiate Heaven 
 for your offences, and at the same time to escape the consequences which 
 are denounced in Holy Writ against those by whom man’s blood shall be 
 shed.” 
 
 “ But, good father,” said the wounded man, “ you know as well as any 
 one, that in this company, and in this very church, there are upon the watch 
 scores of both Scotchmen and Englishmen, who come here not so much to 
 discharge the religions duties of the day, as literally to bereave each other 
 of their lives, and give a new example of the horror of those feuds which 
 the two extremities of Britain nourish against each other. Whaft conduct, 
 then, is a poor man like me to hold? Am I not to raise this hand against 
 the English, which methinks I still can make a tolerably efficient one — or 
 am I, for the first time in my life, to hear the war-cry when it is raised, and 
 hold back my sword from the slaughter? Methinks it will be difficult, per¬ 
 haps altogether impossible, for me to do so ; but if such is the pleasure of 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 375 
 
 Heaven, and your advice, most reverend father, unquestionably I must do 
 my best to be governed by your directions, as of one who has a right and 
 title to direct us in every dilemma, or case, as they term it, of troubled con¬ 
 science/’ 
 
 “Unquestionably,” said the bishop, “it is my duty, as I have already 
 said, to give no occasion this day for the shedding of blood, or the breach 
 of peace; and I must charge you, as my penitent, that upon your soul’s 
 safety, you do not minister any occasion to affray or bloodshed, either by 
 maintaining such in your own person, or inciting others to the same; for by 
 following a different course of advice, I am certain that you, as well as 
 myself, would act sinfully and out of character.” 
 
 “ So I will endeavour to think, reverend father,” answered the hunts¬ 
 man ; “ nevertheless, I hope it will be remembered in my favour that I am 
 the first person bearing the surname of Turnbull, together with the proper 
 name of the Prince of Archangels himself, who has at any time been able 
 to sustain the alfront occasioned by the presence of a southron with a drawn 
 sword, and was not thereby provoked to pluck forth his own weapon, and to 
 lay about him,” 
 
 “ Take care, my son,” returned the Prelate of Glasgow, “ and observe, 
 that even now thou art departing from those resolutions which, but a few 
 minutes since, thou didst adopt upon serious and just consideration ; where¬ 
 fore do not be, 0 my son ! like the sow that has wallowed in the mire, and, 
 having been washed, repeats its act of pollution, and becomes again yet 
 fouler than it was before.” 
 
 “Well, reverend father,” replied the wounded man, “although it seems 
 almost unnatural for Scottishmen and English to meet and part without a 
 buffet, yet I will endeavour most faithfully not to minister any occasion of 
 strife, nor, if possible, to snatch at any such occasion as shall be ministered 
 to me.” 
 
 “ In doing so,” returned the bishop, “ thou wilt best atone for the injury 
 which thou hast done to the law of Heaven upon former occasions, and thou 
 shalt prevent the causes for strife betwixt thee and thy brethren of the 
 southern land, and shalt eschew the temptation towards that blood-guiltiness 
 which is so .rife in this our day and generation. And do not think that I 
 am imposing upon thee, by these admonitions, a duty more difficult than it 
 is in thy covenant to bear, as a man and as a Christian. I myself am a 
 man and a Scotchman, and, as such, I feel offended at the unjust conduct 
 of the English towards our country and sovereign ; and thinking as you do 
 yourself, I know w'hat you must suffer when you are obliged to submit to 
 national insults, unretaliated and unrevenged. But let us not conceive our¬ 
 selves the agents of that retributive vengeance which Heaven has, in a pe¬ 
 culiar degree, declared to be its own attribute. Let us, while we see and 
 feel the injuries inflicted on our own country, not forget that our own raids, 
 ambuscades, and surprisals, have been at least equally fatal to the English 
 as their attacks and forays have been to us; and, in short, let the mutual 
 injuries of the crosses of Saint Andrew and of Saint George be no longer 
 considered as hostile to the inhabitants of the opposite district, at least 
 during the festivals of religion ; but as they are mutually signs of redemp¬ 
 tion, let them be, in like manner, intimations of forbearance and peace on 
 both sides.” 
 
 “ I am contented,” answered Turnbull, “ to abstain from all offences 
 towards others, and shall even endeavour to keep myself from resenting 
 those of others towards me, in the hope of bringing to pass such a quiet 
 and godly state of things as your words, reverend father, induce me to 
 expect.” Turning his face to the wall, the Borderer lay in stern expectation 
 of approaching death, which the bishop left him to contemplate. 
 
 The peaceful disposition which the prelate had inspired into Michael 
 Turnbull, had in some degree dilfused itself among those present, who heard 
 
376 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 with awe the spiritual admonition to suspend the national antipathy, and 
 remain in truce and amity with each other. Heaven had, however, decreed 
 that the national quarrel, in which so much blood had been sacrificed, should 
 that day again be the occasion of deadly strife. 
 
 A loud flourish of trumpets, seeming to proceed from beneath the earth, 
 now rung through the church, and roused the attention of the soldiers and 
 worshippers then assembled. Most of those who heard these warlike sounds 
 betook themselves to their weapons, as if they considered it useless to wait 
 any longer for the signal of conflict. Hoarse voices, rude exclamations, the 
 rattle of swords against their sheaths, or their clashing against other pieces 
 of armour, gave an awful presage of an onset, which, however, was for a 
 time averted by the exhortations of the bishop. A second flourish of trum¬ 
 pets having taken place, the voice of a herald made proclamation to the 
 following purpose: — 
 
 “ That whereas there were many noble pursuivants of chivalry presently 
 assembled in the Kirk of Douglas, and whereas there existed among them 
 the usual causes of quarrel and points of debate for their advancement in 
 chivalry, therefore the Scottish knights were ready to fight any number of 
 the English who might be agreed, either upon the superior beauty of their 
 ladies, or upon the national quarrel in any of its branches, or upon what¬ 
 ever point might be at issue between them, which should be deemed satis¬ 
 factory ground of quarrel by both ; and the knights who should chance to 
 be worsted in such dispute should renounce the prosecution thereof, or the 
 bearing arms therein thereafter, with such other conditions to ensue upon 
 their defeat as might be agreed upon by a council of the knights present at 
 the Kirk of Douglas aforesaid. But foremost of all, any number of Scottish 
 knights, from one to twenty, will defend the quarrel which has already 
 draAvn blood, touching the freedom of Lady Augusta de Berkely, and the 
 rendition of Douglas Castle to the owner here present. Wherefore it is 
 required that the English knights do intimate their consent that such trial 
 of valour take place, which, according to the rules of chivalry, they cannot 
 refuse, without losing utterly the reputation of valour, and incurring the 
 diminution of such other degree of estimation as a courageous pursuivant 
 of arms would willingly be held in, both by the good knights of his own 
 country, and those of others.^^ 
 
 This unexpected gage of battle realized the worst fears of those who had 
 looked with suspicion on the extraordinary assemblage this day of the de¬ 
 pendents of the House of Douglas. After a short pause, the trumpets again 
 flourished lustily, when the reply of the English knights was made in the 
 following terms:— 
 
 “ That God forbid the rights and privileges of England’s knights, and the 
 beauty of her damsels, should not be asserted by her children, or that such 
 English knights as were here assembled, should show the least backward¬ 
 ness to accept the combat ofFered, whether grounded upon the superior 
 beauty of their ladies, or whether upon the causes of dispute between the 
 countries, for either or all of which the knights of England here present 
 were willing to do battle in the terms of the indenture aforesaid, while sword 
 and lance shall endure. Saving and excepting the surrender of the Castle 
 of Douglas, which can be rendered to no one b^ut England’s king, or those 
 acting under his orders.” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 377 
 
 Cjinpln tjir CinnitiBtji. 
 
 Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 
 f Do bravely eacli, and God defend the right; 
 
 Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry, 
 
 And thrice they shout on height, 
 
 And then marked them on the Englishmen, 
 
 As I have told you right. 
 
 Saint George the bright, our ladies’ knight, 
 
 To name they were full fain; 
 
 Our Englishmen they cried on height, 
 
 And thrice they shout again. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The extraordinary crisis mentioned in the preceding chapter, was the 
 cause, as may be supposed, of the leaders on both sides now throwing aside 
 all concealment, and displaying their utmost strength, by marshalling 
 their respective adherents; the renowned Knight of Douglas, with Sir 
 Malcolm Fleming and other distinguished cavaliers, were seen in close con¬ 
 sultation. 
 
 Sir John de Walton, startleii by the first flourish of trumpets, while 
 anxiously endeavouring to secure a retreat for the Lady Augusta, was in a 
 moment seen collecting his followers, in which he was assisted by the active 
 friendship of the Knight of Valence. 
 
 The Lady of Berkely showed no craven spirit at these warlike prepara¬ 
 tions ; she advanced, closely followed by the faithful Bertram, and a female 
 in a riding-hood, whose face, though carefully concealed, was no other than 
 that of the unfortunate Margaret de Ilautlieu, whose worst fears had been 
 realized as to the faithlessness of her betrothed knight. 
 
 A pause ensued, which for some time no one present thought himself of 
 authority sufiicient to break. 
 
 At last the Knight of Douglas stepped forward and said, loudly, “ I wait 
 to know whether Sir John de AValton requests leave of James of Douglas 
 to evacuate his castle without further wasting that daylight which might 
 show us to judge a fair field, and whether he craves Douglas’s protection in 
 doing so ?” 
 
 The Knight of Walton drew his sword. “ I hold the Castle of Douglas,’^ 
 he said, “ in spite of all deadly, — and never will I ask the protection from 
 any one which my own sword is competent to afibrd me !” 
 
 “ I stand by 3 ’ou, Sir John,” said Aymer de Valence, “ as your true com¬ 
 rade, against whatever odds may oppose themselves to us.” 
 
 “ Courage, noble English,” said the voice of Greenleaf; “ take your 
 weapons in God’s name. Bows and bills! bows and bills!—A messenger 
 brings us notice that Pembroke is in full march hither from the borders of 
 Ayrshire, and will be with us in half an hour. Fight on, gallant English ! 
 Valence to the rescue ! and long life to the gallant Earl of Pembroke !” 
 
 Those English within and around the church no longer delayed to take 
 arms, and De Walton, crying out at the height of his voice, “ I implore the 
 Douglas to look nearly to the safety of the ladies,” fought his way to the 
 church door; the Scottish finding themselves unable to resist the impres¬ 
 sion of terror which affected them at the sight of this renowned knight, 
 seconded by his brother-in-arms, both of whom had been so long the terror 
 of the district. In the meantime, it is possible that De AValton might alto¬ 
 gether have forced his way out of the church, had he not been met boldly 
 by the young son of Thomas Dickson of Ilazelside, while his father was 
 receiving from Douglas the charge of preserving the stranger ladies from all 
 harm from the fight, which, so long suspended, was now on the point of 
 taking place. 
 
 o „ o 
 
 ^ U 
 
378 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 De Walton cast his eye upon the Lady Augusta, •with a desire of rushing 
 to the rescue ; but was forced to conclude, that he provided best for her 
 safety by leaving her under the protection of Douglas's honour. 
 
 Young Dickson, in the meantime, heaped blow on blow, seconding with 
 all his juvenile courage every eifort he could make, in order to attain the 
 prize due to the conqueror of the renowned De Walton. 
 
 “ Silly boy," at length said Sir John, who had for some time forborne the 
 stripling, “ take, then, thy death from a noble hand, since thou preferrest 
 that to peace and length of days." 
 
 “ I care not," said the Scottish youth, with his dying breath ; “ I have 
 lived long enough, since I have kept you so long in the place -where you now 
 stand." 
 
 And the youth said truly, for as he fell never again to rise, the Douglas 
 stood in his place, and without a word spoken, again engaged with De Walton 
 in the same formidable single combat, by which they had already been dis¬ 
 tinguished, but with even additional fury. Aymer de Valence drew up to 
 his friend De Walton's left hand, and seemed but to desire the apology of 
 one of Douglas's people attempting to second him, to join in the fray; but 
 as he saw no person who seemed disposed to give him such opportunity, he 
 repressed the inclination, and remained an unwilling spectator. At length 
 it seemed as if Fleming, who stood foremost among the Scottish knights, 
 was desirous to measure his sword with De Valence. Aymer himself, 
 burning with the desire of combat, at last called out, “Faithless Knight of 
 Boghall! step forth and defend yourself against the imputation of having 
 deserted your lady-love, and of being a man-sworn disgrace to the rolls of 
 chivalry!" 
 
 “My answer,'^ said Fleming, “even to a less gross taunt, hangs by my 
 side." In an instant his sword was in his hand, and even the practised 
 warriors who looked on felt difficulty in discovering the progress of the strife, 
 which rather resembled a thunder storm in a mountainous country than the 
 stroke and parry of two swords, offending on the one side, and keeping the 
 defensive on the other. 
 
 Their blows were exchanged with surprising rapidity; and although the 
 two combatants did not equal Douglas and De Walton in maintaining a 
 certain degree of reserve, founded upon a respect which these knights mu¬ 
 tually entertained for each other, yet the want of art was supplied by a 
 degree of fury, which gave chance at least an equal share in the issue. 
 
 Seeing their superiors thus desperately engaged, the partisans, as they 
 •were accustomed, stood still on either side, and looked on with the reve¬ 
 rence which they instinctively paid to their commanders and leaders in 
 arms. One or two of the women were in the meanwhile attracted, accord¬ 
 ing to the nature of the sex, by compassion for those who had already 
 experienced the casualties of war. Young Dickson, breathing his last 
 among the feet of the combatants,* was in some sort rescued from the 
 tumult by the Lady of Berkely, in whom the action seemed less strange, 
 owing to the pilgrim's dress which she still retained, and who in vain en¬ 
 deavoured to solicit the attention of the boy's father to the task in which 
 she was engaged. 
 
 “ Cumber yourself not, lady, about that which is bootless," said old 
 
 * [The fall of this brave stripling by the hand of the English governor, and the stern heroism of the father 
 in turning from the spot where he lay, “a model of beauty and strength,” that he might not be withdrawn 
 from the duty wliich Douglas had assigned him of protecting the Lady of Berkely, excites an interest for 
 both, with which it is almost to be regretted that history interferes. It was the old man, 'I'homas Dickson, 
 not his son, wlio fell. The slogan, “a Douglas, a Douglas,” having been prematurely raised, Dickson, who 
 was within the cliurch, thinking that his young Lord with his armed band was at hand, drew his sword, 
 and with only one man to assist him, opposed the English, who now rushed to the door. Cut across the 
 middle by an English sword, he still continued liis opposition, till he fell lifeless at the tlireshold. Such is 
 tradition, and it is supported by a memorial of some authority —a tonibstone. still to be seen in the church¬ 
 yard of Douglas, on which is sculptured a figure of Dickson, supporting with his left arm his protruding 
 entrails, and raising his sword with the other in the attitude of combat .]—Note by the Rev. Mr. Skwart, of 
 Douglas. 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 879 
 
 Dickson, “and distract not your own attention and mine from preservinc; 
 you, whom it is the Douglas’s wish to rescue, and whom, so please Gud 
 and St. Bride, I consider as placed by my Chieftain under my charge. 
 Believe me, this youth’s death is in no way forgotten, though tliis be not 
 the time to remember it. A time will come for recollection, and an hour 
 for revenge.” 
 
 So said the stern old man, reverting his eyes from the bloody corpse 
 which lay at his feet, a model of beauty and strength. Having taken one 
 more anxious look, he turned round, and placed himself where he could 
 best protect the Lady of Berkely, not again turning his eyes on his son’s 
 ' body. 
 
 In the interim the combat continued, without the least cessation on either 
 side, and without a decided advantage. At length, however, fate seemed 
 disposed to interfere; the Knight of Fleming, pushing fiercely forward, and 
 brought by chance almost close to the person of the Lady Margaret de 
 Ilautlieu, missed his blow, and his foot sliding in the blood of the young 
 victim, Dickson, ho fell before his antagonist, and was in imminent danger 
 of being at his mercy, when Margaret de Ilautlieu, who inherited the soul 
 of a warrior, and, besides, was a very strong, as well as an undaunted 
 person, seeing a mace of no great weight lying on the floor, where it had 
 been dropped by the fallen Dickson, it, at the same instant, caught her eye, 
 armed her hand, and intercepted, or struck down the sword of Sir Aymer 
 de Valence, who would otherwise have remained the master of the day at 
 that interesting moment. Fleming had more to do to avail himself of an 
 unexpected chance of recovery, than to make a commentary upon the 
 manner in which it had been so singularly brought about; he instantly 
 recovered the advantage he had lost, and was able in the ensuing close to 
 trip up the feet of his antagonist, who fell on the pavement, Avhile the voice 
 of his conqueror, if he could properly be termed such, resounded through 
 the church with the fatal words, “ Yield thee, Aymer de Valence—rescue or 
 no rescue—yield thee !—yield ye!” he added, as he placed his sword to the 
 throat of the fallen knight, “not to me, but to this noble lady — rescue or 
 no rescue.” 
 
 With a heavy heart the English knight perceived that he had lost so 
 favourable an opportunity of acquiring fame, and was obliged to submit to 
 his destiny, or be slain upon the spot. There was only one consolation, 
 that no battle was ever more honourably sustained, being gained as much 
 by accident as by valour. 
 
 The fate of the protracted and desperate combat between Douglas and 
 De Walton did not much longer remain in suspense; indeed, the number 
 of conquests in single combat achieved by the Douglas in these wars, was 
 so great, as to make it doubtful whether he was not, in personal strength 
 and skill, even a superior knight to Bruce himself, and he was at least 
 acknowledged nearly his equal in the art of war. 
 
 So however it was, that when three quarters of an hour had passed in 
 hard contest, Douglas and De Walton, whose nerves were not actually of 
 iron, began to show some signs that their human bodies were feeling the 
 efiect of the dreadful exertion. Their blows began to be drawn more slowly, 
 and were parried with less celerity. Douglas, seeing that the combat must 
 soon come to an end, generously made a signal, intimating to his antagonist 
 to hold his hand for an instant. 
 
 “Brave De Walton,” he said, “there is no mortal quarrel between us, 
 and you must be sensible that in this passage of arms, Douglas, though he 
 is only worth his sword and his cloak, has abstained from taking a decisive 
 advantage when the chance of arms has more than once offered it. My 
 father’s house, the broad domains around it, the dwelling, and the graves 
 of my ancestors, form a reasonable reward for a knight to fight for, and 
 call upon me in an imperative voice the prosecute to strife which has such an 
 
380 
 
 WAVE 11 LEY NOVELS. 
 
 object, while you are as welcome to the noble lady, in all honour and safety, 
 as if you had received her from the hands of King Edward himself; and I 
 give you my word, that the utmost honours which can attend a prisoner, 
 and a careful absence of every thing like injury or insult, shall attend De 
 Walton when he yields up the castle, as well as his sword to James of 
 Douglas/^ 
 
 “ It is the fate to which I am perhaps doomed,^^ replied Sir John de 
 Walton; “but never will I voluntarily embrace it, and never shall it be 
 said that my own tongue, saving in the last extremity, pronounced upon me 
 the fatal sentence to sink the point of my own sword. Pembroke is upon 
 the march with his whole army, to rescue the garrison of Douglas. I hear 
 the tramp of his horse’s feet even now; and I will maintain my ground 
 while I am within reach of support; nor do I fear that the breath which 
 now begins to fail will not last long enough to uphold the struggle till the 
 arrival of the expected succour. Come on, then, and treat me not as a 
 child, but as one who, whether I stand or fall, fears not to encounter the 
 utmost force of my knightly antagonist.” 
 
 “ So be it then,” said Douglas, a darksome hue, like the lurid colour of 
 the thunder-cloud, changing his brow as he spoke, intimating that he medi¬ 
 tated a speedy end to the contest, when, just as the noise of horses’ feet 
 drew nigh, a Welsh knight, known as such by the diminutive size of his 
 steed, his naked limbs, and his bloody spear, called out loudly to the com¬ 
 batants to hold their hands. 
 
 “ Is Pembroke near?” said De Walton. 
 
 “ No nearer than Loudon Hill,” said the Prestantin; “ but I bring his 
 commands to John de Walton.” 
 
 “ I stand ready to obey them through every danger,” answered the 
 knight. 
 
 “ Woe is me,” said the Welshman, “ that my mouth should bring to the 
 ears of so brave a man tidings so unwelcome! The Earl of Pembroke yes¬ 
 terday received information that the castle of Douglas was attacked by the 
 son of the deceased Earl, and the whole inhabitants of the district. Pem¬ 
 broke, on hearing this, resolved to march to your support, noble knight, 
 with all the forces he had at his disposal. He did so, and accordingly en¬ 
 tertained every assurance of relieving the castle, when unexpectedly he met, 
 on Loudon Hill, a body of men of no very inferior force to his own, and 
 having at their head that famous Bruce whom the Scottish rebels acknow¬ 
 ledge as their king. He marched instantly to the attack, swearing he would 
 not even draw a comb through his grey beard until he had rid England of 
 his recurring plague. But the fate of war was against us.” 
 
 He stopt here for lack of breath. 
 
 “ I thought so !” exclaimed Douglas. “ Robert Bruce will now sleep at 
 night, since he has paid home Pembroke for the slaughter of his friends 
 and the dispersion of his army at Methuen Wood. His men are, indeed, 
 accustomed to meet with dangers, and to conquer them : those who follow’ 
 him have been trained under Wallace, besides being partakers of the perils 
 of Bruce himself. It was thought that the waves had swallowed them when 
 they shipped themselves from the west; but know, that the Bruce was de¬ 
 termined with the present reviving spring to awaken his pretensions, and 
 that he retires not from Scotland again while he lives, and while a single 
 lord remains to set his foot by his sovereign, in spite of all the power which 
 has been so feloniously employed against him.” 
 
 “It is even too true,” said the Welshman Meredith, “ although it is said 
 by a proud Scotchman. — The Earl of Pembroke, completely defeated, is 
 unable to stir from Ayr, towards which he has retreated with great loss: 
 and he sends his instructions to Sir John de Walton, to make the best terms 
 he can for the surrender of the Castle of Douglas, and trust nothing to his 
 support.” 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 381 
 
 The vSeottish, who heard this unexpected news, joined in a sliout so 
 loud and energetic, that the ruins of the ancient church seemed actually 
 to rock, and threaten to fall on the heads of those who were crowded 
 within it. 
 
 The brow of De AValton was overclouded at the news of Pembroke’s de¬ 
 feat, although in some respects it placed him at liberty to take measures for 
 the safety of the Lady of Berkely. lie could not, however, claim the same 
 honourable terms which had been offered to him by Douglas before the 
 news of the battle of Loudon Hill had arrived. 
 
 “ Noble knight,” he said, “ it is entirely at your pleasure to dictate the 
 terms of surrender of your paternal castle; nor have I a right to claim 
 from you those conditions which, a little while since, your generosity put 
 in my offer. But I submit to my fate; and upon whatever terms you think 
 lit to grant me, I must be content to offer to surrender to you the weapon, 
 of which I now put the point in the earth, in evidence that I will never 
 more direct it against you until a fair ransom shall place it once more at 
 my own disposal.” 
 
 “God forbid,” answered the noble James of Douglas, “that I should take 
 such advantage of the bravest knight out of not a few who have found me 
 work in battle! I will take example from the Knight of Fleming, who has 
 gallantly bestowed his captive in guerdon upon a noble damsel here present; 
 and in like manner I transfer my claim upon the person of the redoubted 
 Knight of Walton, to the high and noble Lady Augusta Berkely, who, I 
 hope, will not scorn to accept from the Douglas a gift which the chance of 
 war has thrown into his hands.” 
 
 Sir John de Walton, on hearing this unexpected decision, looked up like 
 the traveller who discovers the beams of the sun breaking through and dis- 
 
 E ersing the tempest which has accompanied him for a whole morning. The 
 lady of Berkely recollected what became her rank, and showed her sense 
 of the Douglas’s chivalry. Hastily wiping off the tears which had unwill¬ 
 ingly flowed to her eyes, while her lover’s safety and her own were resting 
 on the precarious issue of a desperate combat, she assumed the look proper 
 to a heroine of that age, who did not feel averse to accept the importance 
 which was conceded to her by the general voice of the chivalry of the 
 period. Stepping forward, bearing her person gracefully, yet modestly, in 
 the attitude of a lady accustomed to be looked to in difficulties like the 
 present, she addressed the audience in a tone which might not have misbe¬ 
 come the Goddess of Battle dispersing her influence at the close of a field 
 covered with the dead and the dying. 
 
