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THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER

by Sir Walter Scott

INTRODUCTION.

This is another little story from The Keepsake of 1828. It was told

to me many years ago by the late Miss Anna Seward, who, among other

accomplishments that rendered her an amusing inmate in a country house,

had that of recounting narratives of this sort with very considerable

effect--much greater, indeed, than any one would be apt to guess from

the style of her written performances. There are hours and moods when

most people are not displeased to listen to such things; and I have

heard some of the greatest and wisest of my contemporaries take their

share in telling them.

AUGUST 1831

THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER;

OR,

THE LADY IN THE SACQUE.

The following narrative is given from the pen, so far as memory permits,

in the same character in which it was presented to the author’s ear; nor

has he claim to further praise, or to be more deeply censured, than

in proportion to the good or bad judgment which he has employed in

selecting his materials, as he has studiously avoided any attempt at

ornament which might interfere with the simplicity of the tale.

At the same time, it must be admitted that the particular class of

stories which turns on the marvellous possesses a stronger influence

when told than when committed to print. The volume taken up at noonday,

though rehearsing the same incidents, conveys a much more feeble

impression than is achieved by the voice of the speaker on a circle of

fireside auditors, who hang upon the narrative as the narrator details

the minute incidents which serve to give it authenticity, and lowers his

voice with an affectation of mystery while he approaches the fearful

and wonderful part. It was with such advantages that the present writer

heard the following events related, more than twenty years since, by

the celebrated Miss Seward of Litchfield, who, to her numerous

accomplishments, added, in a remarkable degree, the power of narrative

in private conversation. In its present form the tale must necessarily

lose all the interest which was attached to it by the flexible voice and

intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet still, read aloud to an

undoubting audience by the doubtful light of the closing evening, or in

silence by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a half-lighted

apartment, it may redeem its character as a good ghost story. Miss

Seward always affirmed that she had derived her information from an

authentic source, although she suppressed the names of the two persons

chiefly concerned. I will not avail myself of any particulars I may have

since received concerning the localities of the detail, but suffer them

to rest under the same general description in which they were first

related to me; and for the same reason I will not add to or diminish the

narrative by any circumstance, whether more or less material, but simply

rehearse, as I heard it, a story of supernatural terror.

About the end of the American war, when the officers of Lord

Cornwallis’s army, which surrendered at Yorktown, and others, who had

been made prisoners during the impolitic and ill-fated controversy, were

returning to their own country, to relate their adventures, and repose

themselves after their fatigues, there was amongst them a general

officer, to whom Miss S. gave the name of Browne, but merely, as I

understood, to save the inconvenience of introducing a nameless agent

in the narrative. He was an officer of merit, as well as a gentleman of

high consideration for family and attainments.

Some business had carried General Browne upon a tour through the western

counties, when, in the conclusion of a morning stage, he found himself

in the vicinity of a small country town, which presented a scene of

uncommon beauty, and of a character peculiarly English.

The little town, with its stately old church, whose tower bore testimony

to the devotion of ages long past, lay amidst pastures and cornfields of

small extent, but bounded and divided with hedgerow timber of great age

and size. There were few marks of modern improvement. The environs of

the place intimated neither the solitude of decay nor the bustle of

novelty; the houses were old, but in good repair; and the beautiful

little river murmured freely on its way to the left of the town, neither

restrained by a dam nor bordered by a towing-path.

Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the southward of the town, were

seen, amongst many venerable oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets of

a castle as old as the walls of York and Lancaster, but which seemed to

have received important alterations during the age of Elizabeth and

her successor, It had not been a place of great size; but whatever

accommodation it formerly afforded was, it must be supposed, still to

be obtained within its walls. At least, such was the inference which

General Browne drew from observing the smoke arise merrily from several

of the ancient wreathed and carved chimney-stalks. The wall of the park

ran alongside of the highway for two or three hundred yards; and through

the different points by which the eye found glimpses into the woodland

scenery, it seemed to be well stocked. Other points of view opened in

succession--now a full one of the front of the old castle, and now

a side glimpse at its particular towers, the former rich in all the

bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while the simple and solid

strength of other parts of the building seemed to show that they had

been raised more for defence than ostentation.

Delighted with the partial glimpses which he obtained of the castle

through the woods and glades by which this ancient feudal fortress was

surrounded, our military traveller was determined to inquire whether

it might not deserve a nearer view, and whether it contained family

pictures or other objects of curiosity worthy of a stranger’s visit,

when, leaving the vicinity of the park, he rolled through a clean and

well-paved street, and stopped at the door of a well-frequented inn.

