After having satisfied his curiosity by gazing around him for a
few minutes, Waverley applied himself to the massive knocker of
the hall-door, the architrave of which bore the date 1594. But no
answer was returned, though the peal resounded through a number of
apartments, and was echoed from the court-yard walls without the
house, startling the pigeons from the venerable rotunda which they
occupied, and alarming anew even the distant village curs, which
had retired to sleep upon their respective dunghills. Tired of the
din which he created, and the unprofitable responses which it
excited, Waverley began to think that he had reached the castle of
Orgoglio as entered by the victorious Prince Arthur,—
When 'gan he loudly through the house to call,
But no man cared to answer to his cry;
There reign'd a solemn silence over all,
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.
Filled almost with expectation of beholding some 'old, old man,
with beard as white as snow,' whom he might question concerning
this deserted mansion, our hero turned to a little oaken
wicket-door, well clenched with iron-nails, which opened in the
court-yard wall at its angle with the house. It was only latched,
notwithstanding its fortified appearance, and, when opened,
admitted him into the garden, which presented a pleasant
scene. [Footnote: Footnote: At Ravelston may be seen such a garden,
which the taste of the proprietor, the author's friend and
kinsman, Sir Alexander Keith, Knight Mareschal, has judiciously
preserved. That, as well as the house is, however, of smaller
dimensions than the Baron of Bradwardine's mansion and garden are
presumed to have been.] The southern side of the house, clothed
with fruit-trees, and having many evergreens trained upon its
walls, extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace,
partly paved, partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and
choice shrubs. This elevation descended by three several flights
of steps, placed in its centre and at the extremities, into what
might be called the garden proper, and was fenced along the top by
a stone parapet with a heavy balustrade, ornamented from space to
space with huge grotesque figures of animals seated upon their
haunches, among which the favourite bear was repeatedly
introduced. Placed in the middle of the terrace between a
sashed-door opening from the house and the central flight of steps, a
huge animal of the same species supported on his head and
fore-paws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with more
diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.
The garden, which seemed to be kept with great accuracy, abounded
in fruit-trees, and exhibited a profusion of flowers and
evergreens, cut into grotesque forms. It was laid out in terraces,
which descended rank by rank from the western wall to a large
brook, which had a tranquil and smooth appearance, where it served
as a boundary to the garden; but, near the extremity, leapt in
tumult over a strong dam, or wear-head, the cause of its temporary
tranquillity, and there forming a cascade, was overlooked by an
octangular summer-house, with a gilded bear on the top by way of
vane. After this feat, the brook, assuming its natural rapid and
fierce character, escaped from the eye down a deep and wooded
dell, from the copse of which arose a massive, but ruinous tower,
the former habitation of the Barons of Bradwardine. The margin of
the brook, opposite to the garden, displayed a narrow meadow, or
haugh, as it was called, which formed a small washing-green; the
bank, which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.
The scene, though pleasing, was not quite equal to the gardens of
Alcina; yet wanted not the 'due donzellette garrule' of that
enchanted paradise, for upon the green aforesaid two bare-legged
damsels, each standing in a spacious tub, performed with their
feet the office of a patent washing-machine. These did not,
however, like the maidens of Armida, remain to greet with their
harmony the approaching guest, but, alarmed at the appearance of a
handsome stranger on the opposite side, dropped their garments (I
should say garment, to be quite correct) over their limbs, which
their occupation exposed somewhat too freely, and, with a shrill
exclamation of 'Eh, sirs!' uttered with an accent between modesty
and coquetry, sprung off like deer in different directions.
Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary
and seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the
garden alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting this
might be a gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house,
Edward descended the steps in order to meet him; but as the figure
approached, and long before he could descry its features, he was
struck with the oddity of its appearance and gestures. Sometimes
this mister wight held his hands clasped over his head, like an
Indian Jogue in the attitude of penance; sometimes he swung them
perpendicularly, like a pendulum, on each side; and anon he
slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across his breast, like the
substitute used by a hackney-coachman for his usual flogging
exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand, in a clear
frosty day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times
he hopped with great perseverance on the right foot, then
exchanged that supporter to advance in the same manner on the
left, and then putting his feet close together he hopped upon both
at once. His attire also was antiquated and extravagant. It
consisted in a sort of grey jerkin, with scarlet cuffs and slashed
sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the other parts of the dress
corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair of scarlet
stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a
turkey's feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now
perceived confirmation in his features of what the mien and
gestures had already announced. It was apparently neither idiocy
nor insanity which gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression
to a face which naturally was rather handsome, but something that
resembled a compound of both, where the simplicity of the fool was
mixed with the extravagance of a crazed imagination. He sung with
great earnestness, and not without some taste, a fragment of an
old Scottish ditty:—
False love, and hast thou play'd me this
In summer among the flowers?