 “ The noble Douglas,” she said, “ shall not pass without a prize from the 
 field which he has so nobly won. This rich string of brilliants, which my 
 ancestor won from the Sultan of Trebisond, itself a prize of battle, will bo 
 honoured by sustaining, under the Douglas’s armour, a lock of hair of the 
 fortunate lady whom the victorious lord has adopted for his guide in 
 chivalry; and if the Douglas, till he shall adorn it with that lock, will per¬ 
 mit the honoured lock of hair which it now bears to retain its station, she 
 on whose head it grew will hold it as a signal that poor Augusta de Berkely 
 is pardoned for having gaged any mortal man in strife with the Knight of 
 Douglas.” 
 
 “ Woman’s love,” replied the Douglas, “ shalLnot divorce this locket from 
 my bosom, which I will keep till the last day of my life, as emblematic of 
 female worth and female virtue. And, not to encroach upon the valued and 
 honoured province of Sir John de Walton, be it known to all men, that 
 whoever shall say that the Lady Augusta of Berkely has, in this entangled 
 matter, acted otherwise than becomes the noblest of her sex, he will do well 
 to be ready to maintain such a proposition with his lance, against James 
 of Douglas, in a fair field.” 
 
 This speech was heard with approbation on all sides; and the news 
 
382 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 brought by Meredith of the defeat of the Earl of Pembroke, and his subse¬ 
 quent retreat, reconciled the fiercest of the English soldiers to the surrender 
 of Douglas Castle. The necessary conditions were speedily agreed on, 
 which put the Scottish in possession of this stronghold, together with the 
 stores, both of arms and ammunition, of every kind which it contained. 
 The garrison had it to boast, that they obtained a free passage, with their 
 horses and arms, to return by the shortest and safest route to the marches 
 of England, without either suffering or inflicting damage. 
 
 Margaret of Ilautlieu was not behind in acting a generous part; the 
 gallant Knight of Valence was allowed to accompany his friend De Walton 
 and the Lady Augusta to England, and without ransom. 
 
 The venerable prelate of Glasgow, seeing what appeared at one time 
 likely to end in a general conflict, terminate so auspiciously for his country, 
 contented himself with bestowing his blessing on the assembled multitude, 
 and retiring with those who came to assist in the service of the day. 
 
 This surrender of Douglas Castle upon the Palm Sunday of 19th March, 
 1306-7, was the beginning of a career of conquest which was uninterrupted, 
 in which the greater part of the strengths and fortresses of Scotland were 
 yielded to those who asserted the liberty of their country, until the crown¬ 
 ing mercy was gained in the celebrated field of Bannockburn, where the 
 English sustained a defeat more disastrous than is mentioned upon any 
 other occasion in their annals. 
 
 Little need be said of the fate of the persons of this story. King Edward 
 was greatly enraged at Sir John de Walton for having surrendered the 
 Castle of Douglas, securing at the same time his own object, the envied 
 hand of the heiress of Berkely. The knights to whom he referred the 
 matter as a subject of enquiry, gave it nevertheless as their opinion that De 
 Walton was void of all censure, having discharged his duty in its fullest 
 extent, till the commands of his superior officer obliged him to surrender 
 the Dangerous Castle. 
 
 A singular renewal of intercourse took place, many months afterwards, 
 between Margaret of Ilautlieu and her lover. Sir Malcolm Fleming. The 
 use which the lady made of her freedom, and of the doom of the Scottish 
 Parliament, which put her in possession of her father’s inheritance, was to 
 follow her adventurous spirit through dangers not usually encountered by 
 those of her sex; and the Lady of Hautlieu was not only a daring follower 
 of the chase, but it was said that she was even not daunted in the battle¬ 
 field. She remained faithful to the political principles which she had 
 adopted at an early period; and it seemed as if she had formed the gallant 
 resolution of shaking the god Cupid from her horse’s mane, if not treading 
 him beneath her horse’s feet. 
 
 The Fleming, although he had vanished from the neighbourhood of the 
 counties of Lanark and Ayr, made an attempt to state his apology to the 
 Lady de Ilautlieu herself, who returned his letter unopened, and remained 
 to all appearance resolved never again to enter upon the topic of their 
 original engagement. It chanced, however, at a later period of the war 
 with England, while Fleming was one night travelling upon the Border, 
 after the ordinary fashion of one who sought adventures, a waiting-maid, 
 equipped in a fantastic habit, asked the protection of his arm in the name 
 of her lady, who, late in tlip evening, had been made captive, she said, by 
 certain ill-disposed caitifis, who were carrying her by force through the 
 forest. The Fleming’s lance was, of course, in its rest, and woe betide the 
 faitour whose lot it was to encounter its thrust; the first fell, incapable of 
 further combat, and another of the felons encountered the same fate with 
 little more resistance. The lady, released from the discourteous cord which 
 restrained her liberty, did not hesitate to join company with the brave 
 knight by whom she had been rescued; and although the darkness did not 
 permit her to recognise her old lover in her liberator, yet she could not but 
 
CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
 383 
 
 lend a willing ear to the conversation with which he entertained her, as they 
 proceeded on the way. He spoke of the fallen caitiffs as being Englishmen, 
 w'ho found a pleasure in exercising oppression and barbarities upon the 
 wandering damsels of Scotland, and whose cause, therefore, the champions 
 of that country were* bound to avenge while the blood throbbed in their 
 veins. He spoke of the injustice of the national quarrel which had afforded 
 a pretence for such deliberate oppression ; and the lady, who herself had 
 suffered so much by the interference of the English in the affairs of Scot¬ 
 land, readily acquiesced in the sentiments which he expressed on a subject 
 which she had so much reason for regarding as an afflicting one. Her 
 answer was given in the spirit of a person who would not hesitate, if the 
 times should call for such an example, to defend even with her hand the 
 rights which she asserted with her tongue. 
 
 Pleased with the sentiments which she expressed, and recognising in her 
 voice that secret charm, which, once impressed upon the human heart, is 
 rarely wrought out of the remembrance by a long train of subsequent 
 events, he almost persuaded himself that the tones were familiar to him, 
 and had at one time formed the key to his innermost affections. In pro¬ 
 ceeding on their journey, the knight^s troubled state of mind was augmented 
 instead of being diminished. The scenes of his earliest youth were recalled 
 by circumstances so slight, as would in ordinary cases have produced no 
 effect whatever; the sentiments appeared similar to those which his life had 
 been devoted to enforce, and he half persuaded himself that the dawn of 
 day was to be to him the beginning of a fortune equally singular and ex¬ 
 traordinary. 
 
 In the midst of this anxiety. Sir Malcolm Fleming had no anticipation 
 that the lady whom he had heretofore rejected was again thrown into his 
 path, after years of absence; still less, when daylight gave him a partial 
 view of his fflir companion’s countenance, was he prepared to believe that 
 he was once again to term himself the champion of Margaret de Ilautlieu, 
 but it was so. The lady, on that direful morning when she retired from the 
 church of Douglas, had not resolved (indeed what lady ever did ?) to re¬ 
 nounce, without some struggle, the beauties which she had once possessed. 
 A long process of time, employed under skilful hands, had succeeded in 
 obliterating the scars which remained as the marks of her fall. These were 
 now considerably effaced, and the lost organ of sight no longer appeared 
 so great a blemish, concealed, as it was, by a black ribbon, and the arts.of 
 the tirewoman, who made it her business to shadow it over by a lock of hair. 
 In a word, he saw the same Margaret de Ilautlieu, with no very different 
 style of expression from that which her face, partaking of the high and 
 passionate character of her soul, had always presented. It seemed to both, 
 therefore, that their fate, by bringing them together after a separation which 
 appeared so decisive, had intimated li&Jiat that their fortunes were insepa¬ 
 rable from each other. By the time that the summer sun had climbed high 
 in the heavens, the two travellers rode apart from their retinue, conversing 
 together with an eagerness which marked the important matters of discus¬ 
 sion between them ; and in a short time it was made generally known 
 through Scotland, that Sir Malcolm Fleming and the Lady Margaret de 
 Ilautlieu were to be united at the court of the good King Robert, and the 
 husband invested with the honours of Biggar and Cumbernauld, an earldom 
 so long known in the family of Fleming. 
 
 The gentle reader is acquainted, that these are, in all probability, the last 
 tales wliich it will be the lot of the Author to submit to the public. He is 
 now on the eve of visiting foreign parts; a ship of war is commissioned by 
 its Royal Master to carry the Author of Waverley to climates in which he 
 may possibly obtain such a restoration of health as may serve him to spin 
 his thread to an end in his owm country. Had he continued to prosecute 
 
384 
 
 WAVERLE-Y NOVELS. 
 
 his usual literary labours, it seems indeed probable, that at the term of 
 years he has already attained, the bowl, to use the pathetic language of 
 Scripture, would have been broken at the fountain ; and little can one, who 
 has enjoyed on the whole an uncommon share of the most inestimable of 
 worldly blessings, be entitled to complain, that life, advancing to its period, 
 should be attended with its usual proportions of shadows and storms. 
 They have affected him at least in no more painful manner than is insepa¬ 
 rable from the discharge of this part of the debt of humanity. Of those 
 whose relation to him in the ranks of life might have ensured him their 
 sympathy under indisposition, many are now no more; and those who may 
 yet follow in his wake, are entitled to expect, in bearing inevitable evils, an 
 example of firmness and patience, more especially on the part of one who 
 has enjoyed no small good fortune during the course of his pilgrimage. 
 
 The public have claims on his gratitude, for which the Author of Waverley 
 has no adequate means of expression ; but he may be permitted to hope, that 
 the powers of his mind, such as they are, may not have a different date 
 from those of his body ; and that he may again meet his patronising friends, 
 if not exactly in his old fashion of literature, at least in some branch, 
 which may not call forth the remark, that— 
 
 “Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage.” 
 
 Abbotsford, September, 1831. 
 
 END OF CASTLE DANGEROUS. 
 
MY AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. — (1831.) 
 
 The species of publication which has come to be generally known by the 
 title of Annual, being a miscellany of prose and verse, equipped with nume¬ 
 rous engravings, and put forth every year about Christmas, had flourished 
 for a long while in Germany, before it was imitated in this country by an 
 enterprising bookseller, a German by birth, Mr. Ackermann. The rapid 
 success of his work, as is the custom of the time, gave birth to a host of 
 rivals, and, among others, to an Annual styled The Keepsake, the first 
 volume of which appeared in 1828, and attracted much notice, chiefly in 
 consequence of the very uncommon splendour of its illustrative accompani¬ 
 ments. The expenditure which the spirited proprietors lavished on this 
 magnificent volume, is understood to have been not less than from ten to 
 twelve thousand pounds sterling! 
 
 Various gentlemen, of such literary reputation that any one might think 
 it an honour to be associated with them, had been announced as contribu¬ 
 tors to this Annual, before application was made to me to assist in it; and 
 I accordingly placed with much pleasure at the Editor’s disposal a few frag¬ 
 ments, originally designed to have been worked into the Chronicles of the 
 Canongate, besides a MS. Drama, the long-neglected performance of my 
 youthful days,—the House of Aspen. 
 
 The Keepsake for 1828 included, however, only three of these little prose 
 tales — of which the first in order was that entitled “ My Aunt Margaret’s 
 Mirror.’^ By way of introduction to this, when now included in a general 
 collection of my lucubrations, I have only to say that it is a mere transcript, 
 or at least with very little embellishment, of a story that I remembered 
 being struck with in my childhood, when told at the fireside by a lady of 
 eminent virtues, and no inconsiderable share of talent, one of the ancient 
 and honourable house of Swinton. She was a kind relation of my own, and 
 met her death in a manner so shocking, being killed in a fit of insanity by 
 a female attendant who had been attached to her person for half a lifetime, 
 that I cannot now recall her memory, child as I was when the catastrophe 
 occurred, without a painful reawakening of perhaps the first images of 
 horror that the scenes of real life stamped on my mind. 
 
 This good spinster had in her composition a strong vein of the supersti¬ 
 tious, and was pleased, among other fancies, to read alone in her chamber 
 by a taper fixed in a candlestick which she had formed out of a human 
 skull. One night, this strange piece of furniture acquired suddenly the 
 power of locomotion, and, after performing some odd circles on her chimney- 
 piece, fairly leaped on the floor, and continued to roll about the apartment. 
 Mrs. Swinton calmly proceeded to the adjoining room for another light, and 
 had the satisfaction to penetrate the mystery on the spot. Rats abounded 
 in the ancient building she inhabited, and one of these had managed to 
 VoL. XII.—25 2n (385) 
 
386 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 ensconce itself within her favourite memento mori. Though thus endowe 1 
 with a more than feminine share of nerve, she entertained largely that 
 belief in supernaturals, which in those times was not considered as sitting 
 ungracefully on the grave and aged of her condition; and the story of the 
 Magic Mirror was one for which she vouched with particular confidence, 
 alleging indeed that one of her own family had been an eye-witness of the 
 incidents recorded in it. 
 
 “I tell the tale as it was told to me.” 
 
 » 
 
 Stories enow of much the same cast will present themselves to the recol¬ 
 lection of such of my readers as have ever dabbled in a species of lore to 
 which I certainly gave more hours, at one period of my life, than I should 
 gain any credit by confessing. 
 
 August, 1831. 
 
 
 
MY AUNT MAIIGARET’S MIRROR. 
 
 “ There are times 
 
 When Fancy plays her gainbols, in despite- 
 Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
 Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems. 
 When the broad, palpable, and mark’d partition, 
 
 ’Twiit that which is and is not, seems dissolved. 
 As if the mental eye gain’d power to gaze 
 Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
 
 Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
 Than all the gross realities of life.” 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 My Aunt Margaret was one of that respected sisterhood, upon whom 
 devolve all the trouble and solicitude incidental to the possession of children, 
 excepting only that which attends their entrance into the world. We were a 
 large family, of very different dispositions and constitutions. Some were 
 dull and peevish — they were sent to Aunt Margaret to be amused; some 
 w’ere rude, romping, and boisterous — they were sent to Aunt Margaret to 
 be kept quiet, or rather that their noise might be removed out of hearing; 
 those who were indisposed were sent with the prospect of being nursed — 
 those who were stubborn, with the hope of their being subdued by the 
 kindness of Aunt Margaret’s discipline; in short, she had all the various 
 duties of a mother, without the credit and dignity of the maternal charac¬ 
 ter. The busy scene of her various cares is now over—of the invalids and 
 the robust, the kind and the rough, the peevish and pleased children, who 
 thronged her little parlour from morning to night, not one now remains 
 alive but myself; who, afflicted by early infirmity, was one of the most de¬ 
 licate of her nurslings, yet nevertheless, have outlived them all. 
 
 It is still my custom, and shall be so while I have the use of my limbs, 
 to visit my respected relation at least three times a-week. Her abode is 
 about half a mile from the suburbs of the town in which I reside; and is 
 accessible, not only by the high-road, from which it stands at some dis¬ 
 tance, but by means of a greensward footpath, leading through some pretty 
 meadows. I have so little left to torment me in life, that it is one of my 
 greatest vexations to know that several of these sequestered fields have 
 been devoted as sites for building. In that which is nearest the town, 
 wheelbarrows have been at work for several weeks in such numbers, that, I 
 verily believe, its whole surface, to the depth of at least eighteen inches, 
 was mounted in these monotrochs at the same moment, and in the act of 
 being transported from one place to another. Huge triangular piles of 
 planks are also reared in different parts of the devoted messuage; and a 
 little group of trees, that still grace the eastern end, which rises in a gentle 
 ascend have just received warning to quit, expressed by a daub of white 
 paint, and are to give place to a curious grove of chimneys. 
 
 It would, perhaps, hurt others in my situation to reflect that this little 
 range of pasturage once belonged to my father, (whose family was of some 
 consideration in the world,) and was sold by patches to remedy distresses 
 in which he involved himself in an attempt by commercial adventure to 
 redeem his diminished fortune. While the building scheme was in full 
 
 (387) 
 
388 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 operation, this circumstance was often pointed out to me by the class of 
 friends who are anxious that no part of your misfortunes should escape 
 your observation. “ Such pasture-ground !—lying at the very town’s end— 
 in turnips and potatoes, the parks would bring 20Z. per acre, and if leased 
 for building—Oh, it was a gold mine!—And all sold for an old song out of 
 the ancient possessor’s hands !” My comforters cannot bring me to repine 
 much on this subject. If I could be allowed to look back on the past with¬ 
 out interruption, I could willingly give up the enjoyment of present income, 
 and the hope of future profit, to those who have purchased what my father 
 sold. I regret the alteration of the ground only because it destroys asso¬ 
 ciations, and I would more willingly (I think) see the Earl’s Closes in the 
 hands of strangers, retaining their silvan appearance, than know them for 
 my own, if torn up by agriculture, or covered with buildings. Mine are 
 the sensations of poor Logan: 
 
 “The horrid plough has rased the green 
 Where yet a child 1 stray’d ; 
 
 The axe has fell’d the hawthorn screen, 
 
 I'he schoolboy’s summer shade.” 
 
 I hope, however, the threatened devastation will not be consummated in 
 my day. Although the adventurous spirit of times short while since passed 
 gave rise to the undertaking, I have been encouraged to think, that the sub¬ 
 sequent changes have so far damped the spirit of speculation, that the rest 
 of the woodland footpath leading to Aunt Margaret’s retreat will be left 
 undisturbed for her time and mine. I am interested in this, for every step 
 of the way, after I have passed through the green already mentioned, has 
 for me something of early remembrance :—There is the stile at which I can 
 recollect a cross child’s-maid upbraiding me with my infirmity, as she lifted 
 me coarsely and carelessly over the flinty steps, which my brothers traversed 
 wdth shout and bound. I remember the suppressed bitterness of the mo¬ 
 ment, and, conscious of my own inferiority, the feeling of envy with which 
 I regarded the easy movements and elastic steps of my more happily formed 
 brethren. Alas ! these goodly barks have all perished on life’s wide ocean, 
 and only that M'hich seemed so little seaworthy, as the naval phrase goes, 
 has reached the port when the tempest is over. Then there is the pool, 
 where, manoeuvring our little navy, constructed out of the broad water 
 flags, my elder brother fell in, and was scarce saved from the w^atery 
 element to die under Nelson’s banner. There is the hazel copse also, in 
 which my brother Henry used to gather nuts, thinking little that he was to 
 die in an Indian jungle m quest of rupees. 
 
 There is so much more of remembrance about the little walk, that—as I 
 stop, rest on my crutch-headed cane, and look round with that species of 
 comparison between the thing I was and that which I now am — it almost 
 induces me to doubt my own identity; until I find myself in face of the 
 honeysuckle porch of Aunt Margaret’s dwelling, with its irregularity of 
 front, and its odd projecting latticed windows; where the workmen seem 
 to have made a study that no one of them should resemble another, in form, 
 size, or in the old-fashioned stone entablature and labels which adorn them. 
 This tenement, once the manor-house of Earl’s Closes, we still retain a 
 slight hold upon; for, in some family arrangements, it had been settled 
 upon Aunt Margaret during the term of her life. Upon this frail tenure 
 depends, in a great measure, the last shadow of the family of Bothwell of 
 Earl’s Closes, and their last slight connection with their paternal inherit¬ 
 ance. The only representative will then be an infirm old man, moving not 
 unwillingly to the grave, which has devoured all that were dear to his 
 affections. 
 
 When I have indulged such thoughts for a minute or two, I enter the 
 mansion, which is said to have been the gatehouse only of the original 
 building, and find one being on whom time seems to have made little im- 
 
liY AUNT MAUGARET’S JIIRROR. 
 
 889 
 
 pression ; for the Aunt Margaret of to-day bearvS the same proportional age 
 to the Aunt Margaret of my early youth, that the hoy of ten years old does 
 to the man of (by’r Lady!) some fifty-six years. The old lady’s invariable 
 costume has doubtless some share in confirming one in the opinion, that 
 time has stood still with Aunt Margaret. 
 
 The brown or chocolate-coloured silk gown, with ruffles of the same stuff 
 at the elbow, within which are others of Mechlin lace—the black silk gloves, 
 or mitts, the white hair combed back upon a roll, and the cap of spotless 
 cambric, which closes around the venerable countenance, as they were not 
 the costume of 1780, so neither were they that of 1826 ; they are altogether 
 a style peculiar to the individual Aunt Margaret. There she still sits, as 
 she sat thirty years since, with her wheel or the stocking, which she works 
 by the fire in winter, and by the window in summer; or, perhaps, venturing 
 as far as the porch in an unusually fine summer evening. Her frame, like 
 some well-constructed piece of mechanics, still performs the operations for 
 which it had seemed destined; going its round with an activity which is 
 gradually diminished, yet indicating no probability that it will soon come 
 to a period. 
 
 The solicitude and affection which had made Aunt Margaret the willing 
 slave to the inflictions of'a whole nursery, have now for their object the 
 health and comfort of one old and infirm man, the last remaining relative 
 of her family, and the only one who can still find interest in the traditional 
 stores w'hich she hoards as some miser hides the gold which he desires that 
 no one should enjoy after his death. 
 
 My conversation with Aunt Margaret generally relates little either to the 
 present or to the future: for the passing day we possess as much as we 
 require, and we neither of us wish for more; and for that which is to fol¬ 
 low we have on this side of the grave neither hopes, nor fears, nor anxiety. 
 "NV e therefore naturally look back to the past; and forget the present fallen 
 fortunes and declined importance of our family, in recalling the hours when 
 it was wealthy and prosperous. 
 
 With this slight introduction, the reader will know as much of Aunt 
 Margaret and her nephew as is necessary to comprehend the following con¬ 
 versation and narrative. 
 
 Last week, when, late in a summer evening, I went to call on the old lady 
 to whom my reader is now introduced, I was received by her with all her 
 usual affection and benignity ; while, at the same time, she seemed abstracted 
 and disposed to silence. I asked her the reason. “ They have been clear¬ 
 ing out the old chapel,” she said; “John Clayhudgeons having, it seems, 
 discovered that the stuff -within—being, I suppose, the remains of our 
 ancestors — was excellent for top-dressing the meadows.” 
 
 Here 1 started up with more alacrity than I have displayed for some 
 years; but sat down while my aunt added, laying her hand upon my sleeve, 
 “The chapel has been long considered as common ground, my dear, and 
 used for a penfold, and what objection can we have to the man for employ¬ 
 ing what is his own, to his own profit? Besides, I did speak to him, and 
 he very readily and civilly promised, that, if he found bones or monuments, 
 they should be carefully respected and reinstated; and what more could I 
 ask ? So, the first stone they found bore the name of Margaret Bothwcll, 
 1585, and I have caused it to be laid carefully aside, as I think it betokens 
 death; and having served my namesake two hundred years, it has just been 
 cast up in time to do me the same good turn. My house has been long put 
 in order, as far as the small earthly concerns require it, but who shall say 
 that their account with Heaven is sufficiently revised?” 
 
 “After what you have said, aunt,” I replied, “perhaps I ought to take 
 my hat and go away, and so I should, but that there is on this occasion a 
 little alloy mingled with our devotion. To think of death at all times is a 
 duty — to suppose it nearer, from the finding of an old gravestone, is super- 
 
 2n2 
 
390 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 stition ; and you, with your strong useful common sense, which was so long 
 the prop of a fallen family, are the last person whom I should have suspected 
 of such weakn-ess.” 
 
 “ Neither would I have deserved your suspicions, kinsman,’’ answered 
 Aunt Margaret^ “ if we w'ere speaking of any incident occurring in the 
 actual business of human life. But for all this I have a sense of supersti¬ 
 tion about me, which I do not wish to part with. It is a feeling which 
 separates me from this age, and links me with that to which I am hastening ; 
 and even when it seems, as now, to lead me to the brink of the grave, and 
 bids me gaze on it, I do not love that it should be dispelled. It soothes my 
 imagination, without influencing my reason or conduct.” 
 
 “I profess, my good lady,” replied I, “ that had any one but you made 
 such a declaration, I should have thought it as capricious as that of the 
 clergyman, who, without vindicating his false reading, preferred, from 
 habit’s sake, his old Mumpsimus to the modern Sumpsimus.” 
 
 “Well,” answered my aunt, “I must explain my inconsistency in this 
 particular, by comparing it to another. I am, as you know, a piece of that 
 old-fashioned thing called a Jacobite ; but I am so in sentiment and feeling 
 only ; for a more loyal subject never joined in prayers, for the health and 
 wealth of George the Fourth, whom God long preserve! But I dare say 
 that kind-hearted sovereign would not deem that an old woman did him 
 much injury if she leaned back in her arm-chair, just in such a twilight as 
 this, and thought of the high-mettled men, whose sense of duty called them 
 to arms against his grandfather; and how, in a cause which they deemed 
 that of their rightful prince and country, 
 
 ‘They fought till their hands to the broadsword were glued, 
 
 They fought against fortune with hearts unsubdued.’ 
 