Before ordering horses, to proceed on his journey, General Browne

made inquiries concerning the proprietor of the chateau which had so

attracted his admiration, and was equally surprised and pleased at

hearing in reply a nobleman named, whom we shall call Lord Woodville.

How fortunate! Much of Browne’s early recollections, both at school

and at college, had been connected with young Woodville, whom, by a few

questions, he now ascertained to be the same with the owner of this fair

domain. He had been raised to the peerage by the decease of his father

a few months before, and, as the General learned from the landlord, the

term of mourning being ended, was now taking possession of his paternal

estate in the jovial season of merry, autumn, accompanied by a select

party of friends, to enjoy the sports of a country famous for game.

This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank Woodville had been

Richard Browne’s fag at Eton, and his chosen intimate at Christ Church;

their pleasures and their tasks had been the same; and the honest

soldier’s heart warmed to find his early friend in possession of so

delightful a residence, and of an estate, as the landlord assured

him with a nod and a wink, fully adequate to maintain and add to his

dignity. Nothing was more natural than that the traveller should suspend

a journey, which there was nothing to render hurried, to pay a visit to

an old friend under such agreeable circumstances.

The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task of conveying the

General’s travelling carriage to Woodville Castle. A porter admitted

them at a modern Gothic lodge, built in that style to correspond with

the castle itself, and at the same time rang a bell to give warning of

the approach of visitors. Apparently the sound of the bell had suspended

the separation of the company, bent on the various amusements of the

morning; for, on entering the court of the chateau, several young

men were lounging about in their sporting dresses, looking at and

criticizing the dogs which the keepers held in readiness to attend their

pastime. As General Browne alighted, the young lord came to the gate

of the hall, and for an instant gazed, as at a stranger, upon the

countenance of his friend, on which war, with its fatigues and its

wounds, had made a great alteration. But the uncertainty lasted no

longer than till the visitor had spoken, and the hearty greeting which

followed was such as can only be exchanged betwixt those who have passed

together the merry days of careless boyhood or early youth.

“If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne,” said Lord Woodville,

“it would have been to have you here, of all men, upon this occasion,

which my friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holiday. Do not

think you have been unwatched during the years you have been absent

from us. I have traced you through your dangers, your triumphs, your

misfortunes, and was delighted to see that, whether in victory or

defeat, the name of my old friend was always distinguished with

applause.”

The General made a suitable reply, and congratulated his friend on his

new dignities, and the possession of a place and domain so beautiful.

“Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet,” said Lord Woodville, “and I

trust you do not mean to leave us till you are better acquainted with

it. It is true, I confess, that my present party is pretty large, and

the old house, like other places of the kind, does not possess so much

accommodation as the extent of the outward walls appears to promise.

But we can give you a comfortable old-fashioned room, and I venture

to suppose that your campaigns have taught you to be glad of worse

quarters.”

The General shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. “I presume,” he said,

“the worst apartment in your chateau is considerably superior to the old

tobacco-cask in which I was fain to take up my night’s lodging when I

was in the Bush, as the Virginians call it, with the light corps. There

I lay, like Diogenes himself, so delighted with my covering from the

elements, that I made a vain attempt to have it rolled on to my next

quarters; but my commander for the time would give way to no such

luxurious provision, and I took farewell of my beloved cask with tears

in my eyes.”

“Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters,” said Lord Woodville,

“you will stay with me a week at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods,

flies, and means of sport by sea and land, we have enough and to

spare--you cannot pitch on an amusement but we will find the means of

pursuing it. But if you prefer the gun and pointers, I will go with you

myself, and see whether you have mended your shooting since you have

been amongst the Indians of the back settlements.”

The General gladly accepted his friendly host’s proposal in all its

points. After a morning of manly exercise, the company met at dinner,

where it was the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to the display of

the high properties of his recovered friend, so as to recommend him to

his guests, most of whom were persons of distinction. He led General

Browne to speak of the scenes he had witnessed; and as every word marked

alike the brave officer and the sensible man, who retained possession

of his cool judgment under the most imminent dangers, the company looked

upon the soldier with general respect, as on one who had proved himself

possessed of an uncommon portion of personal courage--that attribute of

all others of which everybody desires to be thought possessed.

The day at Woodville Castle ended as usual in such mansions. The

hospitality stopped within the limits of good order. Music, in which the

young lord was a proficient, succeeded to the circulation of the bottle;

cards and billiards, for those who preferred such amusements, were in

readiness; but the exercise of the morning required early hours, and not

long after eleven o’clock the guests began to retire to their several

apartments.

