Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER VIII

  A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE

  It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling village,or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was situated themansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed miserable in the extreme,especially to an eye accustomed to the smiling neatness of Englishcottages. They stood, without any respect for regularity, on each sideof & straggling kind of unpaved street, where children, almost in aprimitive state of nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed bythe hoofs of the first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such aconsummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her closecap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out of one ofthese miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the path, and snatchingup her own charge from among the sunburnt loiterers, saluted him witha sound cuff, and transported him back to his dungeon, the littlewhite-headed varlet screaming all the while, from the very top of hislungs, a shrilly treble to the growling remonstrances of the enragedmatron. Another part in this concert was sustained by the incessantyelping of a score of idle useless curs, which followed, snarling,barking, howling, and snapping at the horses' heels; a nuisance atthat time so common in Scotland, that a French tourist, who, like othertravellers, longed to find a good and rational reason for everythinghe saw, has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of Caledonia, that thestate maintained in each village a relay of curs, called COLLIES, whoseduty it was to chase the CHEVAUX DE POSTE (too starved and exhaustedto move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet to another, till theirannoying convoy drove them to the end of their stage. The evil andremedy (such as it is) still exist: but this is remote from our presentpurpose, and is only thrown out for consideration of the collectorsunder Mr. Dent's dog bill.

  As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by toil asyears, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to the door of hishut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger, and the form and motions ofthe horses, and then assembled with his neighbours, in a little groupat the smithy, to discuss the probabilities of whence the stranger came,and where he might be going. Three or four village girls, returning fromthe well or brook with pitchers and pails upon their heads, formedmore pleasing objects; and, with their thin, short gowns and singlepetticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads, and braidedhair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could a loverof the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of their costume,or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the truth, a mereEnglishman, in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word peculiar to his nativetongue, might have wished the clothes less scanty, the feet and legssomewhat protected from the weather, the head and complexion shroudedfrom the sun, or perhaps might even have thought the whole person anddress considerably improved, by a plentiful application of spring water,with a QUANTUM SUFFICIT of soap, The whole scene was depressing; forit argued, at the first glance, at least a stagnation of industry, andperhaps of intellect. Even curiosity, the busiest passion of the idle,seemed of a listless cast in the village of Tully-Veolan: the cursaforesaid alone showed any part of its activity; with the villagers itwas passive. They stood and gazed at the handsome young officer and hisattendant, but without any of those quick motions, and eager looks, thatindicate the earnestness with which those who live in monotonous ease athome, look out for amusement abroad. Yet the physiognomy of the people,when more closely examined, was far from exhibiting the indifference ofstupidity; their features were rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave,but the very reverse of stupid; and from among the young women, anartist might have chosen more than one model, whose features and formresembled those of Minerva. The children, also, whose skins were burntblack, and whose hair was bleached white, by the influence of the sun,had a look and manner of life and interest. It seemed, upon the whole,as if poverty, and indolence, its too frequent companion, were combiningto depress the natural genius and acquired information of a hardy,intelligent, and reflecting peasantry.

  Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse slowlythrough the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan, interruptedonly in his meditations by the occasional caprioles which his chargerexhibited at the reiterated assaults of those canine Cossacks, theCOLLIES before mentioned. The village was more than half a mile long,the cottages being irregularly divided from each other by gardens, oryards, as the inhabitants called them, of different sizes, where (forit is Sixty Years since) the now universal potato was unknown, but whichwere stored with gigantic plants of KALE or colewort, encircled withgroves of nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or thenational thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty enclosure. Thebroken ground on which the village was built had never been levelled; sothat these enclosures presented declivities of every degree, here risinglike terraces, there sinking like tan-pits. The dry-stone walls whichfenced, or seemed to fence (for they were sorely breached), thesehanging gardens of Tully-Veolan, were intersected by a narrow laneleading to the common field, where the joint labour of the villagerscultivated alternate ridges and patches of rye, oats, barley, and peas,each of such minute extent, that at a little distance the unprofitablevariety of the surface resembled a tailor's book of patterns. In afew favoured instances, there appeared behind the cottages a miserablewigwam, compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf, where the wealthymight perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled horse. But almostevery hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack of turf on one sideof the door, while on the other the family dung-hill ascended in nobleemulation.