 Do not come at such a moment, when my head is full of plaids, pibrochs, 
 and claymores, and ask my reason to admit what, I am afraid, it cannot 
 deny—I mean, that the public advantage peremptorily demanded that these 
 things should cease to exist. I cannot, indeed, refuse to allow the justice 
 of your reasoning; but yet, being convinced against my will, you will gain 
 little by your motion. You might as well read to an infatuated lover the 
 catalogue of his mistress’s imperfections; for, when he has been compelled 
 to listen to the summary, you will only get for answer, that, ‘ he lo’es her 
 a’ the better.’ ” 
 
 I was not sorry to have changed the gloomy train of Aunt Margaret’s 
 thoughts, and replied in the same tone, “ Well, I can’t help being persuaded 
 that our good king is the more sure of Mrs. Both well’s loyal affection, that 
 he has the Stuart right of birth, as well as the Act of Succession in his 
 favour.” 
 
 “ Perhaps my attachment, were its source of consequence, might be found 
 warmer for the union of the rights you mention,” said Aunt Margaret; 
 
 “ but, upon my word, it would be as sincere if the king’s right were founded 
 only on the will of the nation, as declared at the Revolution. I am none of 
 your jure divino folk.” 
 
 “And a Jacobite notwithstanding.” 
 
 “ And a Jacobite notwithstanding; or rather, I will give you leave to call . 
 me one of the party which, in Queen Anne’s time, were called WJiimsicals ; 
 because they were sometimes operated upon by feelings, sometimes by prin¬ 
 ciple. After all, it is very hard that you will not allow an old woman to 
 be as inconsistent in her political sentiments, as mankind in general show 
 themselves in all the various courses of life; since you cannot point out one 
 of them, in which the passions and prejudices of those who pursue it are 
 not perpetually carrying us away from the path which our reason points out.” 
 
 “ True, aunt; but you are a wilful wanderer, who should be forced back 
 into the right path.” 
 
MY AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR. 391 
 
 “ Spare me, I entreat you,^’ replied Aunt Margaret. “ You remember 
 the Gmlic song, though I dare say I mispronounce the words— 
 
 ‘ Hatil mohatil, na dowski mi.’ 
 
 ‘I am asleep, do not waken me.’ 
 
 I tell you, kinsman, that the sort of waking dreams which my imagination 
 spins out, in what your hivourite Wordsworth calls ‘moods of my own 
 mind,’ are worth all the rest of my more active days. Then, instead of 
 looking forwards as I did in youth, and forming for myself fairy palaces, 
 upon the verge of the grave, I turn my eyes backward upon the days and 
 manners of my better time ; and the sad, yet soothing recollections come so 
 close and interesting, that I almost think it sacrilege to be wiser, or more 
 rational, or less prejudiced, than those to whom I looked up in my younger 
 years.” 
 
 “ I think I now understand what you mean,” I answered, “ and can com¬ 
 prehend why you should occasionally prefer the twilight of illusion to the 
 steady light of reason.” 
 
 “ Where there is no task,” she rejoined, “ to bo performed, we may sit in 
 the dark if we like it — if we go to work, we must ring for candles.” 
 
 “ And amidst such shadowy and doubtful light,” continued I, “ imagina¬ 
 tion frames her enchanted and enchanting visions, and sometimes passes 
 them upon the senses for reality.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Aunt Margaret, who is a well-read woman, “ to those who 
 resemble the translator of Tasso, 
 
 ‘ Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind 
 Believed the ma^ic wonders whicn he sung.’ 
 
 It is not required for this purpose, that you should be sensible of the pain¬ 
 ful horrors which an actual belief in such prodigies inflicts — such a belief, 
 now-a-days, belongs only to fools and children. It is not necessary that your 
 ears should tingle, and your complexion change, like that of Theodore, at 
 the approach of the spectral huntsman. All that is indispensable for the 
 enjoyment of the milder feeling of supernatural awe is, that you should be 
 susceptible of the slight shuddering which creeps over you when you hear 
 a tale of terror — that well-vouched tale which the narrator, having first 
 expressed his general disbelief of all such legendary lore, selects and pro¬ 
 duces, as having something in it which he has been always obliged to give 
 up as inexplicable. Another symptom is, a momentary hesitation to look 
 round you, when the interest of the narrative is at the highest; and the 
 third, a desire to avoid looking into a mirror, when you are alone, in your 
 chamber, for the evening. I mean such are signs Avhich indicate the crisis, 
 when a female imagination is in due temperature to enjoy a ghost story. I 
 do not pretend to describe those which express the same disposition in a 
 gentleman.” 
 
 “ This last symptom, dear aunt, of shunning the mirror, seems likely to 
 be a rare occurrence amongst the fair sex.” 
 
 “ You are a novice in toilet fashions, my dear kinsman. All women con¬ 
 sult the looking-glass with anxiety before they go into company; but when 
 they return home, the mirror has not the same charm. The die has been 
 cast—the party has been successful or unsuccessful, in the impression which 
 she desired to make. But, without going deeper into the mysteries of the 
 dressing-table, I will tell you that I myself, like many other honest folk, do not 
 like to see the blank black front of a large mirror in a room dimly lighted, 
 and where the reflection of the candle seems rather to lose itself in the deep 
 obscurity of the glass, than to be reflected back again into the apartment. 
 That space of inky darkness seems to be a field for Fancy to play her revels 
 in. She may call up other features to meet us, instead of the reflection of 
 our own ; or, as in the spells of Hallowe’en, which we learned in childhood, 
 some unknown form may be seen peeping over our shoulder, in short, 
 
392 
 
 W AVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 when I am in a ghost-seeing humour, I make my handmaiden draw the 
 green curtains over the mirror, before I go into the room, so that she may 
 have the first shock of the apparition, if there be any to be seen. But, to 
 tell you the truth, this dislike to look into a mirror in particular times and 
 places, has, I believe, its original foundation in a story which came to me 
 by tradition from my grandmother, who was a party concerned in the scene 
 of which I will now tell you.’^ 
 
 THE MIRROR. 
 
 C|]nptir tilt l^irst. 
 
 You are fond (said my aunt) of sketches of the society which has passed 
 away. I v/ish I could describe to you Sir Philip Forester, the “ chartered 
 libertine’^ of Scottish good company, about the end of the last century. I never 
 saw him indeed; but my mother’s traditions were full of his wit, gallantry 
 and dissipation. This gay knight flourished about the end of the 17th and 
 beginning of the 18th century. He was the Sir Charles Easy and the Love¬ 
 lace of his day and country; renowned for the number of duels he had 
 fought, and the successful intrigues which he had carried on. The supre¬ 
 macy which he had attained in the fashionable world was absolute ; and 
 when we combine with it one or two anecdotes, for which, “ if laws were made 
 for every degree,” he ought certainly to have been hanged, the popularity 
 of such a person really serves to show, either that the present times are 
 much more decent, if not more virtuous, than they formerly were ; or, that 
 high breeding then Avas of more difficult attainment than that which is now 
 so called ; and, consequently, entitled the successful professor to a propor¬ 
 tionable degree of plenary indulgences and privileges. No beau of this day 
 could have borne out so ugly a story as that of Pretty Peggy Grindstone, 
 the miller’s daughter at Sillermills — it had well-nigh made work for the 
 Lord Advocate. But it hurt Sir Philip Forester no more than the hail hurts 
 the hearth-stone. He was as well received in society as ever, and dined 
 with the Duke of A-the day the poor girl was buried. She died of heart¬ 
 
 break. But that has nothing to do with my story. 
 
 Now, you must listen to a single word upon kith, kin, and ally; I pro¬ 
 mise you I will not be prolix. But it is necessary to the authenticity of my 
 legend, that you should know that Sir Philip Forester, with his handsome 
 person, elegant accomplishments, and fashionable manners, married the 
 younger Miss Falconer of King’s Copland. The elder sister of this lady 
 had previously become the wife of my grandfather. Sir Geoffrey Bothwell, 
 and brought into our family a good fortune. Miss Jemima, or Miss Jemmie 
 Falconer, as she was usually called, had also about ten thousand pounds 
 sterling — then thought a very handsome portion indeed. 
 
 The two sisters were extremely different, though each had their admirers 
 while they remained single. Lady Bothwell had some touch of the old 
 King’s-Copland blood about her. She was bold, though not to the degree 
 of audacity ; ambitious, and desirous to raise her house and family; and 
 was, as has been said, a considerable spur to my grandfiither, who was 
 otherwise an indolent man ; but whom, unless he has been slandered, his 
 lady’s influence involved in some political matters MLich had been more 
 
MY AUNT Margaret’s mirror. 
 
 393 
 
 ■wiFiely let alone. She was a woman of high principle, however, and mas¬ 
 culine good sense, as some of her letters testify, which are still in my wain¬ 
 scot cabinet. ‘ 
 
 Jcmmie Falconer was the reverse of her sister in every respect. Her 
 understanding did not reach above the ordinary pitch, if, indeed, she could 
 be said to have attained it. Her beauty, while it lasted, consisted, in a great 
 measure, of delicacy of complexion and regularity of features, without any 
 peculiar force of expression. Even these cliarms faded under the sufferings 
 attendant on an ill-sorted match. She was passionately attached to her 
 husband, by whom she was treated with a callous, yet polite indifference, 
 which, to one whose heart was as tender as her judgment was weak, was 
 more painful perhaps than absolute ill-usage. Sir Philip was a voluptuary, 
 that is, a completely selfish egotist, whose disposition and character resem¬ 
 bled the rapier he wore, polished, keen, and brilliant, but inflexible and 
 unpitying. As he observed carefully all the usual forms towards his lady, 
 he had the art to deprive her even of the compassion of the world; and 
 useless and unavailing as that may be while actually possessed by the suf¬ 
 ferer, it is, to a miud like Lady Forester’s, most painful to know she has 
 it not 
 
 The tattle of society did its best to place the peccant husband above the 
 suffering wife. Some called her a poor spiritless thing, and declared, that, 
 with a little of her sister’s spirit, she might have brought to reason any Sir 
 Philip whatsoever, were it the termagant Falconbridge himself. But the 
 greater part of their acquaintance affected candour, and saw faults on both 
 sides; though, in fact, there only existed the oppressor and the oppressed. 
 The tone of such critics was — “To be sure, no one will justify Sir Philip 
 Forester, but then we all know Sir Philip, and Jemmie Falconer might 
 have known what she had to expect from the beginning. — What made her 
 set her cap at Sir Philip ? — lie would never have looked at her if she had 
 not thrown herself at his head, with her poor ten thousand pounds. I am 
 sure, if it is money he wanted, she spoiled his market. I know where Sir 
 Philip could have done much better.—And then, if she would have the man, 
 could not she try to make him more comfortable at home, and have his 
 friends oftener, and not plague him with the squalling children, and take 
 care all was handsome and in good style about the house? I declare I 
 think Sir Philip would have made a very domestic man, with a woman Avho 
 knew how to manage him.” 
 
 Now these fair critics, in raising their profound edifice of domestic feli¬ 
 city, did not recollect that the corner-stone was wanting; and that to receive 
 good company with good cheer, the means of the banquet ought to have 
 been furnished by Sir Philip ; whose income (dilapidated as it was) was 
 not equal to the display of hospitality required, and, at the same time, to 
 the supply of the good knight’s menus jplaisirs. So, in spite of all that was 
 so sagely suggested by female friends, Sir Philip carried his good-humour 
 ever}’ where abroad, and left at home a solitary mansion and a pining 
 spouse. 
 
 At length, inconvenienced in his money affairs, and tired even of the 
 short time which he spent in his own dull house, Sir Philip Forester deter¬ 
 mined to take a trip to the Continent, in the capacity of a volunteer. It 
 was then common for men of fashion to do so; and our knight perhaps was 
 of opinion that a touch of the military character, just enough to exalt, but 
 not render pedantic, his qualities as a beau garqon, was necessary to main¬ 
 tain possession of the elevated situation which he held in the ranks of 
 fashion. 
 
 Sir Philip’s resolution threw his wife into agonies of terror, by which 
 the worthy baronet Avas so much annoyed, that, contrary to his wont, he 
 took some trouble to soothe her apprehensions; and once more brought her 
 to shed tears, in Avhich sorrow was not altogether unmingled with pleasure. 
 
394 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 / 
 
 Lady Bothwell asked, as a favour, Sir Philip's permission to receive her 
 sister and her family into her own house during his absence on the Conti¬ 
 nent. Sir Philip readily assented to a proposition which saved expense, 
 silenced the foolish people who might have talked of a deserted wife- and 
 family, and gratified Lady Bothwell, for whom he felt some respect, as for 
 one who often spoke to him, always with freedom, and sometimes with seve¬ 
 rity, without being deterred either by his raillery, or the prestige of his 
 reputation. 
 
 A day or two before Sir Philip's departure. Lady Bothwell took the liberty 
 of asking him, in her sister’s presence, the direct question, which his timid 
 wife had often desired, but never, ventured, to put to him. 
 
 “ Pray, Sir Philip, what route do you take when you reach the Continent?" 
 
 “ I go from Leith to Helvoet by a packet with advices." 
 
 “ That I comprehend perfectly," said Lady Bothwell dryly ; “but you do 
 not mean to remain long at Helvoet, I presume, and I should like to know 
 what is your next object?" 
 
 “You ask me, my dear lady," answered Sir Philip, “a question which I 
 have not dared to ask myself. The answer depends on the fate of war. I 
 shall, of course, go to headquarters, v’^herever they may happen to be for the 
 time; deliver my letters of introduction ; learn as much of the noble art 
 of war as may suffice a poor interloping amateur; and then take a glance 
 at the sort of thing of which we read so much in the Gazette." 
 
 “ And I trust. Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell, “ that you will remember 
 that you are a husband and a father; and that though you think fit to in¬ 
 dulge this military fancy, you will not let it hurry you into dangers which 
 it is certainly unnecessary for any save professional persons to encoun¬ 
 ter ?" 
 
 “ Lady Bothwell does me too much honour," replied the adventurous 
 knight, “ in regarding such a circumstance with the slightest interest. But 
 to soothe your flattering anxiety, I trust your ladyship will recollect, that I 
 cannot expose to hazard the venerable and paternal character which you so 
 obligingly recommend to my protection, without putting in some peril an 
 honest fellow, called Philip Forester, with whom I have kept company for 
 thirty years, and with whom, though some folk consider him a coxcomb, I 
 have not the least desire to part." 
 
 “Well, Sir Philip, you are the best judge of your own affairs; I have 
 little right to interfere — you are not my husband." 
 
 “ God forbid !■"—said Sir Philip hastily ; instantly adding, however, “God 
 forbid that I should deprive my friend Sir Geoffrey of so inestimable a 
 treasure." 
 
 “But you are my sister’s husband," replied the lady; “and I suppose 
 you are aware of her present distress of mind-" 
 
 “ If hearing of nothing else from morning to night can make me aware 
 of it," said Sir Philip, “ I should know something of the matter." 
 
 “ I do not pretend to reply to your wit. Sir Philip," answered Lady Both¬ 
 well , “ but you must be sensible that all this distress is on account of 
 apprehensions for your personal safety." 
 
 “ In that case, I am surprised that Lady Bothwell, at least, should give 
 herself so much trouble upon so insignificant a subject.' 
 
 “ My sister’s interest may account for my being anxious to learn some¬ 
 thing of Sir Philip Forester’s motions; about which otherwise, I know, he 
 would not wish me to concern myself. I have a brother’s safety, too, to be 
 anxious for." 
 
 “ You mean Major Falconer, your brother by the mother’s side: —AVhat 
 can he possibly have to do with our present agreeable conversation ?" 
 
 “ You have had words together. Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell. 
 
 “Naturally; we are connections," replied Sir Philip, “and as such have 
 always had the usual intercourse.’' 
 
MY AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR. 
 
 895 
 
 “ That is an evasion of the subject,” answered the lady. “ By words, I 
 mean angry words, on the subject of your usage of your wife.” 
 
 “ If,” replied Sir Philip Forester, “ you suppose Major Falconer simple 
 enough to intrude his advice upon me. Lady Bothwell, in my domestic 
 matters, you are indeed warranted in believing that I might possibly be so 
 far displeased with the interference, as to request him to reserve his advice 
 till it was asked.” 
 
 “ And, being on these terras, you are going to join the very army in which 
 my brother Falconer is now serving?” 
 
 “ No man knows the path of honour better than Major Falconer,” said 
 Sir Philip. “ An aspirant after fame, like me, cannot chose a better guide 
 than his footsteps.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell rose and went to the window, the tears gushing from her 
 eyes. 
 
 ” And this heartless raillery,” she said, ” is all the consideration that is 
 to be given to our apprehensions of a quarrel which may bring on the most 
 terrible consequences ? Good God ! of what can men^s hearts be made, who 
 can thus dally with the agony of others ?” 
 
 Sir Philip Forester was moved; he laid aside the mocking tone in which 
 he had hitherto spoken. 
 
 “ Dear Lady Bothwell,” he said, taking her reluctant hand, “ we are 
 both wrong: —^’’ou are too deeply serious ; I, perhaps, too little. The dis¬ 
 pute I had with Major Falconer was of no earthly consequence. Had any 
 thing occurred betwixt us that ought to have been settled jpar voie dufait, 
 as we say in France, neither of us are persons that are likely to postpone 
 such a meeting. Permit me to say, that were it generally known that you 
 or my Lady Forester are apprehensive of such a catastrophe, it might be 
 the very means of bringing about what would not otherwise be likely to 
 happen. I know your good sense. Lady Bothwell, and that you will under¬ 
 stand me when I say, that really my affairs require my absence for some 
 months ; — this Jemima cannot understand ; it is a perpetual recurrence of 
 questions, why can you not do this, or that, or the third thing; and, when 
 you have proved to her that her expedients are totally ineffectual, you have ^ 
 just to begin the whole round again. Now, do you tell her, dear Lady 
 Bothwell, that you are satisfied. She is, you must confess, one of those 
 persons with whom authority goes farther than reasoning. Do but repose 
 a little confidence in me, and you shall see how amply I will^repay it.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell shook her head, as one but half satisfied. *“ How difficult 
 it is to extend confidence, when the basis on which it ought to rest has 
 been so much shaken ! But I will do my best to make Jemima easy ; and 
 farther, I can only say, that for keeping your present purpose, I hold you 
 responsible both to God and man.” 
 
 “ Do not fear that I will deceive you,” said Sir Philip; “ the safest con¬ 
 veyance to me will be through the general post-office, Ilelvoetsluys, where 
 I will take care to leave orders for forwarding ray letters. As for Falconer, 
 our only encounter wfill be over a bottle of Burgundy! so make yourself 
 perfectly easy on his score.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell could not make herself easy; yet she was sensible that 
 her sister hurt her own cause by taking on, as the maid-servants call it, too 
 vehemently; and by showing before every stranger, by manner, and some¬ 
 times by words also, a dissatisfaction with her husband's journey, that was 
 sure to come to his ears, and equally certain to displease him. But there 
 was no help for this domestic dissension, which ended only with the day of 
 separation. 
 
 I am sorry I cannot tell, with precision, the year in which Sir Philip 
 Forester went over to Flanders; but it was one of those in which the 
 campaign opened with extraordinary fury; and many bloody, though in¬ 
 decisive, skirmishes were fought between the French on the one side, and 
 
396 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 the Allies on the other. In all our modern improvements, there are none, 
 perhaps, greater than in the accuracy and speed with which intelligence is 
 transmitted from any scene of action to those in this country whom it may 
 concern. During Marlborough’s campaigns, the sufferings of the many 
 who had relations in, or along with, the army, were greatly augmented 
 by the suspense in which they were detained for weeks, after they had 
 heard of bloody battles in which, in all probability, those for whom their 
 bosoms throbbed with anxiety had been personally engaged. Amongst 
 those who were most agonized by this state of uncertainty, was the—I had 
 almost said deserted — wife of the gay Sir Philip Forester. A single letter 
 had informed her of his arrival on the Continent—no others were received. 
 One notice occurred in the newspapers, in which Volunteer Sir Philip Fores¬ 
 ter was mentioned as having been entrusted with a dangerous reconnois- 
 sance, which he had executed with the greatest courage, dexterity, and 
 intelligence, and received the thanks of the commanding officer. The sense 
 of his having acquired distinction brought a momentary glow into the 
 lady’s pale cheek; but it was instantly lost in ashen whiteness at the 
 recollection of his danger. After this, they had no news whatever, neither 
 from Sir Philip, nor even from their brother Falconer. The case of Lady 
 Forester was not indeed different from that of hundreds in the same situa¬ 
 tion ; but a feeble mind is necessarily an irritable one, and the suspense 
 which some bear with constitutional indifference or philosophical resigna¬ 
 tion, and some with a disposition to believe and hope the best, was intole¬ 
 rable to Lady Forester, at once solitary and sensitive, low-spirited, and 
 devoid of strength of mind, whether natural or acquired. 
 
 Cjinptn tD litnni. 
 
 As she received no farther news of Sir Philip, whether directly or indi¬ 
 rectly, his unfortunate lady began now to feel a sort of consolation, even in 
 those careless habits which had so often given her pain. “ He is so thought¬ 
 less,” she repeated a hujidred times a day to her sister, “he never writes 
 when things are going on smoothly; it is his way: had any thing happened 
 he would have informed us.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell listened to her sister without attempting to console her. 
 Probably she might be of opinion, that even the worst intelligence which 
 could be received from Flanders might not be without some touch of conso¬ 
 lation ; and that the Dowager Lady Forester, if so she was doomed to be 
 called, might have a source of happiness unknown to the wife of the gayest 
 and finest gentleman in Scotland. This conviction became stronger as 
 they learned from inquiries made at headquarters, that Sir Philip was no 
 longer with the army; though whether he had been taken or slain in some 
 of those skirmishes which were perpetually occurring, and in which he 
 loved to distinguish himself, or whether he had, for some unknown reason 
 or capricious change of mind, voluntarily left the service, none of his 
 countrymen in the camp of the Allies could form even a conjecture. Mean¬ 
 time his creditors at home became clamorous, entered into possession of his 
 
 P roperty, and threatened his person, should he be rash enough to return to 
 cotland. These additional disadvantages aggravated Lady Bothwell’s 
 displeasure against the fugitive husband ; while her sister saw nothing in 
 any of them, save what tended to increase her grief for the absence of him 
 whom her imagination now represented, — as it had before marriage, — 
 gallant, gay, and affectionate. 
 
397 
 
 % 
 
 MY AUNT Margaret’s mirror. 
 
 About this period there appeared in Edinburgh a man of singular ap¬ 
 pearance and pretensions. He was commonly called the Paduan Doctor, 
 from having received his education at that famous university. He was 
 supposed to possess some rare receipts in medicine, with which, it was 
 affirmed, he had wrought remarkable cures. But though, on the one hand, 
 the physicians of Edinburgh termed him an empiric, there were many 
 persons, and among them some of the clergy, who, while they admitted the 
 truth of the cures and the force of his remedies, alleged that Doctor Baptist! 
 Damiotti made use of charms and unlawful arts in order to obtain success 
 in his practice. The resorting to him was even solemnly preached against, 
 as a seeking of health from idols, and a trusting to the help which was to 
 come from Egypt. But the protection which the Paduan Doctor received 
 from some friends of interest and consequence, enabled him to set these 
 imputations at defiance, and to assume, even in the city of Edinburgh, 
 famed as it was for abhorrence of witches and necromancers, the dan¬ 
 gerous character of an expounder of futurity. It was at length rumoured, 
 that for a certain gratification, which, of course, was not an inconsiderable 
 one. Doctor Baptist! Damiotti could tell the fiite of the absent, and even 
 show his visiters the personal form of their absent friends, and the action 
 in which they were engaged at the moment. This rumour came to the 
 ears of Lady Forester, who had reached that pitch of mental agony in which 
 the sufferer will do any thing, or endure any thing, that suspense may bo 
 converted into certainty. 
 
 Gentle and timid in most cases, her state of mind made her equally 
 obstinate and reckless, and it was with no small surprise and alarm that 
 her sister. Lady Bothwell, heard her express a resolution to visit this man 
 of art, and learn from him the fate of her husband. Lady Bothwell re¬ 
 monstrated on the improbability that such pretensions as those of this 
 foreigner could be founded on any thing but imposture. 
 
 “ I care not,” said the deserted wife, “ what degree of ridicule I may 
 incur; if there be any one chance out of a hundred that I may obtain some 
 certainty of my husband’s fate, I would not miss that chance for whatever 
 else the world can offer me.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell next urged the unlawfulness of resorting to such sources 
 of forbidden knowledge. 
 
