CHAPTER VIII

  A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE

  It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling village,or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was situated themansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed miserable in the extreme,especially to an eye accustomed to the smiling neatness of Englishcottages. They stood, without any respect for regularity, on each sideof a straggling kind of unpaved street, where children, almost in aprimitive state of nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by thehoofs of the first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such aconsummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her closecap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out of one ofthese miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the path, andsnatching up her own charge from among the sunburnt loiterers, salutedhim with a sound cuff, and transported him back to his dungeon, thelittle white-headed varlet screaming all the while, from the very topof his lungs, a shrilly treble to the growling remonstrances of theenraged matron. Another part in this concert was sustained by theincessant yelping of a score of idle useless curs, which followed,snarling, barking, howling, and snapping at the horses' heels; anuisance at that time so common in Scotland, that a French tourist,who, like other travellers, longed to find a good and rational reasonfor everything he saw, has recorded, as one of the memorabilia ofCaledonia, that the state maintained, in each village a relay of curs,called collies, whose duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (toostarved and exhausted to move without such a stimulus) from one hamletto another, till their annoying convoy drove them to the end of theirstage. The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But this isremote from our present purpose, and is only thrown out forconsideration of the collectors under Mr. Dent's Dog Bill.

  As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by toilas years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to the door ofhis hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and the form and motionsof the horses, and then assembled, with his neighbours, in a littlegroup at the smithy, to discuss the probabilities of whence thestranger came and where he might be going. Three or four village girls,returning from the well or brook with pitchers and pails upon theirheads, formed more pleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gownsand single petticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads andbraided hair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor coulda lover of the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of theircostume or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the truth, amere Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word peculiar to hisnative tongue, might have wished the clothes less scanty, the feet andlegs somewhat protected from the weather, the head and complexionshrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even have thought the wholeperson and dress considerably improved by a plentiful application ofspring water, with a quantum sufficit of soap. The whole scene wasdepressing; for it argued, at the first glance, at least a stagnationof industry, and perhaps of intellect. Even curiosity, the busiestpassion of the idle, seemed of a listless cast in the village ofTully-Veolan: the curs aforesaid alone showed any part of its activity;with the villagers it was passive. They stood, and gazed at thehandsome young officer and his attendant, but without any of thosequick motions and eager looks that indicate the earnestness with whichthose who live in monotonous ease at home look out for amusementabroad. Yet the physiognomy of the people, when more closely examined,was far from exhibiting the indifference of stupidity; their featureswere rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave, but the very reverse ofstupid; and from among the young women an artist might have chosen morethan one model whose features and form resembled those of Minerva. Thechildren also, whose skins were burnt black, and whose hair wasbleached white, by the influence of the sun, had a look and manner oflife and interest. It seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, andindolence, its too frequent companion, were combining to depress thenatural genius and acquired information of a hardy, intelligent, andreflecting peasantry.

  Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse slowlythrough the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan, interrupted onlyin his meditations by the occasional caprioles which his chargerexhibited at the reiterated assaults of those canine Cossacks, thecollies before mentioned. The village was more than half a mile long,the cottages being irregularly divided from each other by gardens, oryards, as the inhabitants called them, of different sizes, where (forit is Sixty Years Since) the now universal potato was unknown, butwhich were stored with gigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircledwith groves of nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, orthe national thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty inclosure.The broken ground on which the village was built had never beenlevelled; so that these inclosures presented declivities of everydegree, here rising like terraces, there sinking like tan-pits. Thedry-stone walls which fenced, or seemed to fence (for they were sorelybreached), these hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan were intersected by anarrow lane leading to the common field, where the joint labour of thevillagers cultivated alternate ridges and patches of rye, oats, barley,and pease, each of such minute extent that at a little distance theunprofitable variety of the surface resembled a tailor's book ofpatterns. In a few favoured instances, there appeared behind thecottages a miserable wigwam, compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf,where the wealthy might perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galledhorse. But almost every hut was fenced in front by a huge black stackof turf on one side of the door, while on the other the family dunghillascended in noble emulation.

  About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared the inclosuresproudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being certain squarefields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five feet in height. Inthe centre of the exterior barrier was the upper gate of the avenue,opening under an archway, battlemented on the top, and adorned with twolarge weather-beaten mutilated masses of upright stone, which, if thetradition of the hamlet could be trusted, had once represented, atleast had been once designed to represent, two rampant Bears, thesupporters of the family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight andof moderate length, running between a double row of very ancienthorse-chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to suchhuge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs completelyover-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond these venerable ranks, andrunning parallel to them, were two high walls, of apparently the likeantiquity, overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle, and other climbing plants.The avenue seemed very little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers;so that being very broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothedwith grass of a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path,worn by occasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the wayfrom the upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture, withbattlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden by the treesof the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables of the mansion,with lines indented into steps, and corners decorated with smallturrets. One of the folding leaves of the lower gate was open, and asthe sun shone full into the court behind, a long line of brilliancy wasflung upon the aperture up the dark and gloomy avenue. It was one ofthose effects which a painter loves to represent, and mingled well withthe struggling light which found its way between the boughs of theshady arch that vaulted the broad green alley.

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

  Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was atun-bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling infigure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven, whichwould have turned the brains of all the antiquaries in England, had notthe worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake of mending aneighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium, as the ownercalled it, was no small resource to a Scottish laird of that period,whose scanty rents were eked out by the contributions levied upon thefarms by these light foragers, and the conscriptions exacted from thelatter for the benefit of the table.

  Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge bear,carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, into which hedisgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of the country tenmiles round. It must not be forgotten, that all sorts of bears, smalland large, demi or in full proportion, were carved over the windows,upon the ends of the gables, terminated the spouts, and supported theturrets, with the ancient family motto, 'Beware the Bear', cut undereach hyperborean form. The court was spacious, well paved, andperfectly clean, there being probably another entrance behind thestables for removing the litter. Everything around appeared solitary,and would have been silent, but for the continued plashing of thefountain; and the whole scene still maintained the monastic illusionwhich the fancy of Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permissionto close a chapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]