The young lord himself conducted his friend, General Browne, to the

chamber destined for him, which answered the description he had given

of it, being comfortable, but old-fashioned, The bed was of the massive

form used in the end of the seventeenth century, and the curtains of

faded silk, heavily trimmed with tarnished gold. But then the sheets,

pillows, and blankets looked delightful to the campaigner, when he

thought of his “mansion, the cask.” There was an air of gloom in the

tapestry hangings, which, with their worn-out graces, curtained the

walls of the little chamber, and gently undulated as the autumnal breeze

found its way through the ancient lattice window, which pattered and

whistled as the air gained entrance. The toilet, too, with its mirror,

turbaned after the manner of the beginning of the century, with a

coiffure of murrey-coloured silk, and its hundred strange-shaped boxes,

providing for arrangements which had been obsolete for more than fifty

years, had an antique, and in so far a melancholy, aspect. But nothing

could blaze more brightly and cheerfully than the two large wax candles;

or if aught could rival them, it was the flaming, bickering fagots in

the chimney, that sent at once their gleam and their warmth through

the snug apartment, which, notwithstanding the general antiquity of its

appearance, was not wanting in the least convenience that modern habits

rendered either necessary or desirable.

“This is an old-fashioned sleeping apartment, General,” said the

young lord; “but I hope you find nothing that makes you envy your old

tobacco-cask.”

“I am not particular respecting my lodgings,” replied the General; “yet

were I to make any choice, I would prefer this chamber by many degrees

to the gayer and more modern rooms of your family mansion. Believe

me that, when I unite its modern air of comfort with its venerable

antiquity, and recollect that it is your lordship’s property, I shall

feel in better quarters here than if I were in the best hotel London

could afford.”

“I trust--I have no doubt--that you will find yourself as comfortable

as I wish you, my dear General,” said the young nobleman; and once more

bidding his guest good-night, he shook him by the hand, and withdrew.

The General once more looked round him, and internally congratulating

himself on his return to peaceful life, the comforts of which were

endeared by the recollection of the hardships and dangers he had lately

sustained, undressed himself, and prepared for a luxurious night’s rest.

Here, contrary to the custom of this species of tale, we leave the

General in possession of his apartment until the next morning.

The company assembled for breakfast at an early hour, but without the

appearance of General Browne, who seemed the guest that Lord Woodville

was desirous of honouring above all whom his hospitality had assembled

around him. He more than once expressed surprise at the General’s

absence, and at length sent a servant to make inquiry after him. The

man brought back information that General Browne had been walking abroad

since an early hour of the morning, in defiance of the weather, which

was misty and ungenial.

“The custom of a soldier,” said the young nobleman to his friends. “Many

of them acquire habitual vigilance, and cannot sleep after the early

hour at which their duty usually commands them to be alert.”

Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus offered to the company

seemed hardly satisfactory to his own mind, and it was in a fit of

silence and abstraction that he waited the return of the General. It

took place near an hour after the breakfast bell had rung. He looked

fatigued and feverish. His hair, the powdering and arrangement of which

was at this time one of the most important occupations of a man’s whole

day, and marked his fashion as much as in the present time the tying of

a cravat, or the want of one, was dishevelled, uncurled, void of

powder, and dank with dew. His clothes were huddled on with a careless

negligence, remarkable in a military man, whose real or supposed duties

are usually held to include some attention to the toilet; and his looks

were haggard and ghastly in a peculiar degree.

“So you have stolen a march upon us this morning, my dear General,” said

Lord Woodville; “or you have not found your bed so much to your mind as

I had hoped and you seemed to expect. How did you rest last night?”

“Oh, excellently well! remarkably well! never better in my life,” said

General Browne rapidly, and yet with an air of embarrassment which

was obvious to his friend. He then hastily swallowed a cup of tea, and

neglecting or refusing whatever else was offered, seemed to fall into a

fit of abstraction.

“You will take the gun to-day, General?” said his friend and host, but

had to repeat the question twice ere he received the abrupt answer, “No,

my lord; I am sorry I cannot have the opportunity of spending another

day with your lordship; my post horses are ordered, and will be here

directly.”

All who were present showed surprise, and Lord Woodville immediately

replied “Post horses, my good friend! What can you possibly want with

them when you promised to stay with me quietly for at least a week?”