 “ Sister,” replied the sufferer, “ he who is dying of thirst cannot refrain 
 from drinking poisoned water. She who suffers under suspense must seek 
 information, even were the powers which offer it unhallowed and infernal. 
 I go to learn my fate alone; and this very evening will I know it; the 
 sun that rises to-morrow shall find me, if not more happy, at least more 
 resigned.” 
 
 “ Sister,” said Lady Bothwell, “ if you are determined upon this wild 
 step, you shall not go alone. If this man be an impostor, you may be too 
 much agitated by your feelings to detect his villany. If, which I cannot 
 believe, there be any truth in what he pretends, you shall not be exposed 
 alone to a communication of so extraordinary a nature. I will go with 
 you, if indeed you determine to go. But yet reconsider your project, and 
 renounce inquiries which cannot be prosecuted without guilt, and perhaps 
 without danger.” 
 
 Lady Forester threw herself into her sister’s arms, and, clasping her to 
 her bosom, thanked her a hundred times for the offer of her company ; 
 while she declined with a melancholy gesture the friendly advice with 
 which it was accompanied. 
 
 When the hour of twilight arrived, — which was the period when the 
 Paduan Doctor was understood to receive the visits of those who came to 
 consult with him,—the two ladies left their apartments in the Canongate of 
 Edinburgh, having their dress arranged like that of women of an inferior 
 description, and their plaids disposed around their faces as they were woru 
 
« 
 
 398 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 by the same class ; for, in those days of aristocracy, the quality of the wearer 
 ■was generally indicated by the manner in which her plaid was disposed, as 
 well as by the fineness of its texture. It was Lady Bothwell who had sug¬ 
 gested this species of disguise, partly to avoid observation as they should go 
 to the conjuror’s house, and partly in order to make trial of his penetration, 
 by appearing before him in a feigned character. Lady Forester’s servant, 
 of tried fidelity, had been employed by her to propitiate the Doctor by a 
 suitable fee, and a story intimating that a soldier’s wife desired to know the 
 fate of her husband ; a subject upon which, in all probability, the sage was 
 very frequently consulted. 
 
 To the last moment, when the palace clock struck eight. Lady Bothwell 
 earnestly watched her sister, in hopes that she might retreat from her rash 
 undertaking; but as mildness, and even timidity, is capable at times of 
 vehement and fixed purposes, she found Lady Forester resolutely unmoved 
 and determined when the moment of departure arrived. Ill satisfied wdth 
 the expedition, but determined not to leave her sister at such a crisis. Lady 
 Bothwell accompanied Lady Forester through more than one obscure street 
 and lane, the servant walking before, and acting as their guide. At length 
 he suddenly turned into a narrow court, and knocked at an arched door, 
 which seemed to belong to a building of some antiquity. It opened, though 
 no one appeared to act as porter ; and the servant, stepping aside from the 
 entrance, motioned the ladies to enter. They had no sooner done so, than 
 it shut, and excluded their guide. The two ladies found themselves in a 
 small vestibule, illuminated by a dim lamp, and having, when the door 
 was closed, no communication with the external light or air. The door 
 of an inner apartment, partly open, was at the farther side of the vesti¬ 
 bule. 
 
 “We must not hesitate now, Jemima,” said Lady Bothwell, and walked 
 forwards into the inner room, where, surrounded by books, maps, philo¬ 
 sophical utensils, and other implements of peculiar shape and appearance, 
 they found the man of art. 
 
 There was nothing very peculiar in the Italian’s appearance. He had 
 the dark complexion and marked features of his country, seemed about 
 fifty years old, and was handsomely, but plainly, dressed in a full suit of 
 black clothes, which was then the universal costume of the medical pro¬ 
 fession. Large wax-lights, in silver sconces, illuminated the apartment, 
 which was reasonably furnished. He rose as the ladies entered; and, not- 
 wdthstanding the inferiority of their dress, received them with the marked 
 respect due to their quality, and which foreigners are usually punctilious 
 in rendering to those to whom such honours are due. 
 
 Lady Bothwell endeavoured to maintain her proposed incognito ; and, 
 as the Doctor ushered them tp the upper end of the room, made a motion 
 declining his courtesy, as unfitted for their condition. “We are poor 
 people, sir,” she said; “ only my sister’s distress has brought us to consult 
 your worship whether-” 
 
 He smiled as he interrupted her—“ I am aware, madam, of your sister’s 
 distress, and its cause ; I am aware, also, that I am honoured with a visit 
 from two ladies of the highest consideration — Lady Bothwell and Lady 
 Forester. If I could not distinguish them from the class of society which 
 their present dress would indicate, there would be small possibility of my 
 being able to gratify them by giving the information which they come to 
 seek.” 
 
 “ I can easily understand,” said Lady Bothwell- 
 
 “ Pardon my boldness to interrupt you, milady,” cried the Italian; 
 “ your ladyship was about to say, that you could easily understand that I 
 had got possession of your names by means of your domestic. But in 
 thinking so, you do injustice to the fidelity of your servant, and, I may 
 
MY AUNT A U caret’s MIRROR. 
 
 399 
 
 add, to the skill of one ^vho is also not less your humble servant—Baptist! 
 Damiotti/’ 
 
 “ I have no intention to do either, sir,” said Lady Bothwell, maintaining 
 a tone of composure, though somewhat surprised, “ but the situation is 
 something new to me. If you know who we are, you also know, sir, what 
 brought us here.” 
 
 “Curiosity to know the fate of a Scottish gentleman of rank, now, or 
 lately upon the Continent,” answered the seer; “his name is II Cavaliero 
 Philippo Forester; a gentleman who has the honour to be husband to this 
 lady, and, with your ladyship’s permission for using plain language, the 
 misfortune not to value as it deserves that inestimable advantage.” 
 
 Lady Forester sighed deeply, and Lady Bothwell replied— 
 
 “ Since you know our object without our telling it, the only question that 
 remains is, whether you have the power to relieve my sister’s anxiety ? ” 
 
 “ I have, madam,” answered the Paduan scholar; “ but there is still a 
 previous inquiry. Have you the courage to behold with your own eyes 
 what the Cavaliero Philippo Forester is now doing? or will you take it on 
 my report?” 
 
 “ That question my sister must answer for herself,” said Lady Both¬ 
 well. 
 
 “ With my own eyes will I endure to see whatever you have power to 
 show me,” said Lady Forester, with the same determined spirit which had 
 stimulated her since her resolution was taken upon this subject. 
 
 “ There may be danger in it.” 
 
 “ If gold can compensate the risk,” said Lady Forester, taking out her 
 purse. 
 
 “ I do not such things for the purpose of gain,” answered the foreigner. 
 “ I dare not turn my art to such a purpose. If I take the gold of the 
 w'ealthy, it is but to bestow it on the poor; nor do I ever accept more than 
 the sum I have already received from your servant. Put up your purse, 
 madam ; an adept needs not your gold.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell considering this rejection of her sister’s ojffer as a mere 
 trick of an empiric, to induce her to press a larger sum upon him, and 
 willing that the scene should be commenced and ended, offered some gold 
 in turn, observing that it was only to enlarge the sphere of his charity. 
 
 “ Let Lady Bothwell enlarge the sphere of her own charity,” said the 
 Paduan, “not merely in giving of alms, in which I know she is not de¬ 
 ficient, but in judging the character of others ; and let her oblige Baptist! 
 Damiotti by believing him honest, till she shall discover him to be a knave. 
 Do not be surprised, madam, if I speak in answer to your thoughts rather 
 than your expressions, and tell me once more whether you have courage to 
 look on what I am prepared to show ?” 
 
 “I own, sir,” said Lady Bothwell, “ that your words strike me with some 
 sense of fear; but whatever my sister desires to witness, I will not shrink 
 from witnessing along with her.” 
 
 “Nay, the danger only consists in the risk of your resolution failing 
 you. The sight can only last for the space of seven minutes ; and should 
 you interrupt the vision by speaking a single word, not only would the 
 charm be broken, but some danger might result to the spectators. But if 
 you can remain steadily silent for the seven minutes, your curiosity will 
 be gratified without the slightest risk; and for this I will engage my 
 honour.” 
 
 Internally Lady Bothwell thought the security was but an indifferent 
 one; but she suppressed the suspicion, as if she had believed that the 
 adept, whose dark features wore a half-formed smile, could in reality read 
 even her most secret reflections. A solemn pause then ensued, until Lady 
 Forester gathered courage enough to reply to the physician, as he termed 
 himself, that she would abide with firmness and silence the sight which he 
 
400 
 
 W A V E 11 L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 had promised to exhibit to them. Upon this, he made them a low obei¬ 
 sance, and saying he went to prepare matters to meet their wish, left the 
 apartment. The two sisters, hand in hand, as if seeking by that close union 
 to divert any danger which might threaten them, sat down on two seats in 
 immediate contact with each other: Jemima seeking support in the manly 
 and habitual courage of Lady Bothwell; and she, on the other hand, more 
 agitated than she had expected, endeavouring to fortify herself by the 
 desperate resolution which circumstances had forced her sister to assume. 
 The one perhaps said to herself, that her sister never feared anything; and 
 the other might reflect, that what so feeble a minded woman as Jemima 
 did not fear, could not properly be a subject of apprehension to a person 
 of firmness and resolution like herself. 
 
 In a few moments the thoughts of both were diverted from their own 
 situation, by a strain of music so singularly sweet and solemn, that, while 
 it seemed calculated to avert or dispel any feeling unconnected with its 
 harmony, increased, at the same time, the solemn excitation which the 
 preceding interview was calculated to produce. The music was that of 
 some instrument with which they were unacquainted ; but circumstances 
 afterwards led my ancestress to believe that it was that of the harmonica, 
 which she heard at a much later period in life. 
 
 When these heaven-born sounds had ceased, a door opened in the upper 
 end of the apartment, and they saw Damiotti, standing at the head of two 
 or three steps, sign to them to advance. Ilis dress was so difierent from 
 that which he had worn a few minutes before, that they could hardly recog¬ 
 nize him ; and the deadly paleness of his countenance, and a certain rigidity 
 of muscles, like that of one whose mind is made up to some strange and 
 daring action, had totally changed the somewhat sarcastic expression with 
 which he had previously regarded them both, and particularly Lady Both¬ 
 well. He was barefooted, excepting a species of sandals in the antique 
 fashion ; his legs were naked beneath the knees ; above them he wore hose, 
 and a doublet of dark crimson silk close to his body; and over that a flow¬ 
 ing loose robe, something resembling a surplice, of snow-white linen ; his 
 throat and neck were uncovered, and his long, straight, black hair was care¬ 
 fully combed down at full length. 
 
 As the ladies approached at his bidding, he showed no gesture of that 
 ceremonious courtesy of which he had been formerly lavish. On the contrary, 
 he made the signal of advance with an air of command; and when, arm in 
 arm, and with insecure steps, the sisters approached the spot where he 
 stood, it was with a warning frown that he pressed his finger to his lips, as 
 if reiterating his condition of absolute silence, while, stalking before them, 
 he led the way into the next apartment. 
 
 This was a large room, hung with black, as if for a funeral. At the 
 upper end was a table, or rather a species of altar, covered with the same 
 lugubrious colour, on which lay divers objects resembling the usual imple¬ 
 ments of sorcery. These objects were not indeed visible as they advanced 
 into the apartment; for the light which displayed them, being only that of 
 two expiring lamps, was extremely faint. The master — to use the Italian 
 phrase for persons of this description — approached the upper end of the 
 rooip with a genuflexion like that of a Catholic to the crucifix, and at the 
 same time crossed himself. The ladies followed in silence, and arm in arm. 
 Two or three low broad steps led to a platform in front of the altar, or what 
 resembled such. Here the sage took his stand, and placed the ladies beside 
 him, once more earnestly repeating by signs his injunctions of silence. The 
 Italian then, extending his bare arm from under his linen vestment, pointed 
 Avith hi^ forefinger to five large flambeaux, or torches, placed on each side 
 of the altar. They took fire successively at the approach of his hand, or 
 rather of his finger, and spread a strong light through the room. By this 
 the visitors could discern that, on the seeming altar, were disposed two 
 
MY AUNT Margaret’s :m i r r o r. 
 
 401 
 
 naked swords laid crosswise; a large open book, wdiich they conceived to 
 be a copy of the Holy Scriptures, but in a language to them unknowm ; and 
 beside this mysterious volume was placed a human skull. But what struck 
 the sisters most was a very tall and broad mirror, which occupied all the 
 space behind the altar, and, illuminated by the lighted torches, reflected the 
 mysterious articles wdiich were laid upon it. 
 
 The master then placed himself between the two ladies, and, pointing to 
 the mirror, took each by the hand, but without speaking a syllable. They 
 gazed intently on the polished and sable space to which he had directed 
 their attention. Suddenly the surface assumed a new and singular appear¬ 
 ance. It no longer simply reflected the objects placed before it, but, as if 
 it had self-contained scenery of its own, objects began to appear within it, 
 at first in a disorderly, indistinct, and miscellaneous manner, like form 
 arranging itself out of chaos; at length, in distinct and defined shape and 
 symmetry. It was thus that, after some shifting of light and darkness over 
 the face of the wonderful glass, a long perspective of arches and columns 
 began to arrange itself on its sides, and a vaulted roof on the upper part of 
 it; till, after many oscillations, the whole vision gained a fixed and station¬ 
 ary appearance, representing the interior of a foreign church. The pillars 
 were stately, and hung with scutcheons ; the arches were lofty and magnifi¬ 
 cent ; the floor was lettered with funeral inscriptions. But there were no 
 separate shrines, no images, no display of chalice or crucifix on the altar. 
 It was, therefore, a Protestant church upon the Continent. A clergyman, 
 dressed in the Geneva gown and band, stood by the communion-table, and, 
 with the Bible opened before him, and his clerk awaiting in the back¬ 
 ground, seemed prepared to perform some service of the church to which he 
 belonged. 
 
 At length there entered the middle aisle of the building a numerous 
 party, which appeared to be a bridal one, as a lady and gentleman walked 
 first, hand in hand, followed by a large concourse of persons of both sexes, 
 gaily, nay richly, attired. The bride, whose features they could distinctly 
 see, seemed not more than sixteen years old, and extremely beautiful. The 
 bridegroom, for some seconds, moved rather with his shoulder towards them, 
 and his face averted; but his elegance of form.and step struck the sisters 
 at once with the same apprehension. As he turned his face suddenly, it 
 was frightfully realized, and they saw, in the gay bridegroom before them. 
 Sir Pliilip Forester. His wife uttered an imperfect exclamation, at the 
 sound of which the whole scene stirred and seemed to separate. 
 
 “ I could compare it to nothing,^' said Lady Bothwell, while recounting 
 the wonderful tale, “ but to the dispersion of the reflection offered by a deep 
 and calm pool, when a stone is suddenly cast into it, and the shadows 
 become dissipated and broken.^^ Tlie master pressed both the ladies^ hands 
 severely, as if to remind them of their promise, and of the danger which 
 they incurred. The exclamation died away on Lady Forester’s tongue with¬ 
 out attaining perfect utterance, and the scene in the glass, after the fluctua¬ 
 tion of a minute, again resumed to the eye its former appearance of a real 
 scene, existing within the mirror, as if represented in a picture, save that 
 the figures were moveable instead of being stationary. 
 
 The representation of Sir Philip Forester, now distinctly visible in form 
 and feature, was seen to lead on towards the clergyman that beautiful girl, 
 who advanced at once with diffidence, and wdth a species of affectionate 
 pride. In the meantime, and just as the clergyman had arranged the bridal 
 company before him, and seemed about to commence the service, another 
 group of persons, of whom two or three were officers, entered the church. 
 They moved, at first, forward, as though they came to witness the bridal 
 ceremony, but suddenly one of the officers, whose back w'as towards the 
 spectators, detached himself from his companions, and rushed hastily 
 towards the marriage party, when the w'hole of them turned towards him, 
 
 VoL. XII.—26 2 1 2 
 
WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 402 
 
 as if attracted by some exclamation which had accompanied his advance 
 Suddenly the intruder drew his sword; the bridegroom unsheathed his own, 
 and made towards him ; swords were also drawn by other individuals, both 
 of the marriage party, and of those who had last entered. They fell into a 
 sort of confusion, the clergyman, and some elder and graver persons, labour¬ 
 ing apparently to keep the peace, while the hotter spirits on both sides 
 brandished their weapons. But now the period of brief space during which 
 the soothsayer, as he pretended, was permitted to exhibit his art, was 
 arrived. The fumes again mixed together, and dissolved gradually from 
 observation ; the vaults and columns of the church rolled asunder, and 
 disappeared ; and the front of the mirror reflected nothing save the blazing 
 torches, and the melancholy apparatus placed on the altar or table before it. 
 
 The doctor led the ladies, who greatly required his support, into the 
 apartment from whence they came; where wine, essences, and other means 
 of restoring suspended animation, had been provided during his absence. 
 He motioned them to chairs, which they occupied in silence ; Lady Forester, 
 in particular, wringing her hands, and casting her eyes up to heaven, but 
 without speaking a word, as if the spell had been still before her eyes. 
 
 “And what we have seen is even now acting?'^ said Lady Bothwell, 
 collecting herself with difficulty*. 
 
 “ That,^^ answered Baptist! Damiotti, “ I cannot justly, or with certainty, 
 say. But it is either now acting, or has been acted, during a short space 
 before this. It is the last remarkable transaction in which the Cavalier 
 Forester has been engaged.” 
 
 Lady Bothwell then expressed anxiety concerning her sister, whose altered 
 countenance and apparent unconsciousness of what passed around her, 
 excited her apprehensions how it might be possible to convey her home. 
 
 “I have prepared for that,” answered the adept; “I have directed the 
 servant to bring your equipage as near to this place as the narrowness of the 
 street will permit. Fear not for your sister; but give her, when you return 
 home, this composing draught, and she will be better to morrow-morning. 
 Few,” he added, in a melancholy tone, “leave this house as well in health 
 as they entered it. Such being the consequence of seeking knowledge by 
 mysterious means, I leave you to judge the condition of those who have the 
 power of gratifying such irregular curiosity. Farewell, and forget not the 
 potion.” 
 
 “ I will give her nothing that comes from you,” said Lady Bothwell; “ I 
 have seen enough of your art already. Perhaps you would poison us both 
 to conceal your own necromancy. But we are persons who want neither 
 the means of making our wrongs known, nor the assistance of friends to 
 right them.” 
 
 “You have had no wrongs from me, madam,” said the adept. “You 
 sought one who is little grateful for such honour. He seeks no one, and 
 only gives responses to those who invite and call upon him. After all, you 
 have but learned a little sooner the evil which you must still be doomed to 
 endure. I hear your servants step at the door, and will detain your lady¬ 
 ship and Lady Forester no longer. The next packet from the continent will 
 explain what you have partly witnessed. Let it not, if I may advise, pass 
 too suddenly into your sister’s hands.” 
 
 So saying, he bid Lady Bothwell good-night. She went, lighted by the 
 adept, to the vestibule, where he hastily threw a black cloak over his sin¬ 
 gular dress, and opening the door intrusted his visitors to the care of the 
 servant. It was with difficulty that Lady Bothwell sustained her sister to 
 the carriage, though it was only twenty steps distant. When they arrived 
 at home, Lady Forester required medical assistance. The physician of the 
 family attended, and shook his head on feeling her pulse. 
 
 “ Here has been,” he said, “ a violent and sudden shock on the nerves. 
 I must know how it has happened.” 
 
MY AUNT Margaret’s mirror. 
 
 403 
 
 Lady Lothwell admitted they had visited the conjuror, and that Lady 
 Forester liad received some bad news respecting her husband, Sir Philip. 
 
 “ That rascally quack would make my fortune were he to stay in Edin¬ 
 burgh,’’ said the graduate ; “ this is the seventh nervous case I have heard 
 of his making for me, and all by effect of terror.^^ He next examined the 
 composing draught which Lady Bothwell had unconsciously brought in her 
 hand, tasted it, and pronounced it very germain to the matter, and what 
 would save an application to the apothecary. He then paused, and looking 
 at Lady Bothwell very significantly, at length added, “ I suppose I must not 
 ask your ladyship anything about this Italian warlock’s proceedings?” 
 
 “ Indeed, Doctor,” answered Lady Bothwell, “ I consider what passed as 
 confidential; and though the man may be a rogue, yet, as we were fools 
 enough to consult him, we should, I think, be honest enough to keep his 
 counsel.” 
 
 “il/ay be a knave—come,” said the Doctor, “ I am glad to hear your lady¬ 
 ship allows such a possibility in any thing that comes from Italy.” 
 
 “ What comes from Italy may be as good as what comes from Hanover, 
 Doctor. But you and I will remain good friends, and that it may be so, we 
 will say nothing of Whig and Tory.” 
 
 “Not I,” said the Doctor, receiving his fee, and taking his hat; “a Carolus 
 serves my purpose as well as a Willielmus. But I should like to know why 
 old Lady Saint Ilingan’s, and all that set, go about wasting their decayed 
 lungs in puffing this foreign fellow.” 
 
 “Ay — you had best set him down a Jesuit, as Scrub says.” On these 
 terms they parted. 
 
 The poor patient—whose nerves, from an extraordinary state of tension, 
 had at length become relaxed in as extraordinary a degree — continued to 
 struggle with a sort of imbecility, the growth of superstitious terror, when 
 the shocking tidings were brought from Holland, which fulfilled even her 
 worst expectations. 
 
 They were sent by the celebrated Earl of Stair, and contained the melan¬ 
 choly event of a duel betwixt Sir Philip Forester, and his wife’s half-brother. 
 Captain Falconer, of the Scotch-Dutch, as they were then called, in which 
 the latter had been killed. The cause of quarrel rendered the incident still 
 more shocking. It seemed that Sir Philip had left the army suddenly, in 
 consequence of being unable to pay a very considerable sum, which he had 
 lost to another volunteer at play. He had changed his name, and taken up 
 his residence at Ilotterdam, where he had insinuated himself into the good 
 graces of an ancient and rich burgomaster, and, by his handsome person 
 and graceful manners, captivated the affections of his only child, a very 
 young person, of great beauty, and the heiress of much wealth. Delighted 
 with the specious attractions of his proposed son-in-law, the wealthy mer¬ 
 chant— whose idea of the British character was too high to admit of his 
 taking any precaution to acquire evidence of his condition and circum¬ 
 stances— gave his consent to the marriage. It was about to be celebrated 
 in the principal church of the city, when it was interrupted by a singular 
 occurrence. 
 
 Captain Falconer having been detached to Rotterdam to bring up a part 
 of the brigade of Scottish auxiliaries, who were in quarters there, a person 
 of consideration in the town, to whom he had been formerly known, pro¬ 
 posed to him for amusement to go to the high church, to see a countryman 
 of his own married to the daughter of a wealthy burgomaster. Captain Fal¬ 
 coner went accordingly, accompanied by his Dutch acquaintance with a 
 party of his friends, and two or three officers of the Scotch brigade. His 
 astonishment may be conceived when he saw his own brother-in-law, a mar¬ 
 ried man, on the point of leading to the altar the innocent and beautiful 
 creature, upon whom he was about to practise a base and unmanly deceit. 
 Ho proclaimed his villany on the spot, and the marriage was interrupted of 
 
404 
 
 WAV E RLE Y NOVELS. 
 
 course. But against the opinion of more thinking men, who considered Sir 
 Philip Forester as having thrown himself out of the rank of men of honour, 
 Captain Falconer admitted him to the privilege of such, accepted a chal¬ 
 lenge from him, and in the rencounter received a mortal wound. Such are 
 the ways of Heaven, mysterious in our eyes. Lady Forester never recovered 
 the shock of this dismal intelligence. 
 
 “ And did this tragedy,^’ said I, “ take place exactly at the time when 
 the scene in the mirror was exhibited V’ 
 
 “ It is hard to be obliged to maim one’s story,” answered my aunt; “ but, 
 to speak the truth, it happened some days sooner than the apparition was 
 exhibited.” 
 
 “ And so there remained a possibility,” said I, “ that by some secret and 
 speedy communication the artist might have received early intelligence of 
 that incident.” 
 
 “ The incredulous pretended so,” replied my aunt. 
 
 “What became of the adept?” demanded I. 
 
