CHAPTER VIII
A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE
It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the stragglingvillage, or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which wassituated the mansion of the proprietor. The houses seemedmiserable in the extreme, especially to an eye accustomed to thesmiling neatness of English cottages. They stood, without anyrespect for regularity, on each side of a straggling kind ofunpaved street, where children, almost in a primitive state ofnakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by the hoofs of thefirst passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such aconsummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with herclose cap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy outof one of these miserable cells, dashed into the middle of thepath, and snatching up her own charge from among the sunburntloiterers, saluted him with a sound cuff, and transported him backto his dungeon, the little white-headed varlet screaming all thewhile, from the very top of his lungs, a shrilly treble to thegrowling remonstrances of the enraged matron. Another part in thisconcert was sustained by the incessant yelping of a score of idleuseless curs, which followed, snarling, barking, howling, andsnapping at the horses' heels; a nuisance at that time so commonin Scotland, that a French tourist, who, like other travellers,longed to find a good and rational reason for everything he saw,has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of Caledonia, that thestate maintained, in each village a relay of curs, called collies,whose duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (too starved andexhausted to move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet toanother, till their annoying convoy drove them to the end of theirstage. The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But thisis remote 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 bytoil as years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered tothe door of his hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and theform and motions of the horses, and then assembled, with hisneighbours, in a little group at the smithy, to discuss theprobabilities of whence the stranger came and where he might begoing. Three or four village girls, returning from the well orbrook with pitchers and pails upon their heads, formed morepleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gowns and singlepetticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads and braidedhair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could alover of the picturesque have challenged either the elegance oftheir costume or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say thetruth, a mere Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a wordpeculiar to his native tongue, might have wished the clothes lessscanty, the feet and legs somewhat protected from the weather, thehead and complexion shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might evenhave thought the whole person and dress considerably improved by aplentiful application of spring water, with a quantum sufficit ofsoap. The whole scene was depressing; for it argued, at the firstglance, at least a stagnation of industry, and perhaps ofintellect. Even curiosity, the busiest passion of the idle, seemedof a listless cast in the village of Tully-Veolan: the cursaforesaid alone showed any part of its activity; with thevillagers it was passive. They stood, and gazed at the handsomeyoung officer and his attendant, but without any of those quickmotions 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 closelyexamined, was far from exhibiting the indifference of stupidity;their features were rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave, butthe very reverse of stupid; and from among the young women anartist might have chosen more than one model whose features andform resembled those of Minerva. The children also, whose skinswere burnt black, and whose hair was bleached white, by theinfluence of the sun, had a look and manner of life and interest.It seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, and indolence, its toofrequent companion, were combining to depress the natural geniusand acquired information of a hardy, intelligent, and reflectingpeasantry.
Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horseslowly through the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan,interrupted only in his meditations by the occasional caprioleswhich his charger exhibited at the reiterated assaults of thosecanine Cossacks, the collies before mentioned. The village wasmore than half a mile long, the cottages being irregularly dividedfrom each other by gardens, or yards, as the inhabitants calledthem, of different sizes, where (for it is Sixty Years Since) thenow universal potato was unknown, but which were stored withgigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircled with groves ofnettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or thenational 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.The dry-stone walls which fenced, or seemed to fence (for theywere sorely breached), these hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan wereintersected by a narrow lane leading to the common field, wherethe joint labour of the villagers cultivated alternate ridges andpatches of rye, oats, barley, and pease, each of such minuteextent that at a little distance the unprofitable variety of thesurface resembled a tailor's book of patterns. In a few favouredinstances, there appeared behind the cottages a miserable wigwam,compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf, where the wealthy mightperhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled horse. But almostevery hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack of turf on oneside of the door, while on the other the family dunghill ascendedin noble emulation.
About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared theinclosures proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, beingcertain square fields, surrounded and divided by stone walls fivefeet in height. In the centre of the exterior barrier was theupper gate of the avenue, opening under an archway, battlementedon the top, and adorned with two large weather-beaten mutilatedmasses of upright stone, which, if the tradition of the hamletcould be trusted, had once represented, at least had been oncedesigned to represent, two rampant Bears, the supporters of thefamily of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight and of moderatelength, running between a double row of very ancient horse-chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to suchhuge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughscompletely over-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond thesevenerable ranks, and running parallel to them, were two highwalls, of apparently the like antiquity, overgrown with ivy,honeysuckle, and other climbing plants. The avenue seemed verylittle trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers; so that being verybroad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed with grass ofa deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path, worn byoccasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way fromthe upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture,with battlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden bythe trees of the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables ofthe mansion, with lines indented into steps, and corners decoratedwith small turrets. One of the folding leaves of the lower gatewas open, and as the sun shone full into the court behind, a longline of brilliancy was flung upon the aperture up the dark andgloomy avenue. It was one of those effects which a painter lovesto represent, and mingled well with the struggling light whichfound its way between the boughs of the shady arch that vaultedthe broad green alley.
The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost monastic;and Waverley, who had given his horse to his servant on enteringthe first gate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying thegrateful and cooling shade, and so much pleased with the placidideas of rest and seclusion excited by this confined and quietscene, that he forgot the misery and dirt of the hamlet he hadleft behind him. The opening into the paved court-yardcorresponded with the rest of the scene. The house, which seemedto consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofedbuildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed oneside of the inclosure. It had been built at a period when castleswere no longer necessary,
and when the Scottish architects had notyet acquired the art of designing a domestic residence. Thewindows were numberless, but very small; the roof had somenondescript kind of projections, called bartizans, and displayedat each frequent angle a small turret, rather resembling a pepper-box than a Gothic watchtower. Neither did the front indicateabsolute security from danger. There were loop-holes for musketry,and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably to repel anyroving 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,with narrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward'sgroom observed, 'rather a prison for murderers, and larceners, andsuch like as are tried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christiancattle.' Above these dungeon-looking stables were granaries,called girnels, and other offices, to which there was access byoutside stairs of heavy masonry. Two battlemented walls, one ofwhich faced the avenue, and the other divided the court from thegarden, completed the inclosure.
Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a tun-bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling infigure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven,which would have turned the brains of all the antiquaries inEngland, had not the worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sakeof mending a neighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium,as the owner called it, was no small resource to a Scottish lairdof that period, whose scanty rents were eked out by thecontributions levied upon the farms by these light foragers, andthe conscriptions exacted from the latter for the benefit of thetable.
Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a hugebear, carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, intowhich he disgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder ofthe country ten miles round. It must not be forgotten, that allsorts of bears, small and large, demi or in full proportion, werecarved over the windows, upon the ends of the gables, terminatedthe spouts, and supported the turrets, with the ancient familymotto, 'Beware the Bear', cut under each hyperborean form. Thecourt was spacious, well paved, and perfectly clean, there beingprobably another entrance behind the stables for removing thelitter. Everything around appeared solitary, and would have beensilent, but for the continued plashing of the fountain; and thewhole scene still maintained the monastic illusion which the fancyof Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permission to close achapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]