Edina! Scotia’s darling seat,
All hail thy palaces and towers,
Where once, beneath a monarch’s feet,
Sate1 legislation’s sovereign powers.
Burns.
“This, then, is Edinburgh?” said the youth, as the fellow-travellers arrived at one of the heights to the southward, which commanded a view of the great northern capital —“This is that Edinburgh of which we have heard so much!”
“Even so,” said the falconer; “yonder stands Auld3 Reekie — you may see the smoke hover4 over her at twenty miles’ distance, as the gosshawk hangs over a plump of young wild-ducks — ay, yonder is the heart of Scotland, and each throb6 that she gives is felt from the edge of Solway to Duncan’s-bay-head. See, yonder is the old Castle; and see to the right, on yon rising ground, that is the Castle of Craigmillar, which I have known a merry place in my time.”
“Was it not there,” said the page in a low voice, “that the Queen held her court?”
“Ay, ay,” replied the falconer, “Queen she was then, though you must not call her so now. Well, they may say what they will — many a true heart will be sad for Mary Stewart, e’en if all be true men say of her; for look you, Master Roland — she was the loveliest creature to look upon that I ever saw with eye, and no lady in the land liked better the fair flight of a falcon2. I was at the great match on Roslin Moor7 betwixt Bothwell — he was a black sight to her that Bothwell — and the Baron8 of Roslin, who could judge a hawk5’s flight as well as any man in Scotland — a butt9 of Rhenish and a ring of gold was the wager10, and it was flown as fairly for as ever was red gold and bright wine. And to see her there on her white palfrey, that flew as if it scorned to touch more than the heather blossom; and to hear her voice, as clear and sweet as the mavis’s whistle, mix among our jolly whooping11 and whistling; and to mark all the nobles dashing round her; happiest he who got a word or a look — tearing through moss13 and hagg, and venturing neck and limb to gain the praise of a bold rider, and the blink of a bonny Queen’s bright eye!— she will see little hawking14 where she lies now — ay, ay, pomp and pleasure pass away as speedily as the wap of a falcon’s wing.”
“And where is this poor Queen now confined?” said Roland Graeme, interested in the fate of a woman whose beauty and grace had made so strong an impression even on the blunt and careless character of Adam Woodcock.
“Where is she now imprisoned16?” said honest Adam; “why, in some castle in the north, they say — I know not where, for my part, nor is it worth while to vex17 one’s sell anent what cannot be mended — An she had guided her power well whilst she had it, she had not come to so evil a pass. Men say she must resign her crown to this little baby of a prince, for that they will trust her with it no longer. Our master has been as busy as his neighbours in all this work. If the Queen should come to her own again, Avenel Castle is like to smoke for it, unless he makes his bargain all the better.” “In a castle in the north Queen Mary is confined?” said the page. “Why, ay — they say so, at least — In a castle beyond that great river which comes down yonder, and looks like a river, but it is a branch of the sea, and as bitter as brine.”
“And amongst all her subjects,” said the page, with some emotion, “is there none that will adventure anything for her relief?”
“That is a kittle question,” said the falconer; “and if you ask it often, Master Roland, I am fain to tell you that you will be mewed up yourself in some of those castles, if they do not prefer twisting your head off, to save farther trouble with you — Adventure any thing? Lord, why, Murray has the wind in his poop now, man, and flies so high and strong, that the devil a wing of them can match him — No, no; there she is, and there she must lie, till Heaven send her deliverance, or till her son has the management of all — But Murray will never let her loose again, he knows her too well.— And hark thee, we are now bound for Holyrood, where thou wilt19 find plenty of news, and of courtiers to tell it — But, take my counsel, and keep a calm sough, as the Scots say — hear every man’s counsel, and keep your own. And if you hap12 to learn any news you like, leap not up as if you were to put on armour20 direct in the cause — Our old Mr. Wingate says — and he knows court-cattle well — that if you are told old King Coul is come alive again, you should turn it off with, ‘And is he in truth?— I heard not of it,’ and should seem no more moved, than if one told you, by way of novelty, that old King Coul was dead and buried. Wherefore, look well to your bearing, Master Roland, for, I promise you, you come among a generation that are keen as a hungry hawk — And never be dagger21 out of sheath at every wry22 word you hear spoken; for you will find as hot blades as yourself, and then will be letting of blood without advice either of leech24 or almanack.”
