  By WALLACE BRUCE. III.One hundred years have passed away since Richard the Lion-hearted, Ivanhoe and Robin Hood met at the “Joyous passage of arms at Ashby.” Our next story, “Castle Dangerous,” opens upon days even more bitter and warlike; Scotland is rent with bitter feuds. The daughter of King Alexander the Third died in 1291, and no fewer than twelve persons claimed the throne. King Edward of England was chosen arbiter. He took advantage of sectional discord and endeavored to make Scotland subject to the English crown. He found a willing instrument in the person of John Baliol, who basely acknowledged himself vassal and subject. King Edward further demanded the surrender of three powerful castles, Berwick, Roxburgh and Jedburgh; but the people murmured and Baliol was compelled to do battle with Edward. Under this weak and treacherous leader the Scottish army was defeated in a great battle near Dunbar in 1296. Edward marched through Scotland at the head of a powerful army. He removed to London the records of the Scottish Kingdom, carried the great stone of Scone, upon which the Scottish Kings had been crowned for centuries, to Westminster Abbey, and placed the government of Scotland in the hands of John de Warrene, Earl of Surrey. At this juncture a leader arose in the person of Sir William Wallace, the son of a private gentleman, and in no way related to the nobility of the kingdom. His glorious struggle kept alive the spark of Scottish liberty. He gathered to himself a band of brave men, and defeated the English army near Stirling. The Scottish people, as they had no king, chose him Protector, and he was titled Sir William Wallace, Governor of the Scottish Nation. He was defeated, captured by a traitor, brought to trial in the great hall of William Rufus in Westminster, sentenced to death as an outlaw, his body divided into four quarters and placed on London bridge. Among the followers of William Wallace were two powerful barons, Robert Bruce and John Comyn, whose claims were about equal, by descent, to the Scottish throne. They met before the high altar in the Church of Dumfries. What passed betwixt them is not known; but they quarrelled and Bruce slew him with his dagger. Scott puts a defence of this high-handed deed in the mouth of Robert Bruce which we will quote later. Having committed an act which would bring down upon his head the fierce anathema of the Romish Church, which would moreover arouse the King of England and the powerful family of Comyn, Bruce determined to put them all to defiance, and was crowned King of Scotland at the Abbey of Scone the 29th of May, 1306. Among his devoted friends was James, Lord of Douglas. His castle was on the border of Scotland, and it is in the vicinity of this castle, known as Castle Dangerous, that the scene of our romance is laid. So much for the historical preface which may be of service to the reader in connection with the incidents under our consideration. In the old chronicles and poems of Scottish history, notably that of Barbour, considerable space is devoted to the adventures of Douglas. His castle was captured again and again by the English; but the victors held it at such hazard against the attacks of the adventurous Douglas, that it was considered a perilous and uncertain piece of property. With a romantic enthusiasm, in keeping with those chivalrous times, Lady Augusta, a wealthy English heiress, distinguished for her beauty, promised her hand and fortune to the knight, who would show his courage by defending the castle against the Scots “for a year and a day.” A brave knight, John de Walton, started up and said “that for the love of that lady he was willing to keep the Perilous Castle for a year and a day if the King pleased to give him leave.” The King gladly gave his consent, being well pleased to get so brave a knight for such an important fortress. There was an old prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer, that as often as the Castle of Douglas should be destroyed it would arise grander and stronger than ever from its ruins. The prophecy had already been fulfilled and its great walls seemed able to withstand the most powerful siege. Some manuscripts of Thomas the Rhymer were also preserved in the Castle, and our first chapter opens with a description of two travelers, showily dressed in the fashion of the wandering minstrels of the day, apparently father and son, making a pilgrimage to the castle with the avowed purpose of finding some of the papers or books of the old poet. They are lodged at the house of one Thomas Dickson. They arouse the suspicion of two English soldiers who are quartered at the Dickson farm-house. The elder minstrel is conducted to the castle and imprisoned; the younger is placed in a neighboring convent. By this time the reader begins to suspect that the younger minstrel is no other than the fair Lady Augusta, making a trip under disguise of a minstrel-boy to see how her