 “ Why, a warrant came down shortly afterwards to arrest him for high- 
 treason, as an agent of the Chevalier St. George; and Lady Bothwell, re¬ 
 collecting the hints which had escaped the Doctor, an ardent friend of the 
 Protestant succession, did then call to remembrance, that this man was 
 chiefly joroTie am?)ng the ancient matrons of her own political persuasion. 
 It certainly seemed probable that intelligence from the continent, which 
 could easily have been transmitted by an active and powerful agent, might 
 have enabled him to prepare such a scene of phantasmagoria as she had 
 herself witnessed. Yet there were so many difl&culties in assigning a natu¬ 
 ral explanation, that, to the day of her death, she remained in great doubt 
 on the subject, and much disposed to cut the Gordian knot, by admitting 
 the existence of supernatural agency.” 
 
 “But, my dear aunt,” said I, “what became of the man of skill?” 
 
 “ Oh, he was too good a fortune-teller not to be able to foresee that his 
 own destiny would be tragical if he waited the arrival of the man with the 
 silver greyhound upon his sleeve. He made, as we say, a moonlight flitting, 
 and was nowhere to be seen or heard of. Some noise there was about 
 papers or letters found in the house, but it died away, and Doctor Baptisti 
 Damiotti was soon as little talked of as Galen or Hippocrates.” 
 
 “And Sir Philip Forester,” said I, “did he too vanish for ever from the 
 public scene ?” 
 
 “ No,” replied my kind informer. “ He was heard of once more, and it 
 was upon a remarkable occasion. It is said that we Scots, when there was 
 such a nation in existence, have, among our full peck of virtues, one or two 
 little barleycorns of vice. In particular, it is alleged that we rarely forgive, 
 and never forget, any injuries received ; that we used to make an idol of our 
 resentment, as poor Lady Constance did of her grief; and are addicted, as 
 Burns says, to ‘ nursing our wrath to keep it warm.’ Lady Bothwell was 
 not without this feeling; and, I believe, nothing whatever, scarce the 
 restoration of the Stuart line, could have happened so delicious to her feel¬ 
 ings as an opportunity of being revenged on Sir Philip Forester, for the 
 deep and double injury which had deprived her of a sister and of a brother. 
 But nothing of him was heard or known till many a year had passed away.” 
 
 At length—it was on a Fastern’s E’en (Shrovetide) assembly, at which the 
 whole fashion of Edinburgh attended, full and frequent, and when Lady 
 Bothwell had a seat amongst the lady patronesses, that one of the attendants 
 on the company whispered into her ear, that a gentleman wished to speak 
 with her in private. 
 
 “In private? and in an assembly-room? — he must be mad—Tell him to 
 call upon me to-morrow morning.” 
 
Y AUNT Margaret’s mirror. 
 
 405 
 
 “ I said so, my lady,’’ ans^ve^ed the man ; “ hut he desired me to give you 
 this paper.” 
 
 She undid the billet, which was curiously folded and sealed. It only 
 bore the words, “ On busmess of life and death f written in a hand which 
 she had never seen before. Suddenly it occurred to her, that it might con¬ 
 cern the safety of some of her political friends; she therefore followed the 
 messenger to a small apartment where the refreshments were prepared, and 
 from which the general company was excluded. She found an old man, 
 who, at her approach, rose up and bowed profoundly. His appearance 
 indicated a broken constitution; and his dress, though sedulously rendered 
 conforming to the etiquette of a ball-room, was worn and tarnished, and 
 hung in folds about his emaciated person. Lady Bothwell was about to 
 feel for her purse, expecting to get rid of the supplicant at the expense of 
 a little money, but some fear of a mistake arrested her purpose. She there¬ 
 fore gave the man leisure to explain himself. 
 
 “ I have the honour to speak with the Lady Bothwell ?” 
 
 “ I am Lady Bothwell; allow me to say, that this is no time or place for 
 long explanations.—What are your commands with me?” 
 
 “ Your ladyship,” said the old man, “ had once a sister.” 
 
 “ True ; whom I loved as my own soul.” 
 
 “ And a brother.” 
 
 “ The bravest, the kindest, the most affectionate!” said Lady Bothwell. 
 
 “ Both these beloved relatives you lost by the fault of an unfortunate 
 man,” continued the stranger. 
 
 “ By the crime of an unnatural, bloody-minded murderer,” said the lady. 
 
 “ I arn answered,” replied the old man, bowing, as if to withdraw. 
 
 “ Stop, sir, I command you,” said Lady Bothwell.—“ Who are you, that, 
 at such a place and time, come to recall these horrible recollections? I 
 insist upon knowing.” 
 
 “I am one who intends Lady Bothwell no injury; but, on the contrary, 
 to offer her the means of doing a deed of Christian charity, which the world 
 would wonder at, and which Heaven would reward; but I find her in no 
 temper for such a sacrifice as I was prepared to ask.” 
 
 ” Speak out, sir; what is your meaning?” said Lady Bothwell. 
 
 “ The wretch that has wronged you so deeply,” rejoined the stranger, “ is 
 now on his death-bed. His days have been days of misery, his nights have 
 been sleepless hours of anguish — yet he cannot die without your forgive¬ 
 ness. His life has been an unremitting penance — yet he dares not part 
 from his burden while your curses load his soul.” 
 
 “ Tell him,” said Lady Bothwell, sternly, “ to ask pardon of that Being 
 whom he has so greatly offended; not of an erring mortal like himself. 
 What could my forgiveness avail him ?” 
 
 “ Much,” answered the old man. “ It will be an earnest of that which 
 he may then venture to ask from his Creator, lady, and from yours. Re¬ 
 member, Lady Bothwell, you too have a death-lDed to look forward to; your 
 soul may, all human souls must, feel the awe of facing the judgment seat, 
 with the wounds of an untented conscience, raw, and rankling—what 
 thought would it be then that should whisper, ‘ I have given no mercy, how 
 then shall I ask it?’ ” 
 
 “ Man, whosoever thou mayst be,” replied Lady Bothwell, “ urge me not 
 so cruelly. It would be but blasphemous hypocrisy to utter with my lips 
 the words which every throb of my heart protests against. They would 
 open the earth and give to light the wasted form of my sister — the bloody 
 form of my murdered brother — forgive him? — Never, never!” 
 
 “ Great God 1” cried the old man, holding up his hands, “ is it thus the 
 worms which thou hast called out of dust obey the commands of their 
 Maker? Farewell, proud and unforgiving woman. Exult that thou hast 
 added to a death in want and pain the agonies of religious despair; but 
 
40G WAVER LEY NOVELS. 
 
 never again mock Heaven by petitioning for the pardon which thou haat 
 refused to grant/’ 
 
 He was turning from her. 
 
 “ Stop,” she exclaimed ; “ I will try ; yes, I will try to pardon him.” 
 “Gracious lady,” said the old man, “you will relieve the over-burdened 
 soul, which dare not sever itself from its sinful companion of earth without 
 being at peace wdth you. What do I know—your forgiveness may perhaps 
 preserve for penitence the dregs of a wretched life.” 
 
 “ Ha!” said the lady, as a sudden light broke on her, “ it is the villain 
 himself!” And grasping Sir Philip Forester—for it was he, and no other— 
 by the collar, she raised a cry of “ Murder, murder! Seize the murderer 1” 
 At an exclamation so singular, in such a place, the company thronged 
 into the apartment, but Sir Philip Forester was no longer there. He had 
 forcibly extricated himself from Lady Bothwell’s hold, and had run out of 
 the apartment which opened on the landing-place of the stair. There 
 seemed no escape in that direction, for there were several persons coming 
 up the steps, and others descending. But the unfortunate man was des¬ 
 perate. He threw himself over the balustrade, and alighted safely in the 
 lobby, though a leap of fifteen feet at least, then dashed into the street and 
 was lost in darkness. Some of the Bothwell family made pursuit, and, had 
 they come up with the fugitive, they might have perhaps slain him; for in 
 those days men’s blood ran warm in their veins. But the police did not 
 interfere; the matter most criminal having happened long since, and in a 
 foreign land. Indeed, it was always thought, that this extraordinary scene 
 originated in a hypocritical experiment, by which Sir Philip desired to 
 ascertain whether he might return to his native country in safety from the 
 resentment of a fiimily which he had injured so deeply. As the result fell 
 out so contrary to his wishes, he is believed to have returned to the Conti¬ 
 nent, and there died in exile. 
 
 So closed the tale of the Mysterious Mirror. 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LADY IN THE SACQUE. 
 
 This is another little story, from the Keepsake of 1828. It was told to 
 me many years ago, by the late Miss Anna Seward, who, among other 
 accomplishments that rendered her an amusing inmate in a country house, 
 had that of recounting narratives of this sort with very considerable effect; 
 much greater, indeed, than any one would be apt to guess from the style of 
 her written performances. There are hours and moods when most people 
 are not displeased to listen to such things; and I have heard some of the 
 greatest and wisest of my contemporaries take their share in telling them. 
 
 August, 1831. 
 
 The following narrative is given from the pen, so far as memory permits, 
 in the same character in which it was presented to the author’s ear; nor 
 has he claim to farther praise, or to be more deeply censured, than in pro¬ 
 portion to the good or bad judgment which he has employed in selecting 
 his materials, as he has studiously avoided any attempt at ornament, which* 
 might interfere with the simplicity of the tale. 
 
 At the same time, it must be admitted, that the particular class of stories 
 which turns on the marvellous, possesses a stronger influence when told 
 than when committed to print. The volume taken up at noonday, though 
 rehearsing the same incidents, conveys a much more feeble impression than 
 is achieved by the voice of the speaker on a circle of fireside auditors, who 
 hang upon the narrative as the narrator details the minute incidents which 
 serve to give it authenticity, and lowers his voice with an affectation of 
 mystery while he approaches the fearful and wonderful part. It was with 
 such advantages that the present writer heard the following events related, 
 more than twenty years since, by the celebrated Miss Seward, of Litchfield, 
 who, to her numerous accomplishments, added, in a remarkable degree, the 
 power of narrative in private conversation. In its present form, the tale 
 must necessarily lose all the interest which was attached to it, by the flexible 
 voice and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet still, read aloud, 
 to an undoubting audience by the doubtful light of the closing evening, or 
 in silence, by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a half-lighted 
 apartment, it may redeem its character as a good ghost story. Miss Seward 
 always affirmed that she had derived her information from an authentic 
 source, although she suppressed the names of the two persons chiefly con¬ 
 cerned. I will not avail myself of any particulars I may have since received 
 concerning the localities of the detail, but suffer them to rest under the 
 
408 
 
 W A V E R L E Y NOVELS. 
 
 same general description in which they were first related to me; and, fur 
 the same reason, I will not add to, or diminish the narrative, by any circum¬ 
 stances, whether more or less material, but simply rehearse, as I heard it, 
 a story of supernatural terror. 
 
 About the end of the American war, when the officers of Lord Corn¬ 
 wallis’s army, which surrendered at York-town, and others, who had been 
 made prisoners during the impolitic and ill-fated controversy, were return¬ 
 ing to their own country, to relate their adventures, and repose themselves 
 after their fatigues; there was amongst them a general officer, to whom 
 Miss S. ^ave the name of Browne, but merely, as I understood, to save the 
 inconvenience of introducing a nameless agent in the narrative. He was 
 an officer of merit, as well as a gentleman of high consideration for family 
 and attainments. 
 
 Some business had carried General Browne upon a tour through the 
 western counties, when, in the conclusion of a morning stage, he found 
 himself in the vicinity of a small country town, which presented a scene of 
 uncommon beauty, and of a character peculiarly English. 
 
 The little town, with its stately church, whose tower bore testimony to 
 the devotion of ages long past, lay amidst pasture and corn-fields of small 
 extent, but bounded and divided with hedge-row timber of great age and 
 size. There were few marks of modern improvement. The environs of 
 the place intimated neither the solitude of decay, nor the bustle of novelty; 
 the houses were old, but in good repair; and the beautiful little river mur¬ 
 mured freely on its way to the left of the town, neither restrained by a dam, 
 nor bordered by a towing-path. 
 
 Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the southward of the town, 
 were seen, amongst many venerable oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets 
 of a castle, as old as the wars of York and Lancaster, but which seemed to 
 have received important alterations during the age of Elizabeth and her 
 successors. It had not been a place of great size; but whatever accommo¬ 
 dation it formerly afforded, was, it must be supposed, still to be obtained 
 within its walls ; at least, such was the inference which General Browne 
 drew from observing the smoke arise merrily from several of the ancient 
 wreathed and carved chimney-stalks. The wall of the park ran alongside 
 . of the highway for two or three hundred yards; and through the different 
 points by which the eye found glimpses into the woodland scenery, it seemed 
 to be well stocked. Other points of view opened in succession ; now a full 
 one, of the front of the old castle, and now a side glimpse at its particular 
 towers ; the former rich in all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, 
 while the simple and solid strength of other parts of the building seemed 
 to show that they had been raised more for defence than ostentation. 
 
 Delighted with the partial glimpses which he obtained of the castle through 
 the woods and glades by which this ancient feudal fortress was surrounded, 
 our military traveller was determined to inquire whether it might not deserve 
 a nearer view, and whether it contained family pictures or other objects of 
 curiosity worthy of a stranger’s visit; when, leaving the vicinity of the 
 park, he rolled through a clean and well-paved street, and stopped at the 
 door of a well-frequented inn. 
 
 Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey. General Browne made 
 inquiries concerning the proprietor of the chateau which had so attracted 
 his admiration, and was equally surprised and pleased at hearing in reply 
 a nobleman named whom we shall call Lord Woodville. How fortunate! 
 Much of Browne’s early recollections, both at school and at college, had 
 been connected with young Woodville, whom, by a few questions, he now 
 ascertained to be the same with the owner of this fair domain. He had 
 been raised to the peerage by the decease of his father a few months before, 
 and, as the General learned from the landlord, the term of mourning being 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER. 
 
 409 
 
 ended, was now taking possession of his paternal estate, in the jovial season 
 of merry autumn, accompanied by a select party of friends to enjoy the 
 sports of a country famous for game. 
 
 This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank Woodville had been 
 Richard Browne’s fag at Eton, and his chosen intimate at Christ Church ; 
 their pleasures and their tasks had been the same; and the honest soldier’s 
 heart warmed to find his early friend in possession of so delightful a resi¬ 
 dence, and of an estate, as the landlord assured him with a nod and a wink, 
 fully adequate to maintain and add to his dignity. Nothing was more 
 natural than that the traveller should suspend a journey, which there was 
 nothing to render hurried, to pay a visit to an old friend under such agree¬ 
 able circumstances. 
 
 The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task of conveying the 
 General’s travelling carriage to Woodville Castle. A porter admitted them 
 at a modern Gothic Lodge, built in that style to correspond with the Castle 
 itself, and at the same time rang a bell to give warning of the approach of 
 visitors. Apparently the sound of the bell had suspended the separation 
 of the company, bent on the various amusements of the morning; for, on 
 entering the court of the chateau, several young men were lounging about 
 in their sporting dresses, looking at, and criticising, the dogs which the 
 keepers held in readiness to attend their pastime. As General Browne 
 alighted, the young lord came to the gate of the hall, and for an instant 
 gazed, as at a stranger, upon the countenance of his friend, on which war, 
 with its fatigues and its wounds, had made a great alteration. But the 
 uncertainty lasted no longer than till the visitor had spoken, and the hearty 
 greeting which followed was such as can only be exchanged betwixt those 
 who have passed together the merry days of careless boyhood or early youth. 
 
 “ If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne,” said Lord AVoodville, 
 “ it would have been to have you here, of all men, upon this occasion, which 
 my friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holyday. Do not think you 
 have been unwatched during the years you have been absent from us. I 
 have traced you through your dangers, your triumphs, your misfortunes, 
 and was delighted to see that, whether in victory or defeat, the name of my 
 old friend was always distinguished with applause.” 
 
 The General made a suitable reply, and congratulated his friend on his 
 new dignities, and the possession of a place and domain so beautiful. 
 
 “ Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet,” said Lord Woodville, “ and I 
 trust you do not mean to leave us till you are better acquainted with it. It 
 is true, I confess, that my present party is pretty large, and the old house, 
 like other places of the kind, does not possess so much accommodation as 
 the extent of the outward walls appears to promise. But we can give you 
 a comfortable old-fashioned room; and I venture to suppose that your cam¬ 
 paigns have taught you to bo glad of worse quarters.” 
 
 The General shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. “ I presume,” he 
 said, “ the worst apartment in your chateau is considerably superior to the 
 old tobacco-cask, in which I was fain to take up my night’s lodging when I 
 was in the Bush, as the Virginians call it, with the light corps. There I 
 lay, like Diogenes himself, so delighted with ray covering from the elements, 
 that I made a vain attempt to have it rolled on to my next quarters ; but my 
 commander for the time would give w'ay to no such luxurious provision, and 
 I took farewell of my beloved cask with tears in my eyes.” 
 
 “Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters,” said Lord Woodville, 
 “ you will stay with me a week at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods, flies, 
 and means of sport by sea and land, we have enough and to spare: you 
 cannot pitch on an amusement, but we will pitch on the means of pursuing 
 it. But if you prefer the gun and pointers, I will go with you myself, and 
 see whether you have mended your shooting since you have been amongst 
 the Indians of the back settlements.” 
 
 2 K 
 
410 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 The General gladly accepted his friendly host’s proposal in all its points. 
 After a morning of manly exercise, the company met at dinner, where it 
 was the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to the display of the high 
 properties of his recovered friend, so as to recommend him to his guests, 
 most of whom were persons of distinction. He led General Browne to 
 speak of the scenes he had witnessed ; and as every word marked alike the 
 brave ofi&cer and the sensible man, who retained possession of his cool 
 judgment under the most imminent dangers, the company looked upon the 
 soldier with general respect, as no one who had proved himself possessed 
 of an uncommon portion of personal courage — that attribute, of all others, 
 of which every body desires to be thought possessed. 
 
 The day at AVoodville Castle ended as usual in such mansions. The hos¬ 
 pitality stopped within the limits of good order; music, in which the young 
 lord was a proficient, succeeded to the circulation of the bottle: cards and 
 billiards, for those who preferred such amusements, were in readiness: but 
 the exercise of the morning required early hours, and not long after eleven 
 o’clock the guests began to retire to their several apartments. 
 
 The young lord himself conducted his friend. General Browne, to the 
 chamber destined for him, which answered the description he had given of 
 it, being comfortable, but old-fashioned. The bed was of the massive form 
 used in the end of the seventeenth century, and the curtains of faded silk, 
 heavily trimmed with tarnished gold. But then the sheets, pillows, and 
 blankets looked delightful to the campaigner, when he thought of his man¬ 
 sion, the cask. There was an air of gloom in the tapestry hangings, which, 
 with their worn-out graces, curtained the walls of the little chamber, and 
 gently undulated as the autumnal breeze found its way through the ancient 
 lattice-window, which pattered and M'histled as the air gained entrance. 
 The toilet too, with its mirror, turbaned, after the manner of the beginning 
 of the century, with a coiffure of murrey-coloured silk, and its hundred 
 strange-shaped boxes, providing for arrangements which had been obsolete 
 for more than fifty years, had an antique, and in so far a melancholy, aspect. 
 But nothing could blaze more brightly and cheerfully than the two large 
 wax candles; or if aught could rival them, it was the flaming bickering 
 fagots in the chimney, that sent at once their gleam and their warmth 
 through the snug apartment; which, notwithstanding the general antiquity 
 of its appearance, was not wanting in the least convenience that modern 
 habits rendered either necessary or desirable. 
 
 “ This is an old-fashioned sleeping apartment. General,^’ said the young 
 lord; “ but I hope you will find nothing that makes you envy your old 
 tobacco-cask.’^ 
 
 “ I am not particular respecting my lodgings,” replied the General; “ yet 
 were I to make any choice, I would prefer this chamber by many degrees, 
 to the gayer and more modern rooms of your family mansion. Believe me, 
 that when I unite its modern air of comfort with its venerable antiquity, and 
 recollect that it is your lordship’s property, I shall feel in better quarters 
 here, than if I were in the best hotel London could afibrd.” 
 
 “ I trust—I have no doubt—that you will find yourself as comfortable as 
 I wish you, my dear General,” said the young nobleman; and once more 
 bidding his guest good-night, he shook him by the hand, and withdrew. 
 
 The General again looked round him, and internally congratulating him¬ 
 self on his return to peaceful life, the comforts of which were endeared by 
 the recollection of the hardships and dangers he had lately sustained, un¬ 
 dressed himself, and prepared himself for a luxurious night’s rest. 
 
 Here, contrary to the custom of this species of tale, we leave the General 
 in possession of his apartment until the next morning. 
 
 The company assembled for breakfast at an early hour, but without the 
 appearance of General Browne, who seemed the guest that Lord Woodville 
 was desirous of honouring above all whom his hospitality had assembled 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER. 
 
 411 
 
 around him. lie more than once expressed surprise at the General’s 
 absence, and at length sent a servant to make inquiry after him. The man 
 brought back information that General Browne had been walking abroad 
 since an early hour of the morning, in defiance of the weather, which was 
 misty and ungenial. 
 
 “The custom of a soldier,” — said the young nobleman to his friends; 
 “ many of them acquire habitual vigilance, and cannot sleep after the early 
 hour at which their duty usually commands them to be alert.” 
 
 Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus offered to the company 
 seemed hardly satisfactory to his own mind, and it was in a fit of silence 
 and abstraction that he awaited the return of the General. It took place 
 near an hour after the breakfast bell had rung. He looked fatigued and 
 feverish. Ilis hair, the powdering and arrangement of which was at this 
 time one of the most important occupations of a man’s whole day, and 
 marked his fashion as much as, in the present time, the tying of a cravat, 
 or the want of one, was dishevelled, uncurled, void of powder, and dank 
 with dew. Ilis clothes were huddled on with a careless negligence, remark¬ 
 able in a military man, whose real or supposed duties are usually held to 
 include some attention to the toilet; and his looks were haggard and 
 ghastly in a peculiar degree. 
 
 “ So you have stolen a march upon us this morning, my dear General,” 
 said Lord Woodville; “or you have not found your bed so much to your 
 mind as I had hoped and you seemed to expect. IIow did you rest last 
 night?” 
 
 “ Oh, excellently well! remarkably well! never better in my life”—said 
 General Browne rapidly, and yet with an air of embarrassment which was 
 obvious to his friend. lie then hastily swallowed a cup of tea, and neglect¬ 
 ing or refusing whatever else was offered, seemed to fall into a fit of 
 abstraction. 
 
 “ You will take the gun to-day. General;” said his friend and host, but 
 had to repeat the question twice ere he received the abrupt answer, “ No, 
 my lord; I am sorry I cannot have the honour of spending another day 
 with your lordship; my post horses are ordered, and will be here directly.” 
 
 All who were present showed surprise, and Lord Woodville immediately 
 replied, “ Post horses, my good friend ! what can you possibly want with 
 them, when you promised to stay with me quietly for at least a week?” 
 
 “ I believe,” said the General, obviously much embarrassed, “ that I 
 might, in the pleasure of my first meeting with your lordship, have said 
 something about stopping here a few days; but I have since found it alto¬ 
 gether impossible.” 
 
 “ That is very extraordinary,” answered the young nobleman. “ You 
 seemed quite disengaged yesterday, and you cannot have had a summons 
 to-day; for our post has not come up from the town, and therefore you 
 cannot have received any letters.” 
 
 General Browne, without giving any farther explanation, muttered some¬ 
 thing of indispensable business, and insisted on the absolute necessity of 
 his departure in a manner which silenced all opposition on the part of 
 his host, who saw that his resolution was taken, and forbore farther 
 importunity. * 
 
 “ At least, however,” he said, “ permit me, my dear Browne, since go you 
 will or must, to show you the view from the terrace, which the mist, that is 
 now rising, will soon display.” 
 
 He threw open a sash window, and stepped down upon the terrace as he 
 spoke. The General followed him mechanically, but seemed little to attend 
 to what his host was saying, as, looking across an extended and rich 
 prospect, he pointed out the different objects worthy of observation. Thus 
 they moved on till Lord Woodville had attained his purpose of drawing bis 
 
412 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 guest entirely apart from the rest of the company, when, turning round 
 upon him with an air of great solemnity, he addressed him thus: 
 
 “ Richard Browne, my old and very dear friend, we are now alone. Let 
 me conjure you to answer me upon the word of a friend, and the honour of 
 a soldier. How did you in reality rest during last night 
 
 “ Most wretchedly indeed, my lord,^^ answered the General, in the same 
 tone of solemnity ;—“ so miserably, that I would not run the risk of such a 
 second night, not only for all the lands belonging to this castle, but for all 
 the country which I see from this elevated point of view.^^ 
 
 “ This is most extraordinary,^^ said the young lord, as if speaking to 
 himself; “then there must be something in the reports concerning that 
 apartment.’^ Again turning to the General, he said, “ For God’s sake, my 
 dear friend, be candid with me, and let me know the disagreeable parti¬ 
 culars, which have befallen you under a roof, where, with consent of the 
 owner, you should have met nothing save comfort.” 
 