“You shall see how staid I will be, and how cautious, my good friend,” said Graeme; “but, blessed Lady, what goodly house is that which is lying all in ruins so close to the city? Have they been playing at the Abbot of Unreason here, and ended the gambol25 by burning the church?”
“There again now,” replied his companion, “you go down the wind like a wild haggard, that minds neither lure26 nor beck — that is a question you should have asked in as low a tone as I shall answer it.”
“If I stay here long,” said Roland Graeme, “it is like I shall lose the natural use of my voice — but what are the ruins then?”
“The Kirk of Field,” said the falconer, in a low and impressive whisper, laying at the same time his finger on his lip; “ask no more about it — somebody got foul27 play, and somebody got the blame of it; and the game began there which perhaps may not be played out in our time.— Poor Henry Darnley! to be an ass15, he understood somewhat of a hawk; but they sent him on the wing through the air himself one bright moonlight night.”
The memory of this catastrophe28 was so recent, that the page averted29 his eyes with horror from the scathed30 ruins in which it had taken place; and the accusations31 against the Queen, to which it had given rise, came over his mind with such strength as to balance the compassion32 he had begun to entertain for her present forlorn situation.
It was, indeed, with that agitating33 state of mind which arises partly from horror, but more from anxious interest and curiosity, that young Graeme found himself actually traversing the scene of those tremendous events, the report of which had disturbed the most distant solitudes34 in Scotland, like the echoes of distant thunder rolling among the mountains.
“Now,” he thought, “now or never shall I become a man, and bear my part in those deeds which the simple inhabitants of our hamlets repeat to each other, as if they were wrought35 by beings of a superior order to their own. I will know now, wherefore the Knight36 of Avenel carries his crest37 so much above those of the neighbouring baronage, and how it is that men, by valour and wisdom, work their way from the hoddin-gray coat to the cloak of scarlet38 and gold. Men say I have not much wisdom to recommend me; and if that be true, courage must do it; for I will be a man amongst living men, or a dead corpse39 amongst the dead.”
From these dreams of ambition he turned his thoughts to those of pleasure, and began to form many conjectures40, when and where he should see Catherine Seyton, and in what manner their acquaintance was to be renewed. With such conjectures he was amusing himself, when he found that they had entered the city, and all other feelings were suspended in the sensation of giddy astonishment41 with which an inhabitant of the country is affected42, when, for the first time, he finds himself in the streets of a large and populous43 city, a unit in the midst of thousands.
The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, one of the most spacious44 in Europe. The extreme height of the houses, and the variety of Gothic gables and battlements, and balconies, by which the sky-line on each side was crowned and terminated, together with the width of the street itself, might have struck with surprise a more practised eye than that of young Graeme. The population, close packed within the walls of the city, and at this time increased by the number of the lords of the King’s party who had thronged46 to Edinburgh to wait upon the Regent Murray, absolutely swarmed47 like bees on the wide and stately street. Instead of the shop-windows, which are now calculated for the display of goods, the traders had their open booths projecting on the street, in which, as in the fashion of the modern bazaars48, all was exposed which they had upon sale. And though the commodities were not of the richest kinds, yet Graeme thought he beheld49 the wealth of the whole world in the various bales of Flanders cloths, and the specimens50 of tapestry51; and, at other places, the display of domestic utensils52 and pieces of plate struck him with wonder. The sight of cutlers’ booths, furnished with swords and poniards, which were manufactured in Scotland, and with pieces of defensive53 armour, imported from Flanders, added to his surprise; and, at every step, he found so much to admire and gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock had no little difficulty in prevailing54 on him to advance through such a scene of enchantment55.