“I believe,” said the General, obviously much embarrassed, “that I

might, in the pleasure of my first meeting with your lordship, have

said something about stopping here a few days; but I have since found it

altogether impossible.”

“That is very extraordinary,” answered the young nobleman. “You seemed

quite disengaged yesterday, and you cannot have had a summons to-day,

for our post has not come up from the town, and therefore you cannot

have received any letters.”

General Browne, without giving any further explanation, muttered

something about indispensable business, and insisted on the absolute

necessity of his departure in a manner which silenced all opposition on

the part of his host, who saw that his resolution was taken, and forbore

all further importunity.

“At least, however,” he said, “permit me, my dear Browne, since go you

will or must, to show you the view from the terrace, which the mist,

that is now rising, will soon display.”

He threw open a sash-window, and stepped down upon the terrace as he

spoke. The General followed him mechanically, but seemed little to

attend to what his host was saying, as, looking across an extended

and rich prospect, he pointed out the different objects worthy of

observation. Thus they moved on till Lord Woodville had attained

his purpose of drawing his guest entirely apart from the rest of the

company, when, turning round upon him with an air of great solemnity, he

addressed him thus:--

“Richard Browne, my old and very dear friend, we are now alone. Let me

conjure you to answer me upon the word of a friend, and the honour of a

soldier. How did you in reality rest during last night?”

“Most wretchedly indeed, my lord,” answered the General, in the same

tone of solemnity--“so miserably, that I would not run the risk of such

a second night, not only for all the lands belonging to this castle, but

for all the country which I see from this elevated point of view.”

“This is most extraordinary,” said the young lord, as if speaking to

himself; “then there must be something in the reports concerning that

apartment.” Again turning to the General, he said, “For God’s sake,

my dear friend, be candid with me, and let me know the disagreeable

particulars which have befallen you under a roof, where, with consent of

the owner, you should have met nothing save comfort.”

The General seemed distressed by this appeal, and paused a moment before

he replied. “My dear lord,” he at length said, “what happened to me last

night is of a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant, that I could hardly

bring myself to detail it even to your lordship, were it not that,

independent of my wish to gratify any request of yours, I think that

sincerity on my part may lead to some explanation about a circumstance

equally painful and mysterious. To others, the communication I am about

to make, might place me in the light of a weak-minded, superstitious

fool, who suffered his own imagination to delude and bewilder him; but

you have known me in childhood and youth, and will not suspect me of

having adopted in manhood the feelings and frailties from which my early

years were free.” Here he paused, and his friend replied,--

“Do not doubt my perfect confidence in the truth of your communication,

however strange it may be,” replied Lord Woodville. “I know your

firmness of disposition too well, to suspect you could be made the

object of imposition, and am aware that your honour and your friendship

will equally deter you from exaggerating whatever you may have

witnessed.”

“Well, then,” said the General, “I will proceed with my story as well

as I can, relying upon your candour, and yet distinctly feeling that

I would rather face a battery than recall to my mind the odious

recollections of last night.”

He paused a second time, and then perceiving that Lord Woodville

remained silent and in an attitude of attention, he commenced, though

not without obvious reluctance, the history of his night’s adventures in

the Tapestried Chamber.

“I undressed and went to bed so soon as your lordship left me yesterday

evening; but the wood in the chimney, which nearly fronted my bed,

blazed brightly and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred exciting

recollections of my childhood and youth, which had been recalled by the

unexpected pleasure of meeting your lordship, prevented me from falling

immediately asleep. I ought, however, to say that these reflections were

all of a pleasant and agreeable kind, grounded on a sense of having for

a time exchanged the labour, fatigues, and dangers of my profession for

the enjoyments of a peaceful life, and the reunion of those friendly and

affectionate ties which I had torn asunder at the rude summons of war.

“While such pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and

gradually lulling me to slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a sound like

that of the rustling of a silken gown, and the tapping of a pair of

high-heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking in the apartment. Ere

I could draw the curtain to see what the matter was, the figure of a

little woman passed between the bed and the fire. The back of this form

was turned to me, and I could observe, from the shoulders and neck, it

was that of an old woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown, which I

think ladies call a sacque--that is, a sort of robe completely loose in

the body, but gathered into broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders,

which fall down to the ground, and terminate in a species of train.