 The General seemed distressed by this appeal, and paused a moment 
 before he replied. “ My dear lord,” he at length said, “ what happened to 
 me last night is of a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant, that I could hardly 
 bring myself to detail it even to your lordship, were it not that, independent 
 of my wish to gratify any request of yours, I think that sincerity on my 
 part may lead to some explanation about a circumstance equally painful and 
 mysterious. To others, the communication I am about to make, might 
 place me in the light of a weak-minded, superstitious fool who suffered his 
 own imagination to delude and bewilder him ; but you have known me in 
 childhood and youth, and will not suspect me of having adopted in man¬ 
 hood the feelings and frailties from which my early years were free.” Here 
 he paused, and his friend replied: 
 
 “ Do not doubt my perfect confidence in the truth of your communication, 
 however strange it may be,” replied Lord Woodville ; “I know your firm¬ 
 ness of disposition too well, to suspect you could be made the object of impo¬ 
 sition, and am aware that your honour and your friendship will equally 
 deter you from exaggerating whatever you may have witnessed.” 
 
 “ Well then,” said the General, “ I will proceed with my story as well as 
 I can, relying upon your candour; and yet distinctly feeling that I would 
 rather face a battery than recall to my mind the odious recollections of last 
 night.” 
 
 He paused a second time, and then perceiving that Lord Woodville 
 remained silent and in an attitude of attention, he commenced, though not 
 without obvious reluctance, the history of his night’s adventures in the 
 Tapestried Chamber. 
 
 “ I undressed and went to bed, so soon as your lordship left me yesterday 
 evening; but the wood in the chimney, which nearly fronted my bed, blazed 
 brightly and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred exciting recollections of 
 my childhood and youth, which had been recalled by the unexpected plea¬ 
 sure of meeting your lordship, prevented me from falling immediately 
 asleep. I ought, however, to say, that these reflections were all of a plea¬ 
 sant and agreeable kind, grounded on a sense of having for a time exchanged 
 the labour, fatigues, and dangers of my profession, for the enjoyments of a 
 peaceful life, and the reunion of those friendly and affecCionate ties, which 
 I had torn asunder at the rude summons of war. 
 
 “ While such pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and gra¬ 
 dually lulling me to slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a sound like that 
 of the rustling of a silken gown, and the tapping of a pair of high-heeled 
 shoes, as if a woman were walking in the apartment. Ere I could draw 
 the curtain to see what the matter was, the figure of a little woman passed 
 between the bed and the fire. The back of this form was turned to me, 
 and I could observe, from the shoulders and neck, it was that of an old 
 woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown, which, I think, ladies call 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER. 
 
 413 
 
 a sacque ; that is, a sort of robe, completely loose in the body, hut gathered 
 into broad plaits upon tlie neck and shoulders, which fall down to tho 
 ground, and terminate in a species of train. 
 
 “ I thought tho intrusion singular enough, but never harboured for a mo¬ 
 ment the idea that what I saw was any thing more than the mortal form of 
 some old woman about the establishment, who had a fancy to dress like her 
 grandmother, and who, having perhaps (as your lordship mentioned that 
 you were rather straitened for room) been dislodged from her chamber for 
 my accommodation, had forgotten the circumstance, and returned by twelve 
 to her old haunt. Under this persuasion I moved myself in bed and coughed 
 a little, to make the intruder sensible of my being in possession of the pre¬ 
 mises. — She turned slowly round, but gracious heaven! my lord, what a 
 countenance did she display to me! There was no longer any question 
 wdiat she was, or any thought of her being a living being. Upon a face 
 which wore the fixed features of a corpse, were imprinted the traces of the 
 vilest and most hideous passions w'hich had animated her while she lived. 
 The body of some atrocious criminal seemed to have been given up from 
 the grave, and the soul restored from the penal fire, in order to form, for a 
 space, a union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. I started up in bed, 
 and sat upright, supporting myself on my palms, as I gazed on this horrible 
 spectre. The hag made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the bed 
 where I lay, and squatted herself down upon it, in precisely the same atti¬ 
 tude which I had assumed in the extremity of horror, advancing her 
 diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine, with a grin which 
 seemed to intimate the malice and the derision of an incarnate fiend.^' 
 
 Here General Browne stopped, and wiped from his brow the cold perspi¬ 
 ration w'ith which the recollection of his horrible vision had covered it. 
 
 “ My lord,^^ he said, “ I am no coward. I have been in all the mortal 
 dangers incidental to my profession, and I may truly boast, that no man 
 ever knew Richard Browne dishonour the sword he wears; but in these 
 horrible circumstances, under the eyes, and as it seemed, almost in the 
 grasp of an incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness forsook me, all man¬ 
 hood melted from me like wax in the furnace, and I felt my hair indivi¬ 
 dually bristle. The current of my life-blood ceased to flow, and I sank 
 back in a swoon, as very a victim to panic terror as ever was a village girl, 
 or a child of ten years old. IIow long I lay in this condition I cannot pre¬ 
 tend to guess. 
 
 “ But 1 was roused by the castle clock striking one, so loud that it seemed 
 as if it were in the very room. It was some time before I dared open my 
 eyes, lest they should again encounter the horrible spectacle. When, how¬ 
 ever, I summoned courage to look up, she was no longer visible. My first 
 idea was to pull my bell, wake the servants, and remove to a garret Or a 
 hay-loft, to be ensured against a second visitation. Nay, I will confess the 
 truth, that my resolution was altered, not by the shame of exposing myself, 
 but by the fear that, as tho bell-cord hung by the chimney, I might, in 
 making my w'ay to it, be again crossed by the fiendish hag, who, 1 figured 
 to myself, might be still lurking about some corner of the apartment. 
 
 “ 1 will not pretend to describe what hot and cold fever-fits tormented mo 
 for the rest of the night, through broken sleep, w^eary vigils, and that 
 dubious state which forms the neutral ground between them. A hundred 
 terrible objects appeared to haunt me; but there was the great difference 
 betwixt the vision which I have described, and those which followed, that I 
 knew the last to be deceptions of my own fancy and over-excited nerves. 
 
 “ Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in health, and humi¬ 
 liated in mind. 1 was ashamed of myself as a man and a soldier, and still 
 more so, at feeling my own extreme desire to escape from the haunted 
 apartment, which, however, conquered all other considerations; so that, 
 huddling on my clothes with the most careless haste, I made my escape 
 
 2k2 
 
414 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 from yonr lordship’s mansion, to seek in the open air some relief to my 
 nervous system, shaken as it -was by this horrible rencounter with a visitant, 
 for such I must believe her, from the other world. Your lordship has now 
 heard the cause of my discomposure, and of my sudden desire to leave your 
 hospitable castle. In other places I trust we may often meet; but God 
 protect me from ever spending a second night under that roof!” 
 
 Strange as the General’s tale was, he spoke with such a deep air of con¬ 
 viction, that it cut short all the usual commentaries which are made on 
 such stories. Lord Woodville never once asked him if he was sure he did 
 not dream of the apparition, or suggested any of the possibilities by which 
 it is fashionable to explain supernatural appearances, as wild vagaries of 
 the fancy, or deceptions of the optic nerves. On the contrary, he seemed 
 deeply impressed with the truth and reality of what he had heard; and, 
 after a considerable pause, regretted, with much appearance of sincerity, 
 that his early friend should in his house have suffered so severely. 
 
 “ I am the more sorry for your pain, my dear Browne,” he continued, 
 “ that it is the unhappy, though most unexpected, result of an experiment 
 of my own! You must know, that for my father and grandfather’s time, 
 at least, the apartment which was assigned to you last night, had been shut 
 on account of reports that it was disturbed by supernatural sights and 
 noises. AVhen I came, a few weeks since, into possession of the estate, I 
 thought the accommodation, which the castle afforded for my friends, was 
 not extensive enough to permit the inhabitants of the invisible world to 
 retain possession of a comfortable sleeping apartment. I therefore caused 
 the Tapestried Chamber, as we call it, to be opened; and without destroy¬ 
 ing its air of antiquity, I had such new articles of furniture placed in it as 
 became the modern times. Yet as the opinion that the room was haunted 
 very strongly prevailed among the domestics, and was also known in the 
 neighbourhood and to many of my friends, I feared some prejudice might 
 be entertained by the first occupant of the Tapestried Chamber, which 
 might tend to revive the evil report which it had laboured under, and so 
 disappoint my purpose of rendering it a useful part of the house. I must 
 confess, my dear Browne, that your arrival yesterday, agreeable to me for a 
 thousand reasons besides, seemed the most favourable opportunity of re¬ 
 moving the unpleasant rumours which attached to the room, since your 
 courage was indubitable and your mind free of any pre-occupation on the 
 subject. I could not, therefore, have chosen a more fitting subject for my 
 experiment.” 
 
 “Upon my life,” said General Browne, somewhat hastily, “I am infi¬ 
 nitely obliged to your lordship — very particularly indebted indeed. I am 
 likely to remember for some time the consequences of the experiment, as 
 your lordship is pleased to call it.” 
 
 “ Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend,” said Lord Woodville. “You 
 have only to reflect for a single moment, in order to be convinced that I 
 •could not augur the possibility of the pain to which you have been so un¬ 
 happily exposed. I was yesterday morning a complete sceptic on the 
 subject of supernatural appearances. Nay, I am sure that had I told you 
 M'hat was said about that room, those very reports would have induced you, 
 by your own choice, to select it for your accommodation. It was my mis¬ 
 fortune, perhaps my error, but really cannot be termed my fault, that you 
 have been afiiicted so strangely.” 
 
 “ Strangely indeed !” said the General, resuming his good temper ; “ and 
 I acknowledge that I have no right to be offended with your lordship for 
 treating me like what I used to think myself—a man of some firmness and 
 courage.—But I see my post horses are arrived, and I must not detain your 
 lordship from your amusement.” 
 
 “ Nay, my old friend,” said Lord Woodville, “ since you cannot stay with 
 us another day, which, indeed, I can no longer urge, give me at least half 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER. 
 
 415 
 
 an hour more. You used to love pictures, and I have a p:allery of portraits, 
 some of them by Vandyke, representing ancestry to whom this property 
 and castle formerly belonged. I think that several of them will strike you 
 as possessing merit.’’ 
 
 General Browne accepted the invitation, though somewhat unwillingly. 
 It was evident he was not to breathe freely or at ease till he left Woodville 
 Castle far behind him. lie could not refuse his friend’s invitation, how¬ 
 ever ; and the less so, that he was a little ashamed of the peevishness which 
 he had displayed towards his well-meaning entertainer. 
 
 The General, therefore, followed Lord Woodville through several rooms, 
 into a long gallery hung with pictures, which the latter pointed out to his 
 guest, telling the names, and giving some account of the personages whoso 
 portraits presented themselves in progression. General Browne was but 
 little interested in the details which these accounts conveyed to him. They 
 were, indeed, of the kind which are usually found in an old family gallery. 
 Here was a cavalier who had ruined the estate in the royal cause ; there a 
 fine lady who had reinstated it by contracting a match with a wealthy 
 Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been in danger for correspond¬ 
 ing with the exiled Court at St. Germain’s; here one who had taken arms 
 for William at the Revolution ; and there a third that had thrown his weight 
 alternately into the scale of whig and tory. 
 
 While Lord Woodville was cramming these words into his guest’s ear, 
 “ against the stomach of his sense,” they gained the middle of the gallery, 
 when he beheld General Browne suddenly start, and assume an attitude 
 of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with fear, as his eyes were caught and 
 suddenly riveted by a portrait of an old lady in a sacque, the fashionable 
 dress of the end of the seventeenth century. 
 
 “ There she is!” he exclaimed; “ there she is, in form and features, 
 though inferior in demoniac expression, to the accursed hag who visited me 
 last night!” 
 
 “If that be the case,” said the young nobleman, “there can remain no 
 longer any doubt of the horrible reality of your apparition. That is the 
 picture of a wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black and 
 fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in my charter-chest. The 
 recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to say, that in yon fatal 
 apartment incest and unnatural murder were committed. I will restore it 
 to the solitude to wLich the better judgment of those who preceded me had 
 consigned it; and never shall any one, so long as I can prevent it, be ex¬ 
 posed to a repetition of the supernatural horrors which could shake such 
 courage as yours.” 
 
 Thus the friends, who had met with such glee, parted in a very different 
 mood; Lord Woodville to command the Tapestried Chamber to be unman¬ 
 tled, and the door built up; and General Browne to seek in some less 
 beautiful country, and with some less dignified friend, forgetfulness of the 
 painful night which he had passed in Woodville Castle. 
 
DEATH OF THE LAIED’S JOCK. 
 
 [The manner in which this trifle was introduced at the time to Mr. F. 
 M. Reynolds, editor of the Keepsake of 1828, leaves no occasion for a 
 preface.] 
 
 Augthst, 1831 . 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE KEEPSAKE. 
 
 You have asked me, sir, to point out a subject for the pencil, and I feel 
 the difficulty of complying with your request; although I am not certainly 
 unaccustomed to literary composition, or a total stranger to the stores of 
 history and tradition, which afford the best copies for the painter’s art. 
 But although sicut pictura poesis is an ancient and undisputed axiom — 
 although poetry and painting both address themselves to the same object 
 of exciting the human imagination, by presenting to it pleasing or sublime 
 images of ideal scenes; yet the one conveying itself through the ears to 
 the understanding, and the other applying itself only to the eyes, the sub¬ 
 jects which are best suited to the bard or tale-teller are often totally unfit 
 for painting, where the artist must present in a single glance all that his 
 art has power to tell us. The artist can neither recapitulate the past nor 
 intimate the future. The single now is all which he can present; and 
 hence, unquestionably, many subjects which delight us in poetry, or in 
 narrative, whether real or fictitious, cannot with advantage be transferred 
 to the canvass. 
 
 Being in some degree aware of these difficulties, though doubtless unac¬ 
 quainted both with their extent, and the means by which they may be 
 modified or surmounted, I have, nevertheless, ventured to draw up the fol¬ 
 lowing traditional narrative as a story in which, when the general details 
 are known, the interest is so much concentrated in one strong moment of 
 agonizing passion, that it can be understood, and sympathized with, at a 
 single glance. I therefore presume that it may be acceptable as a hint to 
 some one among the numerous artists, who have of late years distinguished 
 themselves as rearing up and supporting the British school. 
 
 Enough has been said and sung about 
 
 The well-contested ground, 
 
 The warlike border-land— 
 
 to render the habits of the tribes who inhabited them before the union of 
 England and Scotland familiar to most of your readers. The rougher and 
 sterner features of their character were softened by their attachment to the 
 fine arts, from which has arisen the saying that, on the frontiers every dale 
 had its battle, and every river its song. A rude species of chivalry was in 
 (416) 
 
DEATH OF THE LAIIID’S JOCK. 
 
 417 
 
 constant use, and single combats were practised as the amusement of the 
 few intervals of truce which suspended the exercise of war. The invete¬ 
 racy of this custom may be inferred from the following incident: — 
 
 Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the north, the first who undertook to preach 
 the Protestant doctrines to the Border dalesmen, was surprised, on entering 
 one of their churches, to see a gauntlet, or mail-glove, hanging above the 
 altar. Upon inquiring the meaning of a symbol so indecorous being dis¬ 
 played in that sacred place, he was informed by the clerk, that the glove 
 was that of a famous swordsman who hung it there as an emblem of a 
 general challenge and gage of battle, to any who should dare to take the 
 fatal token down. “ Reach it to me,^’ said the reverend churchman. Tlie 
 clerk and sexton equally declined the perilous ofiBice; and the good Bernard 
 Gilpin was obliged to remove the glove with his own hands, desiring those 
 who were present to inform the champion, that he, and no other, had pos¬ 
 sessed himself of the gage of defiance. But the champion was as much 
 ashamed to face Bernard Gilpin as the officials of the church had been to 
 displace his pledge of combat. 
 
 The date of the following story is about the latter years of Queen Eliza¬ 
 beth's reign ; and the events took place in Liddesdale, a hilly and pastoral 
 district of Roxburghshire, which, on a part of its boundary, is divided from 
 England only by a small river. 
 
 During the good old times of rugging and riving, (that is, tugging and 
 tearing,) under which term the disorderly doings of the warlike age are 
 affectionately remembered, this valley was principally cultivated by the sept 
 or clan of the Armstrongs. The chief of this warlike race was the Laird 
 of Mangertown. At the period of which I speak, the estate of* Manger- 
 town, with the power and dignity of chief, was possessed by John Arm¬ 
 strong, a man of great size, strength and courage. While his father was 
 alive, he was distinguished from others of his clan who bore the same 
 name by the epithet of the Laird’s Jock, that is to say, the Laird's son Jock, 
 or Jack. This name he distinguished by so many bold and desperate 
 achievements, that he retained it even after his father's death, and is men¬ 
 tioned under it both in authentic records and in tradition. Some of his 
 feats are recorded in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and others 
 mentioned in contemporary chronicles. 
 
 At the species of singular combat which we have described, the Laird's 
 Jock was unrivalled; and no champion of Cumberland, Westmoreland, or 
 Northumberland, could endure the sway of the huge two-handed sword 
 which he wielded, and which few others could even lift. This “ awful 
 sword," as the common people term it, was as dear to him as Durindana or 
 Fushberta to their respective masters, and was nearly as formidable to his 
 enemies as those renowned falchions proved to the foes of Christendom. 
 The weapon had been bequeathed to him by a celebrated English outlaw 
 named llobbie Noble, who, having committed some deed for which he was 
 in danger from justice, fled to Liddesdale, and became a follower, or rather 
 a brother-in-arms, to the renowned Laird's Jock; till, venturing into Eng¬ 
 land with a small escort, a faithless guide, and with a light single-handed 
 sword instead of his ponderous brand, Hobbie Noble, attacked by superior 
 numbers, was made prisoner and executed. 
 
 With this weapon, and by means of his own strength and address, the 
 Laird's Jock maintained the reputation of the best swordsman on the Bor¬ 
 der side, and defeated or slew many who ventured to dispute with him the 
 formidable title. 
 
 But years pass on with the strong and the brave as with the feeble and 
 the timid. In process of time, the Laird’s Jock grew incapable of wielding 
 his weapon, and finally of all active exertion, even of the most ordinary 
 kind. The disabled champion became at length totally bed-ridden, and 
 VoL. Xll.—27 
 
418 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 
 entirely dependent for his comfort on the pious duties of an only daughter, 
 his perpetual attendant and companion. 
 
 Besides this dutiful child, the Laird’s Jock had an only son, upon whom 
 devolved the perilous task of leading the clan to battle, and maintaining 
 the warlike renown of his native country, which was now disputed by the 
 English upon many occasions. The young Armstrong was active, brave, 
 and strong, and brought home from dangerous adventures many tokens of 
 decided success. Still the ancient chief conceived, as it would seem, that 
 his son was scarce yet entitled by age and experience to be entrusted with 
 jthe two-handed sword, by the use of which he had himself been so dread- 
 Jfully distinguished. 
 
 , At length, an English champion, one of the name of Foster, (if I rightly 
 irecollect,) had the audacity to send a challenge to the best swordsman in 
 Liddesdale; and young Armstrong, burning for chivalrous distinction, 
 accepted the challenge. 
 
 The heart of the disabled old man swelled with joy when he heard that 
 the challenge was passed and accepted, and the meeting fixed at a neutral 
 spot, used as the place of rencontre upon such occasions, and which he 
 himself had distinguished by numerous victories. He exulted so much in 
 the conquest which he anticipated, that, to nerve his son to still bolder 
 exertions, he conferred upon him, as champion of his clan and province, the 
 celebrated weapon which he had hitherto retained in his own custody. 
 
 This was not all. When the day of combat arrived, the Laird’s Jock, in 
 spite of his daughter’s affectionate remonstrances, determined, though he 
 had not left his bed for two years, to be a personal witness of the duel. 
 Ilis will was still a law to his people, who bore him on their shoulders, 
 wrapped in plaids and blankets, to the spot where the combat was to take 
 place, and seated him on a fragment of rock, which is still called the Laird’s 
 Jock’s stone. There he remained with eyes fixed on the lists or barrier, 
 within which the champions were about to meet. ^ His daughter, having 
 done all she could for his accommodation, stood motionless beside him, 
 divided between anxiety for his health, and for the event of the combat to 
 her beloved brother. Ere yet the fight began, the old men gazed on their 
 chief, now seen for the first time after several years, and sadly compared 
 his altered features and wasted frame, with the paragon of strength and 
 manly beauty which they once remembered. The young men gazed on his 
 large form and powerful make, as upon some antediluvian giant who had 
 survived the destruction of the Flood. 
 
 But the sound of the trumpets on both sides recalled the attention of 
 every one to the lists, surrounded as they were by numbers of both nations 
 eager to witness the event of the day. The combatants met. It is need¬ 
 less to describe the struggle: the Scottish champion fell. Foster, placing 
 his foot on his antagonist, seized on the redoubted sword, so precious in the 
 eyes of its aged owner, and brandished it over his head as a trophy of his 
 conquest. The English shouted in triumph. But the despairing cry of 
 the aged champion, who saw his country dishonoured, and his sword, long 
 the terror of their race, in possession of an Englishman, was heard high 
 above the acclamations of victory. He seemed, for an instant, animated 
 by all his wonted power; for he started from the rock on which he sat, and 
 while the garments with which he had been invested fell from his wasted 
 frame, and showed the ruins of his strength, he tossed his arms wildly to 
 heaven, and uttered a cry of indignation, horror, and despair, which, tradi¬ 
 tion says, was heard to a preternatural distance, and resembled the cry of 
 a dying lion more than a human sound. 
 
 His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly exhausted by 
 the effort, and bore him back to his castle in mute sorrow; while his 
 daughter at once wept for her brother, and endeavoured to mitigate and 
 soothe the despair of her father. But this was impossible; the old man’s 
 
DEATH OF THE LAIRD’S JOCK. 410 
 
 only tie to life was rent rudely asunder, and his heart had broken with it. 
 The death of his son had no part in his sorrow. If he thought of him at 
 all, it was as the degenerate boy, through whom the honour of his country 
 and clan had been lost; and he died in the course of three days, never even 
 mentioning his name, but pouring out uninterrupted lamentations for the 
 loss of his sword. 
 
 I conceive, that the instant when the disabled chief was roused into a last 
 exertion by the agony of the moment is favourable to the object of a painter. 
 He might obtain the full advantage of contrasting the form of the rugged 
 old man, in the extremity of furious despair, with the softness and beauty 
 of the female form. The fatal field might be thrown into perspective, so as 
 to give full effect to these two principal figures, and with the single expla¬ 
 nation that the piece represented a soldier beholding his son slain, and the 
 honour of his country lost, the picture would be sufficiently intelligible at 
 the first glance. If it was thought necessary to show more clearly the 
 nature of the conflict, it might be indicated by the pennon of Saint George 
 being displayed at one end of the lists, and that of Saint Andrew at the 
 other. 
 
 I remain, Sir, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY. 
 
 END OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 

 
 
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 objects it embraces, the freedom of its pages from all sectarian peculiarities, and the beauty, plain¬ 
 ness, and correctness of the typography, that it cannot fail of proving acceptable and useful to 
 Christians of every denomination. 
 
 In addition to the usual references to parallel passages, which are quite full and numerous, the 
 student has all the marginal readings, together with a rich selection of Philological, Critical, Histo¬ 
 rical, Geographical, and other valuable notes and remarks, which explain and illustrate the sacred 
 text. Besides the general intrtKluclion, containing valuable essays on the genuineness, authenticity, 
 and inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, and other topics of interest, there are introductory and con¬ 
 cluding remarks to each book—a table of the contents of the Bible, by which the different portions 
 are so arranged as to read in an historical order. 
 
 Arranged at the top of each page is the period in which the prominent events of sacred history 
 took place. The calculations are made for the year of the world before and after Christ, Julian 
 Period, the year of the Olympiad, the year of the building of Rome, and other notations of time. 
 At the close is inserted a Chronological Index of the Bible, according to the computation of Arch¬ 
 bishop Ussher. Also, a full and valuable index of the subjects contained in the Old and New Testa¬ 
 ments, with a careful analysis and arrangement of texts under their appropriate subjects. 
 