The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was equally a subject of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her muffler, or silken veil, traced her way delicately, a gentleman-usher making way for her, a page bearing up her train, and a waiting gentlewoman carrying her Bible, thus intimating that her purpose was towards the church — There he might see a group of citizens bending the same way, with their short Flemish cloaks, wide trowsers, and high-caped doublets, a fashion to which, as well as to their bonnet56 and feather, the Scots were long faithful. Then, again, came the clergyman himself, in his black Geneva cloak and band, lending a grave and attentive57 ear to the discourse58 of several persons who accompanied him, and who were doubtless holding serious converse59 on the religious subject he was about to treat of. Nor did there lack passengers of a different class and appearance.
At every turn, Roland Graeme might see a gallant60 ruffle61 along in the newer or French mode, his doublet slashed62, and his points of the same colours with the lining63, his long sword on one side, and his poniard on the other, behind him a body of stout64 serving men, proportioned to his estate and quality, all of whom walked with the air of military retainers, and were armed with sword and buckler, the latter being a small round shield, not unlike the Highland65 target, having a steel spike66 in the centre. Two of these parties, each headed by a person of importance, chanced to meet in the very centre of the street, or, as it was called, “the crown of the cause-way,” a post of honour as tenaciously67 asserted in Scotland, as that of giving or taking the wall used to be in the more southern part of the island. The two leaders being of equal rank, and, most probably, either animated68 by political dislike, or by recollection of some feudal69 enmity, marched close up to each other, without yielding an inch to the right or the left; and neither showing the least purpose of giving way, they stopped for an instant, and then drew their swords. Their followers71 imitated their example; about a score of weapons at once flashed in the sun, and there was an immediate72 clatter73 of swords and bucklers, while the followers on either side cried their master’s name; the one shouting “Help, a Leslie! a Leslie!” while the others answered with shouts of “Seyton! Seyton!” with the additional punning slogan, “Set on, set on — bear the knaves74 to the ground!”
If the falconer found difficulty in getting the page to go forward before, it was now perfectly76 impossible. He reined77 up his horse, clapped his hands, and, delighted with the fray78, cried and shouted as fast as any of those who were actually engaged in it.
The noise and cries thus arising on the Highgate, as it was called, drew into the quarrel two or three other parties of gentlemen and their servants, besides some single passengers, who, hearing a fray betwixt these two distinguished79 names, took part in it, either for love or hatred80.
The combat became now very sharp, and although the sword-and-buckler men made more clatter and noise than they did real damage, yet several good cuts were dealt among them; and those who wore rapiers, a more formidable weapon than the ordinary Scottish swords, gave and received dangerous wounds. Two men were already stretched on the causeway, and the party of Seyton began to give ground, being much inferior in number to the other, with which several of the citizens had united themselves, when young Roland Graeme, beholding81 their leader, a noble gentleman, fighting bravely, and hard pressed with numbers, could withhold82 no longer. “Adam Woodcock,” he said, “an you be a man, draw, and let us take part with the Seyton.” And, without waiting a reply, or listening to the falconer’s earnest entreaty83, that he would leave alone a strife84 in which he had no concern, the fiery85 youth sprung from his horse, drew his short sword, and shouting like the rest, “A Seyton! a Seyton! Set on! set on!” thrust forward into the throng45, and struck down one of those who was pressing hardest upon the gentleman whose cause he espoused86. This sudden reinforcement gave spirit to the weaker party, who began to renew the combat with much alacrity87, when four of the magistrates88 of the city, distinguished by their velvet89 cloaks and gold chains, came up with a guard of halberdiers and citizens, armed with long weapons, and well accustomed to such service, thrust boldly forward, and compelled the swordsmen to separate, who immediately retreated in different directions, leaving such of the wounded on both sides, as had been disabled in the fray, lying on the street.
The falconer, who had been tearing his beard for anger at his comrade’s rashness, now rode up to him with the horse which he had caught by the bridle90, and accosted91 him with “Master Roland — master goose — master mad-cap — will it please you to get on horse, and budge92? or will you remain here to be carried to prison, and made to answer for this pretty day’s work?”