I will repay thee back again
In winter among the showers.
Unless again, again, my love,
Unless you turn again;
As you with other maidens rove,
I'll smile on other men.
[Footnote: This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some
alteration in the two last lines.]
Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in
observing how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waverley,
and instantly doffed his cap, with many grotesque signals of
surprise, respect, and salutation. Edward, though with little hope
of receiving an answer to any constant question, requested to know
whether Mr. Bradwardine were at home, or where he could find any
of the domestics. The questioned party replied, and, like the
witch of Thalaba, 'still his speech was song,'—
The Knight's to the mountain
His bugle to wind;
The Lady's to greenwood
Her garland to bind.
The bower of Burd Ellen
Has moss on the floor,
That the step of Lord William
Be silent and sure.
This conveyed no information, and Edward, repeating his queries,
received a rapid answer, in which, from the haste and peculiarity
of the dialect, the word 'butler' was alone intelligible. Waverley
then requested to see the butler; upon which the fellow, with a
knowing look and nod of intelligence, made a signal to Edward to
follow, and began to dance and caper down the alley up which he
had made his approaches. A strange guide this, thought Edward, and
not much unlike one of Shakespeare's roynish clowns. I am not over
prudent to trust to his pilotage; but wiser men have been led by
fools. By this time he reached the bottom of the alley, where,
turning short on a little parterre of flowers, shrouded from the
east and north by a close yew hedge, he found an old man at work
without his coat, whose appearance hovered between that of an
upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled shirt
belonging to the former profession; his hale and sunburnt visage,
with his green apron, appearing to indicate
Old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden.
The major domo, for such he was, and indisputably the second
officer of state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the
interior, superior even to Bailie Macwheeble in his own department
of the kitchen and cellar)—the major domo laid down his spade,
slipped on his coat in haste, and with a wrathful look at Edward's
guide, probably excited by his having introduced a stranger while
he was engaged in this laborious, and, as he might suppose it,
degrading office, requested to know the gentleman's commands.
Being informed that he wished to pay his respects to his master,
that his name was Waverley, and so forth, the old man's
countenance assumed a great deal of respectful importance. 'He
could take it upon his conscience to say, his honour would have
exceeding pleasure in seeing him. Would not Mr. Waverley choose
some refreshment after his journey? His honour was with the folk
who were getting doon the dark hag; the twa gardener lads (an
emphasis on the word twa) had been ordered to attend him; and he
had been just amusing himself in the mean time with dressing Miss
Rose's flower-bed, that he might be near to receive his honour's
orders, if need were; he was very fond of a garden, but had little
time for such divertisements.'
'He canna get it wrought in abune twa days in the week at no rate
whatever,' said Edward's fantastic conductor.
A grim look from the butler chastised his interference, and he
commanded him, by the name of Davie Gellatley, in a tone which
admitted no discussion, to look for his honour at the dark hag,
and tell him there was a gentleman from the south had arrived at
the Ha'.
'Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?' asked Edward.
'With all fidelity, sir, to any one whom he respects. I would
hardly trust him with a long message by word of mouth—though he
is more knave than fool.'
Waverley delivered his credentials to Mr. Gellatley, who seemed
to
confirm the butler's last observation, by twisting his features at
him, when he was looking another way, into the resemblance of the
grotesque face on the bole of a German tobacco pipe; after which,
with an odd conge to Waverley, he danced off to discharge his
errand.
'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in
almost every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben.
[Footnote: See Note 8.] He used to work a day's turn weel
enough; but he helped Miss Rose when she was flemit with the Laird
of Killancureit's new English bull, and since that time we ca' him
Davie Do-little; indeed we might ca' him Davie Do-naething, for
since he got that gay clothing, to please his honour and my young
mistress (great folks will have their fancies), he has done
naething but dance up and down about the toun, without doing a
single turn, unless trimming the laird's fishing-wand or busking
his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at an orra time.
But here comes Miss Rose, who, I take burden upon me for her, will
be especial glad to see one of the house of Waverley at her
father's mansion of Tully-Veolan.'
But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian
than to be introduced at the end of a chapter.
In the mean while it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two
things from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house was
called a TOWN, and a natural fool an INNOCENT. |