 Mr. Greenfield, the editor of this work, and for some time previous to his death the superintend¬ 
 ent of the editorial department of the British and Foreign Bible Society, was a most extraordinary 
 man. In editing the Comprehensive Bible, his varied and extensive learning was called into suo- 
 cessfiil exercise, and appears in happy combination with sincer** piety and a sound judgment. The 
 Editor of the Christian Observer, alluding to this work, in an obituary notice of its author, speaka 
 of it as a work of “prodigious labour and research, at once exhibiting bis varied talents and pro¬ 
 found erudition.” 
 
 LIPPINCOTT’S EDITION OP 
 
 THE OXFORD QUARTO BIBLE. 
 
 The Publishers have spared neither care nor expense in their edition of the Bible; it is printed 
 cn the finest white vellum paper, with large and beautiful type, and bound in the most substantial 
 and splendid manner, in the following styles: Velvet, with richly gilt ornaments; Turkey super 
 extra, with gilt clasps; and in numerous others, to suit the taste of the most fastidious. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 ** In our opinion, the Christian public generally will feel under great obligations to the publishers 
 of this work for the lieautiful taste, arrangement, and delicate neatness with which they have got 
 it out. The intrinsic merit of the Bible recommends itself; it needs no tinsel ornament to adorn 
 its sacred pages. In this edition every superfluous ornament has been avoided, and we have pre¬ 
 sented us a perfectly chaste specimen of the Bible, without note or comment. It appears to be just 
 what is needed in every family—‘ the unsophisticated word of God.’ 
 
 “ The size is quarto, printed with beautiful type, on white, sized vellum paper, of the finest texture 
 and most beautiful surface. The publishers seem to have been solicitous to ma^e a perfectly 
 unique book, and they have ac.complished the object very successfullv. We trust that a liberal 
 community will afford them ample remuneration for all the expense and outlay they have necessa¬ 
 rily incurred in its publication. It is a standard Bible. 
 
 “The publishers are Messrs. Lippincott, Grambo & Co., No. 14 North Fourth street, Philadel- 
 pliia.” — Baptist Record. 
 
 “A Dcautiful quarto edition of the Bible, by L., G. At Co. Nothing can exceed the type in clear 
 ness and beauty; the paper is of the finest texture, and the whole execution is exceeui^ly neat. 
 No illustrations or ornamental t 3 rpe are used. Those who prefer a Bible executed in perfect sim- 
 phcity, yet elegance of style, without adornment, wall probably never find one more to their test* * 
 — M. Magazine. 
 
 A* 
 
 6 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 LIPPINCOTT’S EDITIONS OF 
 
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 Baxter’s Comprehensive Bible, 
 
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 authenticity, and inspiration of the Holy Scriptures; introductory and concluding remarks to epach 
 book; philological and explanatory notes ; table of contents, arranged in historical order; a chro¬ 
 nological index, and various other matter; forming a suitable book for the study of clergymen. 
 Sabbath-school teachers, and students. 
 
 In neat plain binding, from $4 00 to 95 00. —In Turkey morocco, extra, gilt edges, from t8 00 to 
 112 00. —In do., with splendid plates, $10 00 to $15 00. — In do., bevelled side, gilt clasps and illu¬ 
 minations, $15 00 to $25 00. 
 
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 Without note or comment, universally admitted to be the most beautiful Bible extant. . 
 
 In neat plain binding, from $4 00 to $5 00. — In Turkey morocco, extra, gilt edges, $8 00 to $12 Ott 
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 tions, $15 00 to $25 00. — In rich velvet, with gilt ornaments, $25 00 to $50 00. 
 
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 ENCYCLOP/EDIA OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE; 
 
 OR, DICTIONARY OF THE BIBLE, THEOLOGY, RELIGIOUS BIOGRAPHY, ALL RELIGIONS, 
 ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, AND MISSIONS. 
 
 Designed as a complete Book of Reference on all Religious Subjects, and Companion to the Bible; 
 mrming a cheap and compact Library of Religious Knowledge. Edited by Rev. J. Newton Brown. 
 Illustrated by wood-cuts, maps, ar^l engravings on copper and steeL In one volume, royal 9vo. 
 Price. $4 00. 
 
 6 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.^S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Lippincott's Standard Editions of 
 
 THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. 
 
 IN SIX DIFFERENT SIZES. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH A NUMBER OF STFIEL PLATES AND ILLUMINATIONS. 
 COMPREHENDING THE MOST VARIED AND SPLENDID ASSORTMENT IN THE 
 
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 THE ILLUMINATED OHAVO PRAYER-BOOK, 
 
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 The Errors of Modern Infidelity Illustrated and Refuted. 
 
 BY S. IVI. SCHIVIUCKER, A. M. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo.; cloth. Just published. 
 
 We cannot but regard this work, in whatever light we view it in reference to its design, as one 
 of the most masterly productions of the age, and fitted to unroot one of the most fondly chenshed 
 and dangerous of all ancient or modem errors. God must bless such a work, armed with his own 
 truth, and doing fierce and successful battle against black infidelity, which would bring His Majesty 
 and Word down to the tribunal of human reason, for condemnation and annihilation.— Alb. Spectator 
 
 7 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Clergq nf Slnurira 
 
 ♦ 
 
 ♦ 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 ANECDOTES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE CHARACTER OF MINISTERS OF RELI¬ 
 GION IN THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 BY JOSEPH BELCHER, D.D., 
 
 Editor of “The Complete Works of Andrew Fuller,” “Robert Hall,” &c. 
 
 “This very interesting: and instructive co'lection of pleasing: and solemn remembrances of many 
 pious men, illustrates the character of the day in which they lived, and dediies the men more 
 clearly than very elaborate essays.” — Baltimore American. 
 
 “ We regard the collection as highly interesting, and judiciously made.” — Presbyterian. 
 
 JOSEPHUS’S (FLAVIUS) WORKS, 
 
 FAMILY EDITION. 
 
 BY THE LATE WILLIAM WHISTON, A. M. 
 
 FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION, COMPLETE. 
 
 One volume, beautifully illustrated with Steel Plates, and the only readable edition 
 
 published in this country. 
 
 As a matter of course, every family in our co'uitry has a copy of the Holy Bible; and as the pre¬ 
 sumption is that the greater portion often consult its pages, we take the liberty of saying to all those 
 that do, that the perusal of the writings of Josephus will be found very interesting and instructive. 
 
 All those who wish to possess a beautiful and correct copy of this valuable work, would do well 
 to purchase this edition. It is for sale at all the principal bookstores in the United States, and by 
 country merchants generally in the Southern and Western States. 
 
 Also, the above work in two volumes. 
 
 BURDER’S VILLAGE SERMONS; 
 
 Or, 101 Plain and Short Disconraes on the Principal Doctrines of the Gospel. 
 
 INTENDED FOR THE USE OF FAMILIES, SUNDAY-SCHOOLS, OR COMPANIES ASSEM¬ 
 BLED FOR RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION IN COUNTRY VILLAGES. 
 
 BY GEORG-E BURDER. 
 
 To which is added to each Sermon, a Short Prayer, with some General Prayers for Families, 
 
 Schools, Ac., at the end of the work. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 These sermons, which are characterized by a beautiful simplicity, the entire absence of contro¬ 
 versy, and a true evangelical spirit, have gone through many and large editions, and been translated 
 into several of the continental languages. “ They have also been the honoured means not only of 
 converting many individuals, but also of introducing the Gospel into districts, and even into parish 
 churches, where before it was comparatively unknown.” 
 
 “ This work fully deserves the immortality it has attained.” 
 
 This is a fine library edition of this invaluable work; and when we say that it should be found in 
 the possession of every family, we only reiterate the sentiments and sincere wishes of all who take 
 a deep interest in the eternal welfare of mankind. - 
 
 FAMILY PRAYERS AND HYMNS, 
 
 ADAPTED TO FAMILY WORSHIP, 
 
 AND 
 
 TABLES FOR THE REGULAR READING OF THE SCRIPTURES, 
 
 By Kev. S. C. Winchester, A. M., 
 
 Ute Pastor of the Sixth Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia; and the Preshyterian Church m 
 
 Natchez, Miss. 
 
 One volume, 12mo. 
 
 8 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SPLENDID LIBRARY EDITIONS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED STANDARD POETS. 
 
 fclLEGANTLY PRINTED, ON FINE PAPER, AND UNIFORM IN SIZE AND 
 
 STYLE. 
 
 Tie following Editions of Standard British Poets are illustrated with numerous Sve«l 
 Engravings, and may be had in all varieties of binding. 
 
 BYRON'S WORKS. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 INCLUDING ALL HIS SUPPRESSED AND ATTRIBUTED POEMS; WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL 
 
 ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 This edition has been carefully compared with the recent London edition of Mr. Murray, and 
 made complete by the addition of more than fifty pages of poems heretofore unpublished in Eng¬ 
 land. Among these there are a number that have never appeared in any Amencan edition; and 
 the publishers believe they are warranted in saying that this is the most complete edition of Lord 
 Byron’s Poetical Works ever published in the United States. 
 
 €\)t l^ortiral ^nrb nf Mrs. Mtmm. 
 
 Complete in one volume, octavo; with seven beautiful Engravings. 
 
 This is a new and complete edition, with a splendid engraved likeness of Mrs. Remans, on steel, 
 and contains all the Poems in the last London and American editions. With a Critical Prefac« by 
 Mr. Thatcher, of Boston. 
 
 “As no work in the English language can be commended with more confidence, it will argue bad 
 taste in a female in this country to be without a complete edition of the writings of one who was 
 an honour to her sex and to humanity, and whose productions, from first to last, contain no syllable 
 calculated to call a blush to the cheek of modesty and virtue. There is, moreover, in Mrs. Hemans’s 
 poetry, a moral purity and a religious feeling which commend it, in an especial manner, to the dis¬ 
 criminating reader. No parent or guardian will be under the necessityjof imposing restrictions 
 with regard to the free perusal of every production emanating from this gifted woman. There 
 breathes throughout the whole a most eminent exemption from impropriety of thought or diction; 
 and there is at times a pensiveness of tone, a winning sadness in her more serious compositions, 
 which tells of a soul which has been lifted from the contemplation of terrestrial things, to divine 
 eommunings with beings of a purer world.” 
 
 MILTON, YOUNG, GRAY, BEATTIE, AND COLLINS’S 
 
 POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS-. 
 
 Cniuptr nni ^jinrasnn'H ^im nnii f attitnl IBotb. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 mcluding two hundred and fifty Letters, and sundry Poems of Cowper, never before pubhshed in 
 this country; and of Thomson a new and interesting Memoir, and upwards of twenty 
 new Poems, for the first time printed from his own Manuscripts, taken from 
 a late Edition of the Aldine Poets, now publishing in London. 
 
 WITH SEVEN BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 The distinguished Profes-sor Silliman, speaking of this edition, observes: “ I am as much gratified 
 by the elegance and fine taste of your edition, as by the noble tribute of genius and moral excel¬ 
 lence which these delightful authors have left for all future generations; and Cowper, especially, 
 is not less conspicuous as a true Christian, moralist and teacher, thsm as a poet of great power 
 exquisite taste.” 
 
 9 
 
LIPPINCOTT, ORAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROGERS, CAMPBELL, MONTGOMERY, 
 
 LAMB, AND KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL E N G-R A V I N G-S . 
 
 The beauty, correctness, and convenience of this favourite edition of these standard authors are 
 so well known, that it is scarcely necessary to add a word in its favour. It is only necessary to say, 
 that the publishers have now issued an illustrated edition, which greatly enhances its former value. 
 The engravings are excellent and well selected. It is the best library edition extant. 
 
 CRABBE, HEBER, AND POLLOK’S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL ENG-RAVINGS. 
 
 A writer in the Boston Traveller holds the following language with reference to these valuable 
 editions 
 
 “ Mr. Editor: — I wish, without any idea of puffing, to say a word or two upon the ‘ Library of 
 English Poets’ that is now published at Philadelphia, by Lippincott, Grambo <fe Co. It is certainly, 
 taking into consideration the elegant manner in which it is printed, and the reasonable price at 
 wiiich it is afforded to purchasers, the best edition of the modem British Poets that has ever been 
 published in this country. Each volume is an octavo of about 500 pages, double columns, steneo- 
 typed. and accompanied with fine engravings and biographical sketches; and most of them are 
 reprinted from Galignani’s French edition. As to its value, we need only mention that it contains 
 the entire works of Montgomery, Gray, Beattie, Collins, Byron, Cowper, Thomson, Milton, Voung, 
 Rogers, Campbell, Lamb, Hemans, Heber, Kirke White, Crabbe, the Miscellaneous Works of Gold¬ 
 smith, and other masters of the lyre. The publishers are doing a great service by their publication, 
 and their volumes are almost in as great demand as the fashionable novels of the day; and they 
 deserve to be so: for they are certainly printed in a style superior to that in which we have before 
 hatl the works of the English Poets.” 
 
 No library can be considered complete without a copy of the above beautiful and cheap editions 
 of the English Poets; and persons ordering all or any of them, will please say Lippincott, Grambo 
 A Co.’s illustrated editions. 
 
 A COMPLETE 
 
 liftionimi Df ^ortital (HxuntatiDns: 
 
 COMPRISING THE MOST EXCELLENT AND APPROPRIATE PASSAGES IN 
 THE OLD BRITISH POETS; WITH CHOICE AND COPIOUS SELEC¬ 
 TIONS FROM THE BEST MODERN BRITISH AND 
 AMERICAN POETS. 
 
 EDITED BY SARAH JOSEPHA HALE. 
 
 As nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, 
 
 So poets live upon the living light 
 Of Nature and of Beauty. 
 
 Bailey's Festus. 
 
 Be«utlfuI1y illustrated with Engravings. In one super-royal octavo volume, in various 
 
 bindings. 
 
 The publishers extract, from the many highly complimentary notices of the above valuable and 
 beautiful work, the following: 
 
 “We have at la.st a volume of Poetical Quotations worthy of the name. It contains nearly six 
 hundred octavo pages, carefully and tastefully selected from all the home and foreign authors of 
 celebrity. It is invaluable to a writer, while to the ordinary retider it presents every subject at a 
 glance.”— Godey's Lady's Booh. 
 
 “The plan or idea of Mrs. Hide’s work is felicitous. It is one for which her fine taste, her orderly 
 iiabitsof mind, and her long occupation with literature, has given her peculiar facilities; and tho¬ 
 roughly has she accomplished her task in the work before ns.” — Sartain's Magazine. 
 
 “ It is a choice collection of poetical extracts from every English and American author worth 
 l>«rus)ng, from the days of Chaucer to the present time.” -WushiTigton Union. 
 
 ” There is notlung negative about this work; it is positively giKid.”— Evening Bulletin. 
 
 10 
 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMCO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE DIAMOND EDITION OF BYRON. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKg OF LORD BYRON, 
 
 WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE NEAT DUODECIMO VOLUME, WITH STEEL PLATES. 
 
 The type of this edition is so perfect, and it is pnnted with so much care, on fine white paper, 
 that it can be read with as much ease as most of t)ie larger editions. This work is to be had hk 
 plain and superb binding, making a beautiful volume for a gift. 
 
 “ The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, complete in one volume ; published by L., G. A Co., Phila¬ 
 delphia. We hazard nothing in saying that, take it altogether, this is the most elegant work ever 
 issued from the American pre.ss. 
 
 “‘In a single volume, not larger than an ordinary duodecimo, the publishers have embraced the 
 whole of Lord Byron’s Poems, usually jiriiited in ten or twelve volumes; and, what is more remark¬ 
 able, have done it with a type so clear and distinct, that, notwithstanding its necessarily small size, 
 it may be read with the utmost facility, even by failing eyes The book is stereotyped ; and never 
 have we seen a finer specimen of that art. Everything about it is perfect — the paper, the print¬ 
 ing, the binding, all correspond with each other; and it is embellished with two fine engravings, 
 well worthy the companionship in which they are placed. 
 
 “ ‘ This will make a beautiful Christmas present.’ 
 
 “ We e.xtract the above from Godey’s Lauy’s Book. The notice itself, we are given to understand. 
 IS written by Mrs. Hale. 
 
 “ We have to add our commendation in favour of this beautiful volume, a copy of which has 
 been sent us by the publishers. The admirers of the noble bard will feel obliged to the enterprise 
 which has prompted the publishers to dare a competition with the numerous editions of liis works 
 already in circulation; and we shall be surprised if this convenient travelling edition does not in a 
 great degree supersede the use of the large octavo works, which have little advantage in size ana 
 openness of type, and are much inferior in the qualities of portability and lightness.” — Intelligencer. 
 
 THE DIAMOND EDITION OF MOORE. 
 
 (corresponding with BYRON.) 
 
 THE POETICAL WORI^OF THOMAS MOORE, 
 
 COLLECTED BY HIMSELF. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 Tnis work is published uniform with Byron, from the last London edition, and is the most com¬ 
 plete printed in the country. • 
 
 THE DIAMOND EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 (COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME,) 
 
 iiTCiiUDirrG A sKE'rcia of his IsIth. 
 
 UNIFORM WITH BYRON AND MOORE. 
 
 THK AhUVK WORKS C.XN SR HAD IN SEVERAL VARIETIES OP BINDING. 
 
 GOLDSMITH’S ANIMATED NATURE. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, OCTAVO. 
 
 BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH 385 PLATES. 
 
 CONTAINING A HISTORY OF THE EARTH. ANIMALS, BIRDS, AND FISHES; FORMING 
 THE MOST COMPLETE NATURAL HISTORY EVER PUBLISHED. 
 
 This is a work that should be in the library of every family, having been written by one of the 
 most talented authors in the English language. 
 
 “Goldsmith can never be made obsolete while delicate genius, exquisite feeling,fine invention, 
 'he most harmonious metre, and the happiest diction, are at all valued.” 
 
 BIGLAND’S NATURAL HISTORY 
 
 O* AsimaLi, Birds, Fishes, Reptiles, and Insects. Illustrated with numerous and beautiful Engrav 
 mgs. By JOHN BIGLAND, author of a “ View of the World,” “I«tter8 on 
 Universal History,” 3tc. Complete in 1 vol., 12mo 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE POWER AND PROGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 THE UNITED STATES; Its Power and Progress. 
 
 BY GUIIiliAUME TELL POUSSIN, 
 
 LATE MINISTER OF THE REPUBLIC OF FRANCE TO THE UNITED STATES. 
 FIRST AMERICAN, FROM THE THIRD PARIS EDITION. 
 
 TEANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY EDMOND L. DU BARRY, M. D., 
 
 SURGEON U. S. NAVY. 
 
 In one large octavo volume. 
 
 SCHOOLCRAFT’S GREAT NATIONAL WORK ON THE INDIAN TRIBES OF 
 
 THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 WITH BEAUTIFUL AND ACCURATE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 HiSTOBIdAL AND STATESTIOAl INFORMATION 
 
 RESPKCTINO TKK 
 
 HISTORY, CONDITION AND PROSPECTS 
 
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 COLLECTED AND PREPARED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE BUREAU OF HJDIAN 
 
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 BY HENRY R. SCHOOLCRiiPT, 
 
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 ADAPTED TO THE CLIMATE AND SEASONS OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Containing a complete account of all the work necessary to be done in the Kitchen Garden, Fruit 
 Garden, Orchard, Vineyard, Nursery, Pleasure-Ground, Flower Garden, Green-house, Hot-house, 
 and Forcing Frames, for every month in the year; with ample Practical Directions for performing 
 the same. 
 
 Also, general as well as minute instructions for laying out or erecting each and every of the above 
 departments, according to modern taste and the most approved plans; the Ornamental Planting of 
 Pleasure Grounds, in the ancient and modern style; the cultivation of Thom Quicks, and other 
 plants suitable for Live Hedges, with the best methods of making them, <tc. To which are annexe 
 catalogues of Kitchen Garden Plants and Herbs; Aromatic. Pot, and Sweet Herbs; Medicinal 
 Plants, and the most important Grapes, <kc., used in rural economy; with the soil best adapted to 
 their cultivation. Together with a copious Index to the body of the work. 
 
 BY BERNARD M'MAHON. 
 
 Tenth Edition, greatly improved. In one volume, octava 
 
 THE USEFUL AND THE BEAUTIFUL; 
 
 OK. DOMESTIC AND MORAL DUTIES NECESSARY TO SOCIAL HAPPINESS. 
 
 BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 16mo. square cloth. Price 50 and 75 cents. 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMB(3 & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE FARMER’S AND PLANTER’S ENCYCLOP/EDIA. 
 
 /armor's n't filmin'^ (gnqtlnpirMa nf Rttml affairs. 
 
 BY CUTHBERT W. JOHNSON. 
 
 ADAPTED TO THE UNITED STATES BY GOUVERNEUR EMERSON. 
 
 nioatrated by seventeen beautiful Engravings of Cattle, Horses, Sheep, the varieties of Wheat, 
 Barley, Oats, Grasses, the Weeds of Ag^riculture, <kc.; besides numerous Engrav¬ 
 ings on wood of the most important implements of Agriculture, <kc. 
 
 This standard work contains the latest and best information upon all subjects connected with 
 burning, and appertaining to the country; treating of the great crops of grain, hay, cotton, hemp, 
 tobacco, rice, sugar, <kc. <5tc.; of horses and mules; of cattle, with minute particulars relating to 
 eheese and butter-making; of fowls, including a description of capon-making, with drawings of the 
 instruments employed; of bees, and the Russian and other systems of managing bees and con¬ 
 structing hives. Long articles on the uses and preparation of bones, lime, guano, and all sorts of 
 animal, mineral, and vegetable substances employed as manures. Descriptions of the most approved 
 ploughs, harrows, threshers, and every other agricultural machine and implement; of fruit and 
 shade trees, forest trees, and shrubs; of weeds, and alt kinds of flies, and destructive worms and 
 msects, and the best means of getting rid of them; together with a thousand other matters relating 
 o rural life, about which information is so constaDtly desired by all residents of the country. 
 
 IN ONE LARGE OCTAVO VOLUME. 
 
 MASON’S FARRIER-FARMERS’ EDITION. 
 
 Price, 62 cents. 
 
 THE PRACTICAL FARRIER, FOR FARMERS: 
 
 COMPRIBINO A GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE NOBLE AND DSEFDL ANIMAL, 
 
 THE HORSE; 
 
 WITH MODES OF MANAGEMENT IN ALL CASES, AND TREATMENT IN DISEASE. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 A PRIZE ESSAY ON MULES | AND AN APPENDIX, 
 
 Containing Recipes for Diseases of Horses. Oxen, Cows, Calves, Sheep, Dogs, Swine, die. Ac. 
 
 BV RICHARD iyi.A.SO^, M. D., 
 
 Formerly of Surry County, Virginia. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo.; bound in cloth, gilt. 
 
 MASON’S FARRIER AND STUD-BOOK-NEW EDITION. 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN’S NEW POCKET FARRIER: 
 
 COMPRISING A general DESCRIPTION OF THE NOBLE AND DSEFDL ANIMAL, 
 
 THE HORSE; 
 
 WITH MODES OF MANAGEMENT IN ALL CASES, AND TREATMENT IN DISEASE.. 
 
 BV RIC11R.RD IHR-SOXT, M. D., 
 
 Formerly of Surry County, Virginia. 
 
 /o which is added, A PRIZE ESSAY ON MULES; and AN APPENDIX, containing Recipes loe 
 Diseases of Horses, Oxen, Cows, Calves, Sheep, Dogs, Swine, dtc. <kc.; with Annals 
 of the Turf, Amencan Stud-Book, Rules for Training, Racing, <ko 
 
 WITH A SUPPLEMENT,' 
 
 Comprising an Essay on Domestic Animals, especially the Home; with Remarks on Treatment aaa 
 Breeding; together with Trotting and Racing Tables, shoM mg the best time on record at on* 
 two, three and four mile heats ; Pedigrees of Winning Horses, since 1839, and of the mort 
 eelebrated Stallions and Mares; with useful Calving and Lambing Tables. By 
 J. S. SKINNER, Editor now of the Farmer’s Library, New York, Jto. Ac. 
 
 B 13 
 
LIPPINCOTT, ORAMBO k CO.’S PDBLICATION8. 
 
 HINDS’S FARRIERY AND STUD-BOOK-NEW EDITION. 
 
 FARRIERY, 
 
 TAUGHT ON A NEW AND EASY PLAN: 
 
 BEING 
 
 a €rtnti0E nn tljE BisEastH nni SltrihEta nf tjiE Inr®; 
 
 Yith Instructions to the Shoeing Smith, Farrier, and Groom; preceded by a Popular Description ol 
 the Animal Functions in Health, and how these are to be restored when disordered. 
 
 BY JOHN HINDS, VETERINARY SURGEON. 
 