The page, who had begun his retreat along with the Seytons, just as if he had been one of their natural allies, was by this unceremonious application made sensible that he was acting93 a foolish part; and, obeying Adam Woodcock with some sense of shame, he sprung actively94 on horseback, and upsetting with the shoulder of the animal a city-officer, who was making towards him, he began to ride smartly down the street, along with his companion, and was quickly out of the reach of the hue95 and cry. In fact, rencounters of the kind were so common in Edinburgh at that period, that the disturbance96 seldom excited much attention after the affray was over, unless some person of consequence chanced to have fallen, an incident which imposed on his friends the duty of avenging97 his death on the first convenient opportunity. So feeble, indeed, was the arm of the police, that it was not unusual for such skirmishes to last for hours, where the parties were numerous and well matched. But at this time the Regent, a man of great strength of character, aware of the mischief98 which usually arose from such acts of violence, had prevailed with the magistrates to keep a constant guard on foot for preventing or separating such affrays as had happened in the present case.
The falconer and his young companion were now riding down the Canongate, and had slackened their pace to avoid attracting attention, the rather that there seemed to be no appearance of pursuit. Roland hung his head as one who was conscious his conduct had been none of the wisest, whilst his companion thus addressed him:
“Will you be pleased to tell me one thing, Master Roland Graeme, and that is, whether there be a devil incarnate99 in you or no?”
“Truly, Master Adam Woodcock,” answered the page, “I would fain hope there is not.”
“Then,” said Adam, “I would fain know by what other influence or instigation you are perpetually at one end or the other of some bloody100 brawl101? What, I pray, had you to do with these Seytons and Leslies, that you never heard the names of in your life before?”
“You are out there, my friend,” said Roland Graeme, “I have my own reasons for being a friend to the Seytons.”
“They must have been very secret reasons then,” answered Adam Woodcock, “for I think I could have wagered102, you had never known one of the name; and I am apt to believe still, that it was your unhallowed passion for that clashing of cold iron, which has as much charm for you as the clatter of a brass103 pan hath for a hive of bees, rather than any care either for Seyton or for Leslie, that persuaded you to thrust your fool’s head into a quarrel that no ways concerned you. But take this for a warning, my young master, that if you are to draw sword with every man who draws sword on the Highgate here, it will be scarce worth your while to sheathe104 bilbo again for the rest of your life, since, if I guess rightly, it will scarce endure on such terms for many hours — all which I leave to your serious consideration.”
“By my word, Adam, I honour your advice; and I promise you, that I will practise by it as faithfully as if I were sworn apprentice105 to you, to the trade and mystery of bearing myself with all wisdom and safety through the new paths of life that I am about to be engaged in.”
“And therein you will do well,” said the falconer; “and I do not quarrel with you, Master Roland, for having a grain over much spirit, because I know one may bring to the hand a wild hawk which one never can a dung-hill hen — and so betwixt two faults you have the best on’t. But besides your peculiar106 genius for quarrelling and lugging107 out your side companion, my dear Master Roland, you have also the gift of peering under every woman’s muffler and screen, as if you expected to find an old acquaintance. Though were you to spy one, I should be as much surprised at it, well wotting how few you have seen of these same wild-fowl, as I was at your taking so deep an interest even now in the Seyton.”
“Tush, man! nonsense and folly,” answered Roland Graeme, “I but sought to see what eyes these gentle hawks108 have got under their hood109.”
“Ay, but it’s a dangerous subject of inquiry,” said the falconer; “you had better hold out your bare wrist for an eagle to perch110 upon.— Look you, Master Roland, these pretty wild-geese cannot be hawked111 at without risk — they have as many divings, boltings, and volleyings, as the most gamesome quarry112 that falcon ever flew at — And besides, every woman of them is manned with her husband, or her kind friend, or her brother, or her cousin, or her sworn servant at the least — But you heed113 me not, Master Roland, though I know the game so well — your eye is all on that pretty damsel who trips down the gate before us — by my certes, I will warrant her a blithe114 dancer either in reel or revel115 — a pair of silver morisco bells would become these pretty ankles as well as the jesses would suit the fairest Norway hawk.”
“Thou art a fool, Adam,” said the page, “and I care not a button about the girl or her ankles — But, what the foul fiend, one must look at something!”