  About a bow-shot from the end of the village appeared the enclosures,proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being certain squarefields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five feet in height. Inthe centre of the exterior barrier was the upper gate of the avenue,opening under an archway, battlemented on the top, and adorned with twolarge weather-beaten mutilated masses of upright stone, which, if thetradition of the hamlet could be trusted, had once represented, at leasthad been once designed to represent, two rampant Bears, the supportersof the family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight, and of moderatelength, running between a double row of very ancient horse-chestnuts,planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to such huge height, andflourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs completely over-arched thebroad road beneath. Beyond these venerable ranks, and running parallelto them, were two high walls, of apparently the like antiquity,overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle, and other climbing plants. The avenueseemed very little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers; so thatbeing very broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed withgrass of a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a footpath, worn byoccasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way from theupper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former, opened infront of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture, with battlements onthe top, over which were seen, half-hidden by the trees of the avenue,the high steep roofs and narrow gables of the mansion, with linesindented into steps, and corners decorated with small turrets. One ofthe folding leaves of the lower gate was open, and as the sun shonefull into the court behind, a long line of brilliancy was flung uponthe aperture up the dark and gloomy avenue. It was one of those effectswhich a painter loves to represent, and mingled well with the strugglinglight which found its way between the boughs of the shady arch thatvaulted the broad green alley.

  The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost romantic; andWaverley, who had given his horse to his servant on entering the firstgate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying the grateful and coolingshade, and so much pleased with the placid ideas of rest and seclusionexcited by this confined and quiet scene, that he forgot the misery anddirt of the hamlet he had left behind him. The opening into the pavedcourtyard corresponded with the rest of the scene. The house, whichseemed to consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofedbuildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed one sideof the enclosure. It had been built at a period when castles w
ere nolonger necessary, and when the Scottish architects had not yet acquiredthe art of designing a domestic residence. The windows were numberless,but very small; the roof had some nondescript kind of projections,called bartizans, and displayed at each frequent angle a small turret,rather resembling a pepper-box than a Gothic watch-tower. Neither didthe front indicate absolute security from danger. There were loop-holesfor musketry, and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably torepel any roving band of gipsies, or resist a predatory visit fromthe Caterans of the neighbouring Highlands. Stables and other officesoccupied another side of the square. The former were low vaults, withnarrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward's groom observed,'rather a prison for murderers and larceners, and such like as aretried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christian cattle.' Above thesedungeon-looking stables were granaries, called girnels, and otheroffices, to which there was access by outside stairs of heavy masonry.Two battlemented walls, one of which faced the avenue, and the otherdivided the court from the garden, completed the enclosure.

  Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a tun-belliedpigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling in figure andproportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven, which would haveturned the brains of all the antiquaries in England, had not theworthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake of mending a neighbouringdam-dyke. This dovecot, or COLUMBARIUM, as the owner called it, was nosmall resource to a Scottish laird of that period, whose scanty rentswere eked out by the contributions levied upon the farms by these lightforagers, and the conscriptions exacted from the latter for the benefitof the table.

  Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge bear,carved in stone, predominated over a large stone basin, into which hedisgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of the country tenmiles round. It must not be forgotten, that all sorts of bears, smalland large, demi or in full proportion, were carved over the windows,upon the ends of the gables, terminated the spouts, and supported theturrets, with the ancient family motto 'BEWAR THE BAR,' cut under eachhyperborean form. The court was spacious, well paved, and perfectlyclean, there being probably another entrance behind the stables forremoving the litter. Everything around appeared solitary, and would havebeen silent, but for the continued plashing of the fountain; and thewhole scene still maintained the monastic illusion which the fancy ofWaverley had conjured up.--And here we beg permission to close a chapterof still life. [There is no particular mansion described under thename of Tully-Veolan; but the peculiarities of the description occurin various old Scottish seats. The House of Warrender upon BruntsfieldLinks, and that of Old Ravelston, belonging, the former to Sir GeorgeWarrender, the latter to Sir Alexander Keith, have both contributedseveral hints to the description in the text. The House of Dean, nearEdinburgh, has also some points of resemblance with Tully-Veolan.The author has, however, been informed, that the House of Grandtullyresembles that of the Baron of Bradwardine still more than any of theabove.]