 With considerable Additions and Improvements, particularly adapted to this country, 
 
 BY THOMAS M. SMITH, 
 
 Veterinary Surgeon, and Member of the London Veterinary Medical Society, 
 
 WITH A SUPPLEMENT, BY J. 8. SKINNER. 
 
 The publishers have received numerous flattering notices of the great practical value of these 
 works. The distinguished editor of the American Farmer, speaking of them, observes:—“We 
 cannot too highly recommend these books, and therefore advise every owner of a horse to obtain 
 them.” 
 
 “ There are receipts in those books that show how Founder may be cured, and the traveller pur¬ 
 sue his journey the next day, by giving a tablespoonful of alum. This was got from Dr. P. Thomtcn, 
 of Montpelier, Rappahannock county, Virginia, as founded on his own observation in several cases.” 
 
 “The constant demand for Mason’s and Hinds’s Farrier has induced the publishers, Messrs. Lip- 
 pincotL Grambo <fe Co., to put forth new editions, with a ‘ Supplement’ of 100 pages, by J. S. Skinner, 
 Esq. We should have sought to render an acceptable service to our agricultural readers, by giving 
 a chapter from the Supplement, ‘On the Relations between Man and the Domestic Animals, espe¬ 
 cially the Horse, and the Obligations they impose ;’ or the one on ‘ The Form of Animals;’ but tnat 
 either one of them would overrun the space here allotted to such subjects.” 
 
 “ Lists of Medicines, and other articles which ought to be at hand about every training and livery 
 stable, and every Farmer’s and Breeder’s establishment, will be found in these valuable works.” 
 
 TO CARPENTERS AND MECHANICS. 
 
 Just Published. 
 
 A NEW AND IMPROVED EDITION OP 
 
 THE CARPENTER^S NEW GUIDE, 
 
 BEING A COMPLETE BOOK OF LINES FOB 
 
 iI.RPEM’TRTr ANiy JOIirRR?; 
 
 Treating fully on Practical Geometry, SaflBl’s Brick and Plaster Groins, N iches of every deeoriptioD, 
 Sky-lights, Lines for Roofs and Domes; with a great variety of Designs for Roofs, 
 
 Trussed Girders, Floors, Domes, Bridges, <fec.. Angle Bars for Shop 
 Fronts, <5ic., and Raking Mouldings. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 Additional Plans for various Stair-Cases, with the Lines for producing the Face and Falling Moulda 
 never before published, and greatly superior to those given in a former edition of this work. 
 
 BY WILLIAM JOHNSON, ARCHITECT. 
 
 OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 rhe whole founded on true Geometrical Principles; the Theory and Practice well explained and 
 fully exemplified, on eighty-three copper plates, including some Observations and Calculations on 
 iUe Strength of Timber 
 
 BY PETER NICHOLSON, 
 
 auttkor at “The Carpenter and Jomer’s Assistant,” “The Student’s Instructor to Om ftwm 
 
 Orders,” <5mj. 
 
 Thirteenth Edition. One volume, 4to., well bound. 
 
 14 
 
LIPPINCOTT, QRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 A DICTIONARY OF SELECT AND POPULAR QUOTATIONS, 
 
 WHICH ARE IN DAILY USE. 
 
 TAKEN FROM THE LATIN, FRENCH, GRJiEK. SPANISH AND ITALIAN LANGUAGES. 
 Together with a copious Collection of Law Maxims and Law Terms, translated into 
 English, with Illustrations, Historical and Idiomatic. 
 
 NEW AMERICAN EDITION. CORRECTED. WITH ADDITIONS. 
 
 One volume, 12mo. 
 
 This volume comprises a copious collection of legal and other terms which are in common use, 
 vrth English translations and historical illustrations; and we should judge its author had surely 
 een to a great “ Feast of Languages,” and stole all the scraps. A work of this character should 
 have an extensive sale, as it entirely obviates a serious difficulty in which most readers are involved 
 by the frequent oticurrence of Latin, Greek, and French passages, which we suppose are introduced 
 by authors for a mere show of learning — a difficulty very perplexing to readers in general. This 
 “ Dictionary of Quotations,” concerning which too much cannot be said in its favour, effectually 
 removes the difficulty, and gives the reader an advantage over the author; for we believe a majority 
 are themselves ignorant of the meaning of the terms they employ. Very few truly learned authors 
 will insult their readers by introducing Latin or French quotations in their writings, when “ plain 
 English” will do as well; but we will not enlarge on this point. 
 
 If the book is useful to those unacquainted with other languages, it is no less valuable to the 
 classically educated as a book of reference, and answers all the purposes of a Lexicon — indeed, on 
 many accounts, it is better. It saves the trouble of tumbling over the larger volumes, to which 
 every one, and especially those engaged in the legal profession, are verv often subjected. It should 
 have a place in every library in the country. 
 
 RUSCHENBERGER’S 
 
 COMPLETE, WITH 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY', 
 
 NEW GLOSSARY. 
 
 d^lrnuntfi 
 
 EMBRACING ZOOLOGY. 
 
 3)loturaI listorq, 
 
 BOTANY AND GEOLOGY! 
 
 FOR SCHOOLS. COLLEGES AND FAMILIES. 
 
 BV W. S. W. RUSCHBNBBBGBB, BI. D. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 WITH NEARLY ONE THOUSAND ILLUSTRATIONS, AND A COPIOUS GLOSSARY. 
 VoL L contains Vertebrate Animals. Vol. 11. contains Intervertebrate Amnuds, Botany, and Otology. 
 
 A Beautiful and Valuable Presentation Book. 
 
 THE POET'S OFFERING. 
 
 EDITED BY MRS. HALE. 
 
 With a Portrait of the Editress, a Splendid Illuminated Title-Page, and Twelve Beautiful Engrav¬ 
 ings by Sartain. Bound in rich Turkey Morocco, and Extra Cloth, Gilt Edge. 
 
 To those who wish to make a present that will never lose its value, this will be found the most 
 desirable Gift-Book ever published. 
 
 “ W'e commend it to all who desire to present a friend vvith a volume not only very beautiful, but 
 of solid mtnusic value.” — Waskinoton Union. 
 
 “A perfect treasury of the thoughts and fancies of the best English and American Poets. The 
 paiier and printing are beautiful, and the binding rich, elegant, and substantial; the most sensible 
 and attractive of all the elegant gift-books we have seen.” — Evening Bulletm. 
 
 •‘The publishers deserve the thanks of the public for so happy a thought, so well executed. The 
 engravings are by the best artists, and the other portions of the work correspond in elegance.”-- 
 Public Ledger. 
 
 “ There is no book of selections so diversified and appropriate within our knowledge.”— Pennsylv’n. 
 
 * It is one of the most valuable as well as elegant books ever published in this country.”— Godey’t 
 Lady's Book. 
 
 “ K 18 the must beautifUi and the must useful offering ever bestowed on the y ublic. No individaaJ 
 of literary taste will venture to be without it.”— The City Item 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOMINICAN; 
 
 OR, THE MYSTERIES OF THE INQUISITION, 
 
 AND OTHER SECRET SOCIETIES OF SPAIN. 
 
 BY M. V. DE FEREAL. 
 
 WITH HISTORICAL NOTES, BY M. MANUEL DE CUENDIAS 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS BY FRENCH ARTISTS 
 
 One volume, octavo. 
 
 SAY’S POLITICAL ECONOMY. ' 
 
 A TREATISE ON POLITICAL ECONOMY;. 
 
 Or, The Production, Distribution and Consumption of Wealth. 
 
 BTT JBiLST BilFTISTi: SAH, 
 
 FIFTH AMERICAN EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES, 
 BY C. C. BIDDLE, Esq. 
 
 In one volume, octavo. 
 
 It would be beneficial to our country if all those who are aspiring to oflfice, were required by then 
 constituents to be familiar with the pages of Say. 
 
 The distinguished biographer of the author, in noticing this work, observes: “ Happily for science 
 he commenced that study which forms the basis of his admirable Treatise on Political Economy; ■ 
 work which not only improved under his hand with every successive edition, but has been translated 
 into roost of the European languages.” 
 
 The Editor of the North American Review, speaking of Say, observes, that “ he is the mo«t 
 popular, and perhaps the most able writer on Political Economy, since the time of Smith.” 
 
 LAURENCE STERNE’S WORKS, 
 
 WITH A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR: 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 WITH SEVEN BEAUTIFUL ILLUSTRATIONS, ENGRAVED BY GILBERT AND GIHON, 
 
 FROM DESIGNS BY DARLEY. 
 
 One volume, octavo; cloth, gilt. 
 
 To commend or to criticise Sterne’s Works, in this age of the world, would be all “ wasteful and 
 extravagant excess.” Uncle Toby — Corporal Trim — the Widow—Le Fevre — Poor Maria—the 
 Captive — even the Dead Ass, — this is all we have to say of Sterne; and in the memory of these 
 characters, histories, and sketches, a thousand follies and worse than follies are forgotten. The 
 volume is E very handsome one. 
 
 ^THE MEXICAN WAR AND ITS HEROES, 
 
 BEING 
 
 A COMPLETE HISTOEY OP THE MEXICAN WAR, 
 
 EMBRACING ALL THE OPERATIONS UNDER GENERALS TAYLOR AND SCOTT. 
 WITH A BIOG-RAPHY OF THE OFFICERS, 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONQUEST OF CALIFORNIA AND NEW MEXICO, 
 
 Under Cren. Kearny Cols. Doniphan and Fremont. Together with Numerous Anecdotes of the 
 War, and Personal Adventures of the Officers. Illustrated with Accurate 
 Portraits, and other Beautiful Engravings. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo. 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GKAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NEW AND COMPLETE COOK-BOOK. 
 
 THE PRACTIcTl COOK-BOOK, 
 
 CONTAINING GPWARDS OF 
 
 ONH TIIOX7SAI7D RIICZIIFTS, 
 
 Consistini; of Directions for Selecting, Preparing, and Cooking all kinds of Meats, Fish, Poultry, and 
 Game; Soups, Broths, Vegetables, and Salads. Also, tor making all kinds of Plain and 
 Fancj Breads, Pastes, Puddings, Cakes, Creams, Ices, Jellies, Preserves, Marma¬ 
 lades, <tc. <Scc. <tc. Together with various Miscellaneous Recipes, 
 and numerous Preparations for Invalids. 
 
 BY MRS. BLISS. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo 
 
 €^t iCitij SiiKitinnt; nr, €ljt SStislrrinns /ailnrr. 
 
 BY J. B. JONES, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “WILD WESTERN SCENES,” “THE WESTERN MERCHANT,” An. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH TEN ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo. 
 
 CALIFORNIA AND OREGON; 
 
 OR, SIGHTS IN THE GOLD REGION, AND SCENES BY THE WAY, 
 
 BY THEODORE T. JOHNSON. 
 
 WITH NOTES, BY HON. SAMUEL R. THURSTON 
 
 Delegate to Congress from that Territory, 
 
 With numerous Plates and Maps. 
 
 AUNT PHILLIS’S CABIN; 
 
 OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS 
 
 BY MRS. MARY H. EASTMAN. 
 
 PRICE, 50 AND 75 CENTS. 
 
 This volume presents a picture of Southern Life, taken at different points of view from the one 
 occupied by the authoress of “C/hcte Tom's Cabin." The writer, being a native of the South, is fa¬ 
 miliar with the many varied aspects assumed by domestic servitude in that sunny region, and there¬ 
 fore feels competent to give pictures of “Southern Life, as it is.” 
 
 Pledged to no clique or party, and free from the pressure of any and all extraneous influence*, 
 she has written her book with a view to its truthfulness; and the public at the North, as well as 
 at the South, will find in “ Aunt Phillis’s Cabin” not the distorted picture of an interested painter, 
 but the faithful transcript of a Daguerreotypist. 
 
 AVINDICATION OF THE IDEA OF HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENTS 
 
 BY PHILIP SCHAF. 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 B* 
 
 lu one volume, 12mo 
 
 17 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 DODD’S LECTURES. 
 
 DISCOURSES TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS HIGHLY INTERESTING ANECDOTES. 
 
 BT WILUAia DODD, DD. D., 
 
 CHAPLAIN IN ORDINARY TO HIS MAJESTY GEORGE THE THIRD. 
 
 FIRST AMERICAN EDITION, WITH ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 One volume, 18mo. 
 
 THE IRIS: 
 
 AN ORIGINAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 With Contributions from the First Writers in the Country. 
 
 EDITED BY PROP. JOHN S. HART. 
 
 With Splendid Illuminations and Steel Engraving. . Bound in Turkey Morocco and rich Papier 
 
 Mache Binding. 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 
 
 Its contents are entirely original. Among the contributors are names well known in the republic 
 of letters; such as Mr. Boker, Mr. Stoddard, Prof. Molfat, Edith May, Mrs. Sigourney, Caroline May, 
 Mrs. Kinney, Mrs. Butler, Mrs. Pease, Mrs. Swift, Mr. Van Bibber, Rev. Charles T. Brooks, Mrs. 
 Dorr, Erastus W. Ellsworth, Miss E. W. Barnes, Mrs. Williams, Mary Young, Dr. Gardette, Alice 
 Carey, Phebe Carey, Augusta Browne, Hamilton Browne, Caroline Eustis, Margaret Junkin, Miuia 
 J, B. Browne, Miss Starr, Mrs. Brotherson, Kate Campbell, <tc. 
 
 denis ixm ttje |arreb Mine; 
 
 OR, HOLY THOUGHTS UPON SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 BY CLERGYMEN OF THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH. 
 
 EDITED BY THOMAS WYATT, A.M. 
 
 • « 
 
 In one volume, 12mo. 
 
 WITH SEVEN BEAUTIFUL STEEL ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 The contents of this work are chiefly by clergymen of the Episcopal Church. Among the con¬ 
 tributors will be found the names of the Right Rev. Bishop Potter, Bishop Hopkins, Bishop Smith, 
 Bishop Johns, and Bishop Doane; and the Rev. Drs. H. V. D. Johns, Coleman, and Butler; Rev. 6. 
 T. Bedell, M'Cabe, Ogilsby, <kc. The illustrations are rich and exquisitely wrought engravings upon 
 t.ie following subjects:—“Samuel before Eli,” “Peter and John healing the Lame Man,” “The 
 Resurrection of Christ,” “Joseph sold by his Brethren,” “The Tables of the Law,” “Christ’s 
 Agony in the Garden,” and “ The Flight into Egypt.” These subjects, with many others in proM 
 and verse, are ably treated throughout the work. 
 
 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY EXEMPLIFIED, 
 
 In the Frivate« Domestic, Social, and Civil Life of the Primitive 
 Christians, and in the Original Institutions, OlHces, 
 Ordinances, and Rites of the Church* 
 
 BY REV. LYMAN COLEMAN, D.D. 
 
 In one volume 8vo. Price $2 50. 
 
 18 
 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 LONZ POWERS; Or, The Regulators. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF KENTUCKY. 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACTS. 
 
 BY JAmES WEIR, ESQ. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 The scenes, characters, and incidents m these rolumes have been copied from nature, and from 
 leal life. They are represented as taking place at that period in the history of Kentucky, when 
 the Indian, driven, after many a hard-fought field, from his favourite hunting-ground, was succeeded 
 by a rude and unlettered population, interspersed with organized bands of desperadoes, scarcely 
 less savage than the red men they had displaced. The author possesses a vigorous and graphic 
 pen, and has produced a very interesting romance, which gives us a striking portrait of the times 
 he describes. 
 
 A PRACTICAL TREATISE ON BUSINESS; 
 
 OR, HOW TO GET, SAVE, SPEND, GIVE, LEND, AND BEQUEATH MONEY; 
 
 WITH AN INQUIRY INTO THE CHANCES OF SUCCESS AND CAUSES 
 
 OF FAILURE IN BUSINESS. 
 
 BY EDWIN T. FREEDLY. 
 
 Also, Prize Essays, Statistics, Miscellanies, and numerous private letters from successful and 
 
 distinguished business men. 
 
 12mo., cloth. Price One Dollar. 
 
 The object of this treatise is fourfold. First, the elevation of the business character, and to define 
 clearly the limits within which it is not only proper but obligatory to get money. Secondly, to lay 
 down the principles which must be observed to insure success, and what must be avoided to escape 
 failure. Thirdly, to give the mode of management in certain prominent pursuits adopted by the 
 most successful, from which men in all kinds of business may derive profitable hints. Fourthly, to 
 afford a work of solid interest to those who read without expectation of pecuniary benefit. 
 
 A MANUAL OF POLITENESS, 
 
 COMPRISINO THB 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF ETIQUEUE AND RULES OF BEHAVIOUR 
 
 IN GENTEEL SOCIETY, FOR PERSONS OP BOTH SEXES. 
 
 18mo., with Plates. 
 
 Book of Politeness. 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN AND LADY^S 
 
 BOOK OF POLITENESS AND PROPRIETY OF DEPORTMENl 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE YOUTH OP BOTH SEXES. 
 
 BY MADAIVIE CELNART. 
 
 Translated from the Sixth Paris Edition, Enlarged and Improved. 
 
 Fifth American Fdition. 
 
 One volume, 18mo. 
 
 THE ANTEDILUVIANS; Or, The World Destroyed. 
 
 A NARRATIVE POEM, IN TEN BOOKS. 
 
 BY JAMES M‘HENRY, M.D. 
 
 One volume, 18mo 
 
 19 
 
LIPPmCOTT, GRAJIBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Bennett’s (Rev. John) Letters to a Young Lady, 
 
 ON A VARIETY OF SUBJECTS CALCULATED TO IMPROVE THE HEART, 
 
 TO FORM THE MANNERS. AND ENLIGHTEN THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 “ That our daughters may be as polished comers of the temple.” 
 
 The pubUshers sincerely hope (for the happiness of mankind) that a copy of this valuable littl* 
 work will be found the companion of every young lady, as much of the happiness of every family 
 depends on the proper cultivation of the female mind. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER’S OWN BOOK: 
 
 OR, PRACTICAL HINTS FROM A FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 One volume, 18mo. 
 
 This is one of the most practical and truly valuable treatises on the culture and discipline of the 
 fcmale mind, which has hitherto been published in this country; and the publishers are very confi* 
 dent, from the great demand for tliis invaluable little work, that ere long it will be found in the 
 library of every young lady. 
 
 THE AMERICAN CHESTERFIELD: 
 
 Or, "Yoiitli's Guide to tlie Way to Wealth, Hoioar, and Distinction," k 18nio. 
 
 CONTAINING ALSO A COMPLETE TREATISE ON THE ART OF CARVING. 
 
 ” We most cordially recommend the American Chesterfield to general attention; but to young 
 persons particularly, as one of the best work.s of the kind that has ever been published in this 
 country. It cannot be too highly appreciated, nor its perusal be unproductive of satisfaction and 
 usefulness.” 
 
 SENECA’S MORALS. 
 
 BY WAY OF ABSTRACT TO WHICH IS ADDED, A DISCOURSE UNDER 
 THE TITLE OF AN AFTER-THOUGHT. 
 
 BY SIR ROGER L’ESTRANGE, KNT. 
 
 A new, fine edition; one volume, 18mo. 
 
 A copy of this valuable little work should be found in every family hbrary. 
 
 NEW SONG-BOOK, 
 
 drigg’s lauttiorn nnh Brsttra Inngatu; 
 
 BEING A CHOICE COLLECTION OF THE MOST FASHIONABLE SONGS, MANY OF WHICH 
 
 ARE ORIGINAL. 
 
 In one volume, 18mo. 
 
 Great care was taken, in the selection, to admit no song that contained, in the slightest degresi 
 any indelicate or improper allusions; and with great propriety it may claim the title of “ The Par¬ 
 lour Song-Book, or Songster.” The immortal Shakspeare observes — 
 
 “ The man that hath not music in himself, 
 
 Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds. 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” 
 
 ROBOTHAM’S POCKET FRENCH DICTIONARY. 
 
 CAREFULLY REVISED, 
 
 AND THE PRONUNWATiaN OF ALL THE DIFFICULT WORDS ADDED. 
 
 20 
 
LIPPINCOTT CRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY, GENTLEMAN. 
 
 COMPRISINO THE HUMOROUS ADVENTURES OF 
 
 UNCLE TOBY AND CORPORAL TRIM. 
 
 BT Ii. STBRITE. 
 
 Beautifully Illustrated by Darley* Stitched* 
 
 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. 
 
 BY L. STERNE. 
 
 Illustrated as above by Darley* Stitched* 
 
 The beauties of this author are so well known, and his errors in style and expression so lew and 
 fsr tMtween, that one reads with renewed lielight his delicate turns, iic. 
 
 THE LIFE OF GENERAL JACKSON, 
 
 WITH A LIKENESS OF THE OLD HERO. 
 
 One volume, 18mo. 
 
 LIFE OF PAUL JONES. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo. 
 
 WITH ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BY JAMES HAMILTON. 
 
 'the work is compiled from his original journals and correspondence, and includes an account of 
 his seryicea in the American Revolution, and in the war between the Russians and Turks in tho 
 Black Sea. There is scarcely any Naval Hero, of any age, who combined in his character so much 
 of the adventurous, skilful and daring, as Paul Jones. The incidents of his life are almost as start 
 ling and absorbing as those of romance. His achievements during the American Revolution—the 
 fight between the Bon Homme Richard and Serapis, the most desperate naval action on record — 
 and the alarm into which, with so small a force, he threw the coasts of England and Scotland — aro 
 matters comparatively well known to Americans; but the incidents of his subsequent career have 
 been veiled in obscurity, which is dissipated by this biography. A book like this, narrating the 
 actions of such a man, ought to meet with an extensive sale, and become as popular as Robinson 
 Crusoe in fiction, or Weems’s Life of Marion and Washington, and similar books, in fact. It con¬ 
 tains 400 pages, has a handsome portrait and medallion likeness of Jones, and is illustrated with 
 numerous original wood engravings of naval scenes and distinguished men with whom he was 
 familiar. 
 
 THE GREEK EXILE} 
 
 Or, A Narrative of the Captivity and Escape of Christophorus Plato Castanis, 
 
 DURING THE MASSACRE ON THE ISLAND OF SCIO BY THE TURKS 
 
 TOGETHER WITH VARIOUS ADVENTURES IN GREECE AND AMERICA. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF, 
 
 Author of an Essay on the Ancient and Modem Greek Languages; Interpretation of the Attribute 
 of the Pnncipal Fabulous Deities ; The Jewish Maiden of Scio’s Citadel, and 
 the Greek Boy in the Sunday-SchooL 
 
 One volume, 12mo. 
 
 THE YOUNG CHORISTER; 
 
 k CoUection of New and Beautiful Tunes, adapted to the use of Sabbath-Schools, from some of 
 most distinguished composers ; together with many of the author’s compositions. 
 
 EDITED BY MINARD W. WILSON. 
 
 21 
 
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO sl CO.’S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 CAMP LIFE or A VOLUNTEER. 
 
 A Campaign in Mexico; Or, A Glimpse at Life in Camp. 
 
 BY “ONE WHO HAS SEEN THE ELEPHANT.” 
 
 life nf deneeal 3or[ian| daqlnr, 
 
 COMPRISING A NARRATIVE OF EVENTS CONNECTED WITH HIS PROFESSIONAL 
 CAREER, AND AUTHENTIC INCIDENTS OF HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 BY J. REESE FRY AND R. T. CONRAD. 
 
 With an original and accurate Portrait, and eleven elegant Illustrations, by Darley> 
 
 In one handsome 12mo. volume. 
 
 “ It is by far the fullest and most interesting biography of General Taylor that we have ever seen.” 
 ^Richmond ( Whiff) Chronicle. 
 
 “ On the whole, we are satisfied that this volume is the most correct and comprehensive one yet 
 pubUshed.”— Hunt's Merchants' Moffazine. 
 
 “ The superiority of this edition over the ephemeral publications of the day consists in fuller and 
 more authentic accounts of his family, his early life, and Indian wars. The narrative of his pro¬ 
 ceedings in Mexico is drawn partly from reliable private letters, but chiefly from his own omcial 
 correspondence.” 
 
 ” It forms a cheap, substantial, and attractive volume, and one which should be read at the fire¬ 
 side of every famUy who desire a faithful and true life of the Old General.” 
 
 GENERAL TAYLOR AND HIS STAFF: 
 
 Comprising Memoirs of Generals Taylor, Worth, Wool, and Butler; Cols. May, Cross,Clay, Hardin, 
 Yell, Hays, and other distinguished Officers attached to General Taylor’s 
 Army. Interspersed with 
 
 NUMEROUS ANECDOTES OF THE MEXICAN WAR, 
 
 and Personal Adventures of the Officers. Compiled from Public Documents and Private CorT*- 
 
 spondence. With 
 
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