“Very true, Master Roland Graeme,” said his guide, “but let me pray you to choose your objects better. Look you, there is scarce a woman walks this High-gate with a silk screen or a pearlin muffler, but, as I said before, she has either gentleman-usher before her, or kinsman116, or lover, or husband, at her elbow, or it may be a brace117 of stout fellows with sword and buckler, not so far behind but what they can follow close — But you heed me no more than a goss-hawk minds a yellow yoldring.”
“O yes, I do — I do mind you indeed,” said Roland Graeme; “but hold my nag18 a bit — I will be with you in the exchange of a whistle.” So saying, and ere Adam Woodcock could finish the sermon which was dying on his tongue, Roland Graeme, to the falconer’s utter astonishment, threw him the bridle of his jennet, jumped off horseback, and pursued down one of the closes or narrow lanes, which, opening under a vault118, terminate upon the main-street, the very maiden119 to whom his friend had accused him of showing so much attention, and who had turned down the pass in question.
“Saint Mary, Saint Magdalen, Saint Benedict, Saint Barnabas!” said the poor falconer, when he found himself thus suddenly brought to a pause in the midst of the Canongate, and saw his young charge start off like a madman in quest of a damsel whom he had never, as Adam supposed, seen in his life before,—“Saint Satan and Saint Beelzebub — for this would make one swear saint and devil — what can have come over the lad, with a wanion! And what shall I do the whilst!— he will have his throat cut, the poor lad, as sure as I was born at the foot of Roseberry-Topping. Could I find some one to hold the horses! but they are as sharp here north-away as in canny120 Yorkshire herself, and quit bridle, quit titt, as we say. An I could but see one of our folks now, a holly-sprig were worth a gold tassel121; or could I but see one of the Regent’s men — but to leave the horses to a stranger, that I cannot — and to leave the place while the lad is in jeopardy122, that I wonot.”
We must leave the falconer, however, in the midst of his distress123, and follow the hot-headed youth who was the cause of his perplexity.
The latter part of Adam Woodcock’s sage124 remonstrance125 had been in a great measure lost upon Roland, for whose benefit it was intended; because, in one of the female forms which tripped along the street, muffled126 in a veil of striped silk, like the women of Brussels at this day, his eye had discerned something which closely resembled the exquisite127 shape and spirited bearing of Catherine Seyton.— During all the grave advice which the falconer was dinning128 in his ears, his eye continued intent upon so interesting an object of observation; and at length, as the damsel, just about to dive under one of the arched passages which afforded an outlet129 to the Canongate from the houses beneath, (a passage, graced by a projecting shield of arms, supported by two huge foxes of stone,) had lifted her veil for the purpose perhaps of descrying130 who the horseman was who for some time had eyed her so closely, young Roland saw, under the shade of the silken plaid, enough of the bright azure131 eyes, fair locks, and blithe features, to induce him, like an inexperienced and rash madcap, whose wilful132 ways never had been traversed by contradiction, nor much subjected to consideration, to throw the bridle of his horse into Adam Woodcock’s hand, and leave him to play the waiting gentleman, while he dashed down the paved court after Catherine Seyton — all as aforesaid.
Women’s wits are proverbially quick, but apparently133 those of Catherine suggested no better expedient134 than fairly to betake herself to speed of foot, in hopes of baffling the page’s vivacity135, by getting safely lodged136 before he could discover where. But a youth of eighteen, in pursuit of a mistress, is not so easily outstripped137. Catherine fled across a paved court, decorated with large formal vases of stone, in which yews138, cypresses139, and other evergreens140, vegetated141 in sombre sullenness142, and gave a correspondent degree of solemnity to the high and heavy building in front of which they were placed as ornaments143, aspiring145 towards a square portion of the blue hemisphere, corresponding exactly in extent to the quadrangle in which they were stationed, and all around which rose huge black walls, exhibiting windows in rows of five stories, with heavy architraves over each, bearing armorial and religious devices.
Through this court Catherine Seyton flashed like a hunted doe, making the best use of those pretty legs which had attracted the commendation even of the reflective and cautious Adam Woodcock. She hastened towards a large door in the centre of the lower front of the court, pulled the bobbin till the latch146 flew up, and ensconced herself in the ancient mansion147. But, if she fled like a doe, Roland Graeme followed with the speed and ardour of a youthful stag-hound, loosed for the first time on his prey148. He kept her in view in spite of her efforts; for it is remarkable149 what an advantage, in such a race, the gallant who desires to see, possesses over the maiden who wishes not to be seen — an advantage which I have known counterbalance a great start in point of distance. In short, he saw the waving of her screen, or veil, at one corner, heard the tap of her foot, light as that was, as it crossed the court, and caught a glimpse of her figure just as she entered the door of the mansion.
