Varieties of Female Gothic Vol 4

Gary Kelly

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781000749922
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Languages & Linguistics
• Subtopic: Linguistics
• Index: Languages & Linguistics

This text offers scholarly and critical editions of significant novels of Gothic fiction from the Romantic period. It illustrates the various forms of female Gothic literature as a vehicle for representing the modern forms of subjectivity, or complex and authentic inward experience and identity.

The Scottish Chiefs (1810)
Part 1

Jane Porter

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, A ROMANCE

IN FIVE VOLUMES.

BY MISS JANE PORTER,

AUTHOR OF THADDEUS OF WARSAW, AND REMARKS ON SIDNEY’S APHORISMS

There comes a voice that awakes my soul. It is the voice of years that are gone; they roll before me with all their deeds.

Ossian.¹

VOL. I

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW.

1810.

PREFACE

To paint the portrait of one of the most complete heroes that ever filled the page of history, may be a bold, though I hope not a vain design. The contemplation of virtue is an improving as well as a delightful employment: and however inadequate this picture may be to represent duly its great original, yet, that it is a copy of such excellence, will give it some merit in the eyes of those who love virtue even in its shade.

I have spared no pains in consulting almost every writing extant which treats of the sister kingdoms during the period of my narrative. It would be tedious to swell this page with a list of these authorities, for they are very numerous; but all who are well acquainted with our old British historians, must perceive on reading the Scottish Chiefs, that in the sketch which history would have laid down for the biography of my principal hero, I have not added to the outline, excepting, where time having made some erasure, a stroke was necessary to fill the space and unite the whole. Tradition has been a great assistant to me in this respect. And for the most essential information on the subject, I am indebted to the suggestions of my invaluable friend Mr. Thomas Campbell, who has so nobly mingled the poet’s brightest bays with the ancient laurels of his clan.

While tracing the characters of my personages in the Scottish annals, it was with infinite pleasure that I found those virtues in the fathers, which have attached me to their posterity. Delighted with this most dear proof of kindred, I have fondly lingered over my work; re-enjoying in its visionary scenes, hours fled to heaven; I have again discoursed, and mingled my soul, with friends whose nobility of spirit honoured the illustrious stems from which they sprung: – But like the blossomed bough torn untimely from its branch, they are gone; and spread fragrance in my path no more.

It is the fashion to contemn even an honest pride in ancestry. But where is the Englishman who is not proud of being the countryman of Nelson?² Where the British sailor that does not thirst to emulate his fame? If this sentiment be right, respect for noble progenitors cannot be wrong; for it proceeds from the same source: the principle of kindred, of inheritance, and of virtue. Let the long race of Douglas,³ or the descendants of the Percy,⁴ say, if the name they bear is not as a mirror to shew them what they ought to be, and as a burning-glass to kindle in their hearts the flame of their fathers? Happy is it for this realm that the same destiny which now unites the once contending arms of these two brave families, has also consolidated their rival nations into one; and by planting the heir of Plantagenet and of Bruce⁵ upon the British throne, hath redeemed the peace of the land, and fixed it on lasting foundations.

From the nature of my story, more agents have been used in its conduct than I should have adopted had it been a work of mere imagination; for taste would have selected the simplest means of accomplishing the fable; and even here, where the principle could be followed without any extravagant violation of the fact, it has been obeyed. – Very few persons wholly imaginary have been introduced: and wishing to keep as near historical truth as was consistent with my plan, no intentional injustice has been committed against the characters of the individuals who were the real actors with the hero of the tale. The melancholy circumstance which first excited him to draw his sword for Scotland, though it may be thought too much like the creation of modern romance, is recorded as a truth in the old poem by Blind Harrie.⁶ Other private events have been interwoven with the public subjects of these volumes, that the disagreeable monotony of a continued series of warlike achievements might be avoided. Some notes arc added, to point out the historical incidents; but finding that were they all marked, such a plan would swell each volume beyond its proper size; in one word I assure the reader that I seldom lead him to any spot in Scotland whither some written or oral testimony respecting my hero had not previously conducted myself. In the same spirit, being careful to keep to the line of chronology, I have not strayed from it in any instance until my chief personages return from France; and then my history being intended to be within the bounds of modern romance, and not to rival the folios of Scudery,⁷ I found myself obliged to take some liberties with time and circumstance; for both of which offences, and particularly for the management of my catastrophe, I hope the historical, if he be also a gentle⁸ reader, will find no difficulty in forgiving me.

LONG DITTON,

December, 1809

THE SCOTTISH XHIEFS.

CHAP. I.

THE war which had desolated Scotland was now at an end. Ambition seemed satiated; and the vanquished, after passing under the yoke of their enemy, concluded they might wear their chains in peace. Such were the hopes of those Scottish noblemen who, early in the spring of 1296, signed the bond of submission to a ruthless conqueror; purchasing life at the price of all that makes life estimable – Liberty and Honour.