“I thought the intrusion singular enough, but never harboured for a

moment the idea that what I saw was anything more than the mortal form

of some old woman about the establishment, who had a fancy to dress like

her grandmother, and who, having perhaps (as your lordship mentioned

that you were rather straitened for room) been dislodged from her

chamber for my accommodation, had forgotten the circumstance, and

returned by twelve to her old haunt. Under this persuasion I moved

myself in bed and coughed a little, to make the intruder sensible of

my being in possession of the premises. She turned slowly round, but,

gracious Heaven! my lord, what a countenance did she display to me!

There was no longer any question what she was, or any thought of her

being a living being. Upon a face which wore the fixed features of a

corpse were imprinted the traces of the vilest and most hideous passions

which had animated her while she lived. The body of some atrocious

criminal seemed to have been given up from the grave, and the soul

restored from the penal fire, in order to form for a space a union

with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. I started up in bed, and sat

upright, supporting myself on my palms, as I gazed on this horrible

spectre. The hag made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the

bed where I lay, and squatted herself down upon it, in precisely the

same attitude which I had assumed in the extremity of horror, advancing

her diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine, with a grin which

seemed to intimate the malice and the derision of an incarnate fiend.”

Here General Browne stopped, and wiped from his brow the cold

perspiration with which the recollection of his horrible vision had

covered it.

“My lord,” he said, “I am no coward, I have been in all the mortal

dangers incidental to my profession, and I may truly boast that no man

ever knew Richard Browne dishonour the sword he wears; but in these

horrible circumstances, under the eyes, and, as it seemed, almost in the

grasp of an incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness forsook me,

all manhood melted from me like wax in the furnace, and I felt my hair

individually bristle. The current of my life-blood ceased to flow, and

I sank back in a swoon, as very a victim to panic terror as ever was

a village girl, or a child of ten years old. How long I lay in this

condition I cannot pretend to guess.

“But I was roused by the castle clock striking one, so loud that it

seemed as if it were in the very room. It was some time before I dared

open my eyes, lest they should again encounter the horrible spectacle.

When, however, I summoned courage to look up, she was no longer visible.

My first idea was to pull my bell, wake the servants, and remove to a

garret or a hay-loft, to be ensured against a second visitation. Nay, I

will confess the truth that my resolution was altered, not by the shame

of exposing myself, but by the fear that, as the bell-cord hung by

the chimney, I might, in making my way to it, be again crossed by the

fiendish hag, who, I figured to myself, might be still lurking about

some corner of the apartment.

“I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold fever-fits tormented

me for the rest of the night, through broken sleep, weary vigils,

and that dubious state which forms the neutral ground between them. A

hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me; but there was the great

difference betwixt the vision which I have described, and those which

followed, that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own fancy and

over-excited nerves.

“Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in health and

humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself as a man and a soldier,

and still more so at feeling my own extreme desire to escape from the

haunted apartment, which, however, conquered all other considerations;

so that, huddling on my clothes with the most careless haste, I made my

escape from your lordship’s mansion, to seek in the open air some relief

to my nervous system, shaken as it was by this horrible rencounter with

a visitant, for such I must believe her, from the other world. Your

lordship has now heard the cause of my discomposure, and of my sudden

desire to leave your hospitable castle. In other places I trust we may

often meet, but God protect me from ever spending a second night under

that roof!”

Strange as the General’s tale was, he spoke with such a deep air of

conviction that it cut short all the usual commentaries which are made

on such stories. Lord Woodville never once asked him if he was sure he

did not dream of the apparition, or suggested any of the possibilities

by which it is fashionable to explain supernatural appearances as

wild vagaries of the fancy, or deceptions of the optic nerves, On the

contrary, he seemed deeply impressed with the truth and reality of

what he had heard; and, after a considerable pause regretted, with much

appearance of sincerity, that his early friend should in his house have

suffered so severely.

“I am the more sorry for your pain, my dear Browne,” he continued, “that

it is the unhappy, though most unexpected, result of an experiment of my

own. You must know that, for my father and grandfather’s time, at least,

the apartment which was assigned to you last night had been shut on

account of reports that it was disturbed by supernatural sights and

noises. When I came, a few weeks since, into possession of the estate,

I thought the accommodation which the castle afforded for my friends was

not extensive enough to permit the inhabitants of the invisible world

to retain possession of a comfortable sleeping apartment. I therefore

caused the Tapestried Chamber, as we call it, to be opened, and, without

destroying its air of antiquity, I had such new articles of furniture

placed in it as became the modern times. Yet, as the opinion that the

room was haunted very strongly prevailed among the domestics, and was

also known in the neighbourhood and to many of my friends, I feared some

prejudice might be entertained by the first occupant of the Tapestried

Chamber, which might tend to revive the evil report which it had

laboured under, and so disappoint my purpose of rendering it a useful

part or the house. I must confess, my dear Browne, that your arrival

yesterday, agreeable to me for a thousand reasons besides, seemed the

most favourable opportunity of removing the unpleasant rumours which

attached to the room, since your courage was indubitable, and your mind

free of any preoccupation on the subject. I could not, therefore, have

chosen a more fitting subject for my experiment.”