Roland Graeme, inconsiderate and headlong as we have described him, having no knowledge of real life but from the romances which he had read, and not an idea of checking himself in the midst of any eager impulse; possessed150, besides, of much courage and readiness, never hesitated for a moment to approach the door through which the object of his search had disappeared. He, too, pulled the bobbin, and the latch, though heavy and massive, answered to the summons, and arose. The page entered with the same precipitation which had marked his whole proceeding151, and found himself in a large hall, or vestibule, dimly enlightened by latticed casements152 of painted glass, and rendered yet dimmer through the exclusion153 of the sunbeams, owing to the height of the walls of those buildings by which the court-yard was enclosed. The walls of the hall were surrounded with suits of ancient and rusted154 armour, interchanged with huge and massive stone scutcheons, bearing double tressures, fleured and counter-fleured, wheat-sheaves, coronets, and so forth155, things to which Roland Graeme gave not a moment’s attention.
In fact, he only deigned156 to observe the figure of Catherine Seyton, who, deeming herself safe in the hall, had stopped to take breath after her course, and was reposing157 herself for a moment on a large oaken settle which stood at the upper end of the hall. The noise of Roland’s entrance at once disturbed her; she started up with a faint scream of surprise, and escaped through one of the several folding-doors which opened into this apartment as a common centre. This door, which Roland Graeme instantly approached, opened on a large and well-lighted gallery, at the upper end of which he could hear several voices, and the noise of hasty steps approaching towards the hall or vestibule. A little recalled to sober thought by an appearance of serious danger, he was deliberating whether he should stand fast or retire, when Catherine Seyton re-entered from a side door, running towards him with as much speed as a few minutes since she had fled from him.
“Oh, what mischief brought you hither?” she said; “fly — fly, or you are a dead man,— or stay — they come — flight is impossible — say you came to ask for Lord Seyton.”
She sprung from him and disappeared through the door by which she had made her second appearance; and, at the same instant, a pair of large folding-doors at the upper end of the gallery flew open with vehemence158, and six or seven young gentlemen, richly dressed, pressed forward into the apartment, having, for the greater part, their swords drawn159.
“Who is it,” said one, “dare intrude160 on us in our own mansion?”
“Cut him to pieces,” said another; “let him pay for this day’s insolence161 and violence — he is some follower70 of the Rothes.”
“No, by Saint Mary,” said another; “he is a follower of the arch-fiend and ennobled clown Halbert Glendinning, who takes the style of Avenel — once a church-vassal, now a pillager162 of the church.”
“It is so,” said a fourth; “I know him by the holly-sprig, which is their cognizance. Secure the door, he must answer for this insolence.”
Two of the gallants, hastily drawing their weapons, passed on to the door by which Roland had entered the hall, and stationed themselves there as if to prevent his escape. The others advanced on Graeme, who had just sense enough to perceive that any attempt at resistance would be alike fruitless and imprudent. At once, and by various voices, none of which sounded amicably163, the page was required to say who he was, whence he came, his name, his errand, and who sent him hither. The number of the questions demanded of him at once, afforded a momentary164 apology for his remaining silent, and ere that brief truce165 had elapsed, a personage entered the hall, at whose appearance those who had gathered fiercely around Roland, fell back with respect.
This was a tall man, whose dark hair was already grizzled, though his high and haughty166 features retained all the animation167 of youth. The upper part of his person was undressed to his Holland shirt, whose ample folds were stained with blood. But he wore a mantle168 of crimson169, lined with rich fur, cast around him, which supplied the deficiency of his dress. On his head he had a crimson velvet bonnet, looped up on one side with a small golden chain of many links, which, going thrice around the hat, was fastened by a medal, agreeable to the fashion amongst the grandees170 of the time.