Prior to this act of vassalage, Edward the First of England had entered Scotland at the head of an immense army. He seized Berwick by a base stratagem; laid the country in ashes; and on the field of Dunbar forced the King and his nobles to acknowledge him their liege lord.

While the courts of Edward, or of his representatives, were crowded by the humbled Scots, the spirit of one brave man remained unsubdued. Disgusted alike at the facility with which the sovereign of a warlike nation could resign his people and his crown into the hands of a treacherous invader, and at the pusillanimity of the nobles who could ratify such a sacrifice, William Wallace retired to the glen of Ellerslie. Withdrawn from the world, he hoped to avoid the sight of oppressions he could not redress, and the endurance of injuries beyond his power to avenge.

Checked at the opening of life in the career of glory that was his passion, secluded in the bloom of manhood from the social haunts of men, he repressed the eager aspirations of his mind; and strove to acquire that resignation to inevitable evils which could alone reconcile him to forego the promises of his youth; and enable him to view with patience that humiliation of Scotland which blighted her honour, menaced her existence, and consigned her sons to degradation or obscurity. The latter was the choice of Wallace. Too noble to bend his spirit to the usurper, too honest to affect submission, he resigned himself to the only way left of maintaining the independence of a true Scot; and giving up the world at once, all the ambitions of youth were extinguished in his breast, since nothing was preserved in his country to sanctify their fires. Scotland seemed proud of her chains. Not to share in such debasement seemed all that was now in his power; and within the shades of Ellerslie he found a retreat and a home, whose sweets beguiled him of every care; and made him sometimes forget the wrongs of his country in the tranquil enjoyments of wedded love.

During the happy months of the preceding autumn, while Scotland was yet free and the path of honourable distinction lay open before her young nobility, Wallace married Marion Braidfoot the beautiful heiress of Lammington. Of the same age, and brought up from childhood together, reciprocal affection grew with their growth; and sympathy of taste, virtues, and mutual tenderness, gradually mingling their spirits, made them so entirely one, that when at the age of twenty two the enraptured lover was allowed by his grandfather to pledge that faith publicly at the altar which he had so often vowed to his Marion in secret, he clasped her to his heart, and softly whispered – ‘dearer than life! part of my being now and for ever! blessed is this union that mingles thy soul with mine to all eternity!’

Edward’s invasion of Scotland broke in upon their innocent joys. Wallace threw aside the wedding garment for the cuirass and the sword. But he was not permitted to use either – Scotland submitted to her enemies; and he had no alternative but to bow to her oppressors, or to become an exile from man amid the deep glens of his country.

The tower of Ellerslie was henceforth the lonely abode of himself and his bride. The neighbouring nobles avoided him, because the principles he declared were a tacit reproach on their proceedings; and in the course of a short time, as he forbore to seek them, they even forgot that he was in existence. Indeed, all occasions of mixing with society were now rejected by Wallace. The hunting-spear, with which he delighted to follow the flying roe-buck from glade to glade, from mountain to mountain; the arrows with which he used to bring down the heavy termagan⁹ or the towering eagle, all were laid aside: Scottish liberty was no more; and Wallace would have blushed to have shewn himself to the free-born deer of his native hills, in communion with the spoilers of his country. Had he pursued his once favorite exercises, he must have mingled with the English now garrisoned in every town; and who passed their hours of leisure in the chase.

9 ‘Termagan’, or ‘tarmachan’ is an obsolete form of ‘ptarmigan’ (OED).

Being resigned to bury his youth, since its strength could be no longer serviceable to his country; books, his harp, and the sweet converse of his tender Marion, were the occupations of his days. Ellerslie was his hermitage; and there, closed from the world, with an angel his companion, he might have forgotten that Edward was lord in Scotland; had not what was without his little paradise, made a way to its gates, and shewed him the slavery of the nobles, and the wretchedness of the people. In these cases, his generous hand gave succour where it could not bring redress. Those whom the lawless plunderer had driven from their houses, or stripped of their covering, found shelter, cloathing and food, at the house of Sir William Wallace.

Ellerslie was the refuge of the friendless and the comfort of the unhappy. Wherever lady Wallace moved, whether looking out from her window on the accidental passenger; or taking her morning, or moonlight walks through the glen leaning on the arm of her husband; she had the rapture of hearing his steps greeted and followed by the blessing of the poor destitute, and the prayers of them who were ready to perish. It was then that this happy woman would raise her husband’s hand to her lips, and in silent adoration thank God for blessing her with a being made so truly in his own image.