knight is prospering. Attended by her father’s minstrel she reminds one of Rosalind in “As You Like It,” under the guidance of the faithful Touchstone. During her detention at the convent she confessed her secret to Sister Ursula, and they escape by night through a trap-door and subterraneous passage, although the convent is strongly guarded. They separate, and by rather an unnatural process again meet at the Douglas Kirk, where the services of Palm Sunday are converted into a warlike controversy. A hand-to-hand conflict, worthy of the Homeric heroes, is recorded between Lord Douglas and De Walton. In the midst of the fray a herald arrives, announcing the defeat of the English army, and the first triumph of Robert Bruce. De Walton surrenders to Douglas, who allows him without ransom to return to England with the Lady Augusta, and unlike the seven years’ toil of Jacob for Rachel, the daughter of Laban, which was lengthened to fourteen years, the one year and a day was shortened, no doubt to the great delight of the interested parties. The most dramatic incident in the story is the midnight interview between the English knight, De Valence, and the old sexton in the ruined burial-place of the Douglas Kirk. The story throughout is chivalrous and romantic; but “Castle Dangerous” does not rank with other stories of the Waverley series in power, incident or dramatic unity. I have already alluded to “Count Robert of Paris” as the last of the Waverley Novels written by the great magician, and it is so regarded, as “Castle Dangerous” was never really completed by the author; but it serves as a connecting link in the great chain, and, in spite of its incompleteness, gives a graphic description of years eloquent with prowess and manly courage. There are five poems of Sir Walter which I deem worthy of association with the Waverley Novels, viz: “The Lord of the Isles,” “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” “The Lady of the Lake,” “Marmion,” and “Rokeby,” which I propose to consider, each in its place. “The Lord of the Isles” is associated with the same stirring events as “Castle Dangerous,” and presents a faithful portrayal of the adventures and history of Robert Bruce. It opens at Ardtornish Castle whose ruins still rise bold and towering on the coast of Morven. I saw it once in the gray gloamin’ of an August evening, on my return from Staffa and Iona; and the opening canto of the poem was impressed upon my mind at that time, in lines never to be effaced. As I sat upon the deck of the steamer I heard the minstrel song again echoing among the crags—“Wake Maid of Lorn”—prelude to the wedding festivities already arranged but destined to be long delayed. I saw Lord Ronald’s fleet again sweep by “Streamered with silk and tricked with gold, Manned with the noble and the bold Of Island chivalry.” I saw the solitary skiff, bearing the hope and pride of Scotland, “In man’s most dark extremity Oft succor dawns from heaven.” I saw the lights of the castle again gleam over the dark billows as the door opened to the regal wanderer asking shelter. I saw the haughty look of the proud Lorn, his lifelong enemy. I saw the bridal feast changed into warlike debate, and Scott’s lines came to my mind with pictured force: “Wild was the scene; each sword was bare, Back streamed each chieftain’s shaggy hair In gloomy opposition set, Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons met; Blue gleaming o’er the social board, Flashed to the torches many a sword; And soon those bridal lights may shine On purple blood for rosy wine.” I saw the Abbott, with hoodless head and withered cheek stop upon the threshold, while “Threat and murmur died away, Till on the crowded hall there lay Such silence as the deadly still, Ere bursts the thunder on the hill; With blade advanced, each chieftain bold Showed like the sworder’s form of old, As wanting still the torch of life To wake the marble into strife.” I heard the haughty words of Argentine demanding Bruce, as England’s prisoner, and the loud turmoil of fiercer chiefs demanding his life, while the brave Ronald cries: “Forbear! Not in my sight while brand I wear, O’ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall, Or blood of stranger stain my hall! This ancient fortress of my race Shall be misfortune’s resting-place, Shelter and shield of the distressed, No slaughterhouse for shipwrecked guest.” I heard the Abbott’s stern charge asking the heroic King if he knew reason aught, why his curse should not be pronounced in requital of that rash deed at the high altar of the Church of Dumfries. I heard the eloquent defense of the King, and the unexpected and sublime blessing of the Abbott. “Abbott!” the Bruce replied, “thy charge It boots not to dispute at large. This much, howe’er, I bid thee know, No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, For Comyn died his country’s foe. Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed Fulfilled my soon-repented deed, Nor censure those from whose stern tongue The dire anathema has rung. I only blame my own wild ire, By Scotland’s wrongs incensed to fire. Heaven knows my purpose to atone, Far as I may, the evil done, And hears a penitent’s appeal From papal curse and prelate’s zeal. My first and dearest task achieved, Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, Shall many a priest in cope and stole Say requiem for Red Comyn’s soul. While I the blessed cross advance, And expiate this unhappy chance In Palestine, with sword and lance. But, while content the Church should know My conscience owns the debt I owe, Unto De Argentine and Lorn The name of traitor I return, Bid them defiance stern and high, And give them in their throats the lie; These brief words spoke, I speak no more, Do what thou wilt; my shrift is o’er.” Like man by prodigy amazed, Upon the king the abbott gazed; Then o’er his pallid features glance Convulsions of ecstatic trance, And undistinguished accents broke The awful silence ere he spoke. “De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread To speak my curse upon thy head, To give thee as an outcast o’er To him who burns to shed thy gore; But, like the Midianite of old, Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controlled, I feel within my aged breast A power that will not be repress’d. It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, It burns, it maddens, it constrains!— De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow Hath at God’s altar slain thy foe: O’ermastered yet by high behest, I bless thee, and thou shalt be blest! Blessed in the hall and in the field, Under the mantle as the shield. Avenger of thy country’s shame, Restorer of her injured fame, Blessed in thy scepter and thy sword, De Bruce, fair Scotland’s rightful lord, Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame, What lengthened honors wait thy name! In distant ages sire to son Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, And teach his infants in the use Of earliest speech to falter Bruce.” There is nothing, to my mind, in any poem more dramatic than this unexpected prayer of the abbott; and the reader does not wonder that “O’er the astonished throng Was silence, awful, deep and long.” The scene of the poem now changes to the stormy island of Skye, where Sir Walter pauses to give one of his beautiful descriptions in the fourteenth and fifteenth divisions of canto third. The fourth canto takes the king en route past the island of Staffa, with its Fingal’s Cave, and Iona, with its sainted shrine—the cradle of Christianity in Britain, now in ruin. His description of Staffa is one of the most beautiful in English verse: “Where, as to shame the temples decked By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seemed would raise A minster to her Maker’s praise! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tones prolonged and high, That mocks the organ’s melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old Iona’s holy fame, That nature’s voice might seem to say, ‘Well hast thou done, frail child of clay! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Tasked high and hard—but witness mine!’” In canto fifth the king returns to Scotland. He rallies his “The Lord of the Isles” does not possess the pleasing qualities of the “Lady of the Lake,” or the sustained vigor of “Marmion;” but it is a noble poem throughout, and abounds with passages revealing the deep reverence and exalted character of the author. The reader will note the heart-spoken prayer and God-speed of the priest as King Robert embarks upon his uncertain mission: “O heaven! when swords for freedom shine And monarch’s right, the cause is thine! Edge doubly every patriot blow! Beat down the banners of the foe! And be it to the nations known, That victory is from God alone.” In connection with the “Lord of the Isles” and “Castle Dangerous,” it is well to read carefully the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth chapters of Scott’s “Tales of a Grandfather.” It is also pleasant to note that the friendship between Robert Bruce and James Douglas was constant and unchanging; in fact, their unwavering trust and fidelity are emphasized by the dying wish of the king, who desired his heart to be carried to Jerusalem after his death, and requested Douglas to take charge of it. It was in fulfillment of a vow which he had been unable to perform—to go to Palestine and fight for the Holy Sepulchre. “Douglas wept bitterly as he accepted the office, the last mark of the Bruce’s friendship and confidence. He caused a case of silver to be made, into which he put the heart, and wore it around his neck, by a string of silk and gold.” He set off with a gallant train of the bravest men in Scotland. But the doughty James found an opportunity in Spain for a skirmish with the infidels, which he could not let pass; he was overpowered by numbers, and, seeing no