“Whom have you here, sons and kinsmen,” said he, “around whom you crowd thus roughly?— Know you not that the shelter of this roof should secure every one fair treatment, who shall come hither either in fair peace, or in open and manly171 hostility172?”
“But here, my lord,” answered one of the youths, “is a knave75 who comes on treacherous173 espial!”
“I deny the charge!” said Roland Graeme, boldly, “I came to inquire after my Lord Seyton.”
“A likely tale,” answered his accusers, “in the mouth of a follower of Glendinning.”
“Stay, young men,” said the Lord Seyton, for it was that nobleman himself, “let me look at this youth — By heaven, it is the very same who came so boldly to my side not very many minutes since, when some of my own knaves bore themselves with more respect to their own worshipful safety than to mine! Stand back from him, for he well deserves honour and a friendly welcome at your hands, instead of this rough treatment.”
They fell back on all sides, obedient to Lord Seyton’s commands, who, taking Roland Graeme by the hand, thanked him for his prompt and gallant assistance, adding, that he nothing doubted, “the same interest which he had taken in his cause in the affray, brought him hither to inquire after his hurt.”
Roland bowed low in acquiescence174.
“Or is there any thing in which I can serve you, to show my sense of your ready gallantry?”
But the page, thinking it best to abide175 by the apology for his visit which the Lord Seyton had so aptly himself suggested, replied, “that to be assured of his lordship’s safety, had been the only cause of his intrusion. He judged,” he added, “he had seen him receive some hurt in the affray.”
“A trifle,” said Lord Seyton; “I had but stripped my doublet, that the chirurgeon might put some dressing176 on the paltry177 scratch, when these rash boys interrupted us with their clamour.”
Roland Graeme, making a low obeisance178, was now about to depart, for, relieved from the danger of being treated as a spy, he began next to fear, that his companion, Adam Woodcock, whom he had so unceremoniously quitted, would either bring him into some farther dilemma179, by venturing into the hotel in quest of him, or ride off and leave him behind altogether. But Lord Seyton did not permit him to escape so easily. “Tarry,” he said, “young man, and let me know thy rank and name. The Seyton has of late been more wont180 to see friends and followers shrink from his side, than to receive aid from strangers-but a new world may come around, in which he may have the chance of rewarding his well-wishers.”
“My name is Roland Graeme, my lord,” answered the youth, “a page, who, for the present, is in the service of Sir Halbert Glendinning.”
“I said so from the first,” said one of the young men; “my life I will wager, that this is a shaft181 out of the heretic’s quiver-a stratagem182 from first to last, to injeer into your confidence some espial of his own. They know how to teach both boys and women to play the intelligencers.”
“That is false, if it be spoken of me,” said Roland; “no man in Scotland should teach me such a foul part!”
“I believe thee, boy,” said Lord Seyton, “for thy strokes were too fair to be dealt upon an understanding with those that were to receive them. Credit me, however, I little expected to have help at need from one of your master’s household; and I would know what moved thee in my quarrel, to thine own endangering?”
“So please you, my lord,” said Roland, “I think my master himself would not have stood by, and seen an honourable183 man borne to earth by odds184, if his single arm could help him. Such, at least, is the lesson we were taught in chivalry185, at the Castle of Avenel.”
“The good seed hath fallen into good ground, young man,” said Seyton; “but, alas186! if thou practise such honourable war in these dishonourable days, when right is every where borne down by mastery, thy life, my poor boy, will be but a short one.”
“Let it be short, so it be honourable,” said Roland Graeme; “and permit me now, my lord, to commend me to your grace, and to take my leave. A comrade waits with my horse in the street.”
“Take this, however, young man,” said Lord Seyton,23 undoing187 from his bonnet the golden chain and medal, “and wear it for my sake.”
With no little pride Roland Graeme accepted the gift, which he hastily fastened around his bonnet, as he had seen gallants wear such an ornament144, and renewing his obeisance to the Baron, left the hall, traversed the court, and appeared in the street, just as Adam Woodcock, vexed188 and anxious at his delay, had determined189 to leave the horses to their fate, and go in quest of his youthful comrade. “Whose barn hast thou broken next?” he exclaimed, greatly relieved by his appearance, although his countenance190 indicated that he had passed through an agitating scene.