“Upon my life,” said General Browne, somewhat hastily, “I am infinitely

obliged to your lordship--very particularly indebted indeed. I am likely

to remember for some time the consequences of the experiment, as your

lordship is pleased to call it.”

“Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend,” said Lord Woodville. “You

have only to reflect for a single moment, in order to be convinced that

I could not augur the possibility of the pain to which you have been

so unhappily exposed. I was yesterday morning a complete sceptic on the

subject of supernatural appearances. Nay, I am sure that, had I told

you what was said about that room, those very reports would have induced

you, by your own choice, to select it for your accommodation. It was my

misfortune, perhaps my error, but really cannot be termed my fault, that

you have been afflicted so strangely.”

“Strangely indeed!” said the General, resuming his good temper; “and I

acknowledge that I have no right to be offended with your lordship for

treating me like what I used to think myself--a man of some firmness

and courage. But I see my post horses are arrived, and I must not detain

your lordship from your amusement.”

“Nay, my old friend,” said Lord Woodville, “since you cannot stay with

us another day--which, indeed, I can no longer urge--give me at least

half an hour more. You used to love pictures, and I have a gallery of

portraits, some of them by Vandyke, representing ancestry to whom this

property and castle formerly belonged. I think that several of them will

strike you as possessing merit.”

General Browne accepted the invitation, though somewhat unwillingly.

It was evident he was not to breathe freely or at ease till he left

Woodville Castle far behind him. He could not refuse his friend’s

invitation, however; and the less so, that he was a little ashamed

of the peevishness which he had displayed towards his well-meaning

entertainer.

The General, therefore, followed Lord Woodville through several rooms

into a long gallery hung with pictures, which the latter pointed out to

his guest, telling the names, and giving some account of the personages

whose portraits presented themselves in progression. General Browne was

but little interested in the details which these accounts conveyed to

him. They were, indeed, of the kind which are usually found in an old

family gallery. Here was a Cavalier who had ruined the estate in the

royal cause; there a fine lady who had reinstated it by contracting a

match with a wealthy Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been in

danger for corresponding with the exiled Court at Saint Germain’s; here

one who had taken arms for William at the Revolution; and there a third

that had thrown his weight alternately into the scale of Whig and Tory.

While lord Woodville was cramming these words into his guest’s ear,

“against the stomach of his sense,” they gained the middle of the

gallery, when he beheld General Browne suddenly start, and assume an

attitude of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with fear, as his eyes were

suddenly caught and riveted by a portrait of an old lady in a sacque,

the fashionable dress of the end of the seventeenth century.

“There she is!” he exclaimed--“there she is, in form and features,

though Inferior in demoniac expression to the accursed hag who visited

me last night!”

“If that be the case,” said the young nobleman, “there can remain no

longer any doubt of the horrible reality of your apparition. That is the

picture of a wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black and

fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in my charter-chest.

The recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to say, that in

yon fatal apartment incest and unnatural murder were committed. I will

restore it to the solitude to which the better judgment of those who

preceded me had consigned it; and never shall any one, so long as I can

prevent it, be exposed to a repetition of the supernatural horrors which

could shake such courage as yours.”

Thus the friends, who had met with such glee, parted in a very different

mood--Lord Woodville to command the Tapestried Chamber to be unmantled,

and the door built up; and General Browne to seek in some less beautiful

country, and with some less dignified friend, forgetfulness of the

painful night which he had passed in Woodville Castle.

END OF THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER.

*****

DEATH OF THE LAIRD’S JOCK

by Sir Walter Scott.

[The manner in which this trifle was introduced at the time to Mr. F.

M. Reynolds, editor of The Keepsake of 1828, leaves no occasion for a

preface.]

AUGUST 1831.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KEEPSAKE.

You have asked me, sir, to point out a subject for the pencil, and I

feel the difficulty of complying with your request, although I am not

certainly unaccustomed to literary composition, or a total stranger to

the stores of history and tradition, which afford the best copies for

the painter’s art. But although SICUT PICTURA POESIS is an ancient and

undisputed axiom--although poetry and painting both address themselves

to the same object of exciting the human imagination, by presenting to

it pleasing or sublime images of ideal scenes--yet the one conveying

itself through the ears to the understanding, and the other applying

itself only to the eyes, the subjects which are best suited to the bard

or tale-teller are often totally unfit for painting, where the artist

must present in a single glance all that his art has power to tell us.

The artist can neither recapitulate the past nor intimate the future.

The single NOW is all which he can present; and hence, unquestionably,

many subjects which delight us in poetry or in narrative, whether real

or fictitious, cannot with advantage be transferred to the canvas.

Being in some degree aware of these difficulties, though doubtless

unacquainted both with their extent and the means by which they may be

modified or surmounted, I have, nevertheless, ventured to draw up the

following traditional narrative as a story in which, when the general

details are known, the interest is so much concentrated in one strong

moment of agonizing passion, that it can be understood and sympathized

with at a single glance. I therefore presume that it may be acceptable

as a hint to some one among the numerous artists who have of late

years distinguished themselves as rearing up and supporting the British

school.

Enough has been said and sung about

“The well-contested ground,

The warlike Border-land,”

to render the habits of the tribes who inhabited it before the union of

England and Scotland familiar to most of your readers. The rougher and

sterner features of their character were softened by their attachment

to the fine arts, from which has arisen the saying that on the frontiers

every dale had its battle, and every river its song. A rude species of

chivalry was in constant use, and single combats were practised as the

amusement of the few intervals of truce which suspended the exercise of

war. The inveteracy of this custom may be inferred from the following

incident:--

Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the north, the first who undertook to

preach the Protestant doctrines to the Border dalesmen, was surprised,

on entering one of their churches, to see a gauntlet or mail-glove

hanging above the altar. Upon inquiring; the meaning of a symbol so

indecorous being displayed in that sacred place, he was informed by the

clerk that the glove was that of a famous swordsman, who hung it there

as an emblem of a general challenge and gage of battle to any who should

dare to take the fatal token down. “Reach it to me,” said the reverend

churchman. The clerk and the sexton equally declined the perilous

office, and the good Bernard Gilpin was obliged to remove the glove with

his own hands, desiring those who were present to inform the champion

that he, and no other, had possessed himself of the gage of defiance.

But the champion was as much ashamed to face Bernard Gilpin as the

officials of the church had been to displace his pledge of combat.

The date of the following story is about the latter years of Queen

Elizabeth’s reign; and the events took place in Liddesdale, a hilly and

pastoral district of Roxburghshire, which, on a part of its boundary, is

divided from England only by a small river.

During the good old times of RUGGING AND RIVING--that is, tugging and

tearing--under which term the disorderly doings of the warlike age are

affectionately remembered, this valley was principally cultivated by the

sept or clan of the Armstrongs. The chief of this warlike race was

the Laird of Mangerton. At the period of which I speak, the estate of

Mangerton, with the power and dignity of chief, was possessed by John

Armstrong, a man of great size, strength, and courage. While his father

was alive, he was distinguished from others of his clan who bore the

same name, by the epithet of the LAIRD’S JOCK--that is to say, the

Laird’s son Jock, or Jack. This name he distinguished by so many bold

and desperate achievements, that he retained it even after his father’s

death, and is mentioned under it both in authentic records and in

tradition. Some of his feats are recorded in the minstrelsy of the

Scottish Border, and others are mentioned in contemporary chronicles.

At the species of singular combat which we have described the Laird’s

Jock was unrivalled, and no champion of Cumberland, Westmoreland, or

Northumberland could endure the sway of the huge two-handed sword which

he wielded, and which few others could even lift. This “awful sword,” as

the common people term it, was as dear to him as Durindana or Fushberta

to their respective masters, and was nearly as formidable to his enemies

as those renowned falchions proved to the foes of Christendom. The

weapon had been bequeathed to him by a celebrated English outlaw named

Hobbie Noble, who, having committed some deed for which he was in danger

from justice, fled to Liddesdale, and became a follower, or rather a

brother-in-arms, to the renowned Laird’s Jock; till, venturing into

England with a small escort, a faithless guide, and with a light

single-handed sword instead of his ponderous brand, Hobbie Noble,

attacked by superior numbers, was made prisoner and executed.

With this weapon, and by means of his own strength and address, the

Laird’s Jock maintained the reputation of the best swordsman on the

Border side, and defeated or slew many who ventured to dispute with him

the formidable title.

But years pass on with the strong and the brave as with the feeble

and the timid. In process of time the Laird’s Jock grew incapable of

wielding his weapons, and finally of all active exertion, even of the

most ordinary kind. The disabled champion became at length totally

bedridden, and entirely dependent for his comfort on the pious duties of

an only daughter, his perpetual attendant and companion.

Besides this dutiful child, the Laird’s Jock had an only son, upon

whom devolved the perilous task of leading the clan to battle, and

maintaining the warlike renown of his native country, which was now

disputed by the English upon many occasions. The young Armstrong was

active, brave, and strong, and brought home from dangerous adventures

many tokens of decided success. Still, the ancient chief conceived,

as it would seem, that his son was scarce yet entitled by age and

experience to be entrusted with the two-handed sword, by the use of

which he had himself been so dreadfully distinguished.

At length an English champion, one of the name of Foster (if I rightly

recollect), had the audacity to send a challenge to the best swordsman

in Liddesdale; and young Armstrong, burning for chivalrous distinction,

accepted the challenge.

The heart of the disabled old man swelled with joy when he heard that

the challenge was passed and accepted, and the meeting fixed at a

neutral spot, used as the place of rencontre upon such occasions, and

which he himself had distinguished by numerous victories. He exulted

so much in the conquest which he anticipated, that, to nerve his son to

still bolder exertions, he conferred upon him, as champion of his clan

and province, the celebrated weapon which he had hitherto retained in

his own custody.

This was not all. When the day of combat arrived, the Laird’s Jock, in

spite of his daughter’s affectionate remonstrances, determined, though

he had not left his bed for two years, to be a personal witness of the

duel. His will was still a law to his people, who bore him on their

shoulders, wrapped in plaids and blankets, to the spot where the combat

was to take place, and seated him on a fragment of rock, which is still

called the Laird’s Jock’s stone. There he remained with eyes fixed on

the lists or barrier, within which the champions were about to meet.

His daughter, having done all she could for his accommodation, stood

motionless beside him, divided between anxiety for his health, and for

the event of the combat to her beloved brother. Ere yet the fight began,

the old men gazed on their chief, now seen for the first time after

several years, and sadly compared his altered features and wasted

frame with the paragon of strength and manly beauty which they once

remembered. The young men gazed on his large form and powerful make as

upon some antediluvian giant who had survived the destruction of the

Flood.

But the sound of the trumpets on both sides recalled the attention

of every one to the lists, surrounded as they were by numbers of both

nations eager to witness the event of the day. The combatants met in the

lists. It is needless to describe the struggle: the Scottish champion

fell. Foster, placing his foot on his antagonist, seized on the

redoubted sword, so precious in the eyes of its aged owner, and

brandished it over his head as a trophy of his conquest. The English

shouted in triumph. But the despairing cry of the aged champion, who saw

his country dishonoured, and his sword, long the terror of their

race, in the possession of an Englishman, was heard high above the

acclamations of victory. He seemed for an instant animated by all his

wonted power; for he started from the rock on which he sat, and while

the garments with which he had been invested fell from his wasted frame,

and showed the ruins of his strength, he tossed his arms wildly to

heaven, and uttered a cry of indignation, horror, and despair, which,

tradition says, was heard to a preternatural distance, and resembled the

cry of a dying lion more than a human sound.

His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly exhausted by

the effort, and bore him back to his castle in mute sorrow; while his

daughter at once wept for her brother, and endeavoured to mitigate and

soothe the despair of her father. But this was impossible; the old man’s

only tie to life was rent rudely asunder, and his heart had broken with

it. The death of his son had no part in his sorrow. If he thought of

him at all, it was as the degenerate boy through whom the honour of his

country and clan had been lost; and he died in the course of three

days, never even mentioning his name, but pouring out unintermitted

lamentations for the loss of his noble sword.

I conceive that the moment when the disabled chief was roused into a

last exertion by the agony of the moment is favourable to the object of

a painter. He might obtain the full advantage of contrasting the form

of the rugged old man, in the extremity of furious despair, with the

softness and beauty of the female form. The fatal field might be thrown

into perspective, so as to give full effect to these two principal

figures, and with the single explanation that the piece represented a

soldier beholding his son slain, and the honour of his country lost, the

picture would be sufficiently intelligible at the first glance. If it

was thought necessary to show more clearly the nature of the conflict,

it might be indicated by the pennon of Saint George being displayed at

one end of the lists, and that of Saint Andrew at the other.

I remain, sir,

Your obedient servant,

THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.