Wallace, who read her heart in this action, would reply – ‘Sweetest Marion, what merit has thy Wallace in mere benevolence? contracted is now my sphere of duty, and easily fulfilled; it is only to befriend the oppressed to the utmost of my power! And while tyranny leaves me that privilege I shall not consider myself quite a slave. Were I useless to my fellow-creatures, I should be miserable; for, in blessing others, I bless myself – I bless thee my Marion; and the grateful countenances of these poor people add beauty even to thine! art thou not loveliest in my eyes at this moment, thou angel of peace and love! dost thou not praise thy husband, for what is common with thee?’ She smiled, and a happy tear glittered in her eye. ‘To be lovely to thee, Wallace, is all my joy; and to see thee so worthy of all my love, fills me indeed with an angel’s happiness!’

Several months of this blissful and uninterrupted solitude had elapsed, when lady Wallace saw a stranger chieftain arrive at her gate. He inquired for Sir William, requested a private conference, and retired with him into a remote room. They remained there for above an hour; when Wallace coming forth, ordered his horse and four servants to be in readiness, saying he meant to accompany his guest to Douglas castle. When he embraced his wife at parting, he told her that as it was only a few miles distant, he should be at home again before the moon rose.

She passed the tedious hours of his absence with tranquillity, till after she saw the moon, the appointed signal of his return, rise behind the highest summits of the opposite mountains. So bright were its beams, that she did not need any other light to shew her the stealing sands of her hour-glass, as they numbered the prolonged hours of her husband’s stay. She dismissed all her servants to their rest, excepting Halbert the grey-haired harper of Wallace; and he, like herself, was too unaccustomed to the absence of his master, to find sleep visit his eyes, while Ellerslie was bereft of its joy and its guard.

As the night advanced, Lady Wallace sat in the window of her bed-chamber, which looked towards the west. She watched the winding path-way that led from Lanerk down the opposite heights; eager to catch a glimpse of the waving plumes of her husband, when he should emerge from behind the hill, and pass through the mingling thicket which over-hung the road. How often, as a cloud obscured for an instant the moon’s light, and threw a transitory shade across the path, did her heart bound with the thought that her watching was at an end. It was he whom she had seen suddenly start from some abrupt turning of the rock! They were the folds of his tartan that darkened the white cliff! but the moon again rolled through her train of clouds, and threw her light around. Where was then her Wallace? Alas, it was only a shadow she had seen: the hill was still lonely, and he whom she sought was yet far away! Overcome with watching, expectation, and disappointment; unable to say whence arose her fears; she sat down again to look, but her eyes were blinded with tears; and in a voice interrupted by sighs, she exclaimed, ‘Not yet, not yet! – ah, my Wallace, what evil has betided thee?’

Trembling with a nameless terror, she knew not what to dread. She believed all hostile rencontres had ceased, when Scotland no longer contended with Edward. The nobles, without remonstrance, had surrendered their castles into the hands of the usurper; and the peasantry, following the example of their lords, had allowed their homes to be ravaged without lifting an arm in their defence. Opposition being entirely over, nothing then could threaten her husband from the enemy; and was not the person who had taken him from Ellerslie, a friend!

Before Wallace’s departure he had spoken to Marion alone, and told her that the stranger was Sir John Monteith, the youngest son of the brave Walter Lord Monteith,^(a)* who was so treacherously put to death by the English in the early part of the last year. This young nobleman was then left by his dying father to the particular charge of his friend William Lord Douglas, at that time governor of Berwick. After the fall of that place, and the captivity of its defender, Sir John Monteith had returned to Douglas castle in the vicinity of Lanerk; and was now the only master of that princely residence. Sir James Douglas, the only son of the veteran lord, was still at Paris whither he had gone before the defeat at Dunbar, to negotiate a league between the French monarch and the then King of Scots.

* These letters refer to notes at the end of the volume. [Porter’s note.]

Informed of the privacy in which Wallace wished to live, Monteith had never ventured to disturb it until this day; and then, knowing the steady honour of his old school-fellow, he came to intreat, by the reverence he entertained for the memory of the sacrificed Lord Monteith, by the respect he had for the brave Douglas, and by his love for his country, that he would not refuse to accompany him that day to Douglas castle.

‘I have a secret to disclose to you,’ said he, ‘which cannot be divulged on any other spot.’

Unwilling to deny so small a favour to the son of one who had so often shed his blood in his country’s service, Wallace, as has been said before, consented; and was conducted by Monteith towards Douglas.

As they descended the heights which lead down to the castle, Monteith kept a profound silence; and when they crossed the draw-bridge which lay over the water at its base, he put his finger to his lips, in token to the servants for equal taciturnity: this was explained as they entered the gate and looked around: they saw it guarded by English soldiers. Wallace started, and would have drawn back, but Mon...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• CONTENTS
• Introduction
• Bibliography
• Chronology
• Note on the next
• The Scottish Chiefs, part 1 (1810)