“Ask me no questions,” said Roland, leaping gaily191 on his horse; “but see how short time it takes to win a chain of gold,” pointing to that which he now wore.
“Now, God forbid that thou hast either stolen it, or reft it by violence,” said the falconer; “for, otherwise, I wot not how the devil thou couldst compass it. I have been often here, ay, for months at an end, and no one gave me either chain or medal.”
“Thou seest I have got one on shorter acquaintance with the city,” answered the page, “but set thine honest heart at rest; that which is fairly won and freely given, is neither reft nor stolen.”
“Marry, hang thee, with thy fanfarona 24 about thy neck!” said the falconer; “I think water will not drown, nor hemp192 strangle thee. Thou hast been discarded as my lady’s page, to come in again as my lord’s squire193; and for following a noble young damsel into some great household, thou gettest a chain and medal, where another would have had the baton194 across his shoulders, if he missed having the dirk in his body. But here we come in front of the old Abbey. Bear thy good luck with you when you cross these paved stones, and, by our Lady, you may brag195 Scotland.”
As he spoke23, they checked their horses, where the huge old vaulted196 entrance to the Abbey or Palace of Holyrood crossed the termination of the street down which they had proceeded. The courtyard of the palace opened within this gloomy porch, showing the front of an irregular pile of monastic buildings, one wing of which is still extant, forming a part of the modern palace, erected197 in the days of Charles I.
At the gate of the porch the falconer and page resigned their horses to the serving-man in attendance; the falconer commanding him with an air of authority, to carry them safely to the stables. “We follow,” he said, “the Knight of Avenel — We must bear ourselves for what we are here,” said he in a whisper to Roland, “for every one here is looked on as they demean themselves; and he that is too modest must to the wall, as the proverb says; therefore cock thy bonnet, man, and let us brook198 the causeway bravely.”
Assuming, therefore, an air of consequence, corresponding to what he supposed to be his master’s importance and quality, Adam Woodcock led the way into the courtyard of the Palace of Holyrood.
He appears to have been fond of the arts; for there exists a beautiful family-piece of him in the centre of his family. Mr. Pinkerton, in his Scottish Iconographia, published an engraving199 of this curious portrait. The original is the property of Lord Somerville, nearly connected with the Seton family, and is at present at his lordship’s fishing villa200 of the Pavilion, near Melrose.
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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gambol
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| v.欢呼，雀跃 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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27
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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scathed
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| v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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35
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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38
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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45
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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49
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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50
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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51
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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52
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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54
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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55
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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56
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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57
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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58
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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59
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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60
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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61
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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62
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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66
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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69
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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80
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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82
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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100
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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101
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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102
wagered
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| v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的过去式和过去分词 )；保证，担保 | |
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103
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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104
sheathe
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| v.（将刀剑）插入鞘；包，覆盖 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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106
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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108
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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109
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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hawked
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| 通过叫卖主动兜售（hawk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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112
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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113
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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114
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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115
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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116
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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117
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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118
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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119
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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120
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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121
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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122
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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123
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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124
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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125
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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126
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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127
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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128
dinning
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| vt.喧闹（din的现在分词形式） | |
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129
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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130
descrying
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| v.被看到的，被发现的，被注意到的( descried的过去分词 ) | |
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131
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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132
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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133
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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134
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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135
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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136
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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137
outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
yews
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| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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139
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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140
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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141
vegetated
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| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的过去式和过去分词 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
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142
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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143
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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144
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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145
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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146
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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147
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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148
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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149
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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150
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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151
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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152
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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153
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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154
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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156
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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158
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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159
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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160
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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161
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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162
pillager
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| n.掠夺者 | |
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163
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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164
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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165
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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166
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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167
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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168
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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169
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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170
grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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171
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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172
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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173
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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174
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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175
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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176
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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177
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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178
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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179
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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180
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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181
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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182
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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183
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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184
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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185
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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186
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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187
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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188
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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189
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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190
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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191
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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192
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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193
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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194
baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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195
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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196
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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197
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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198
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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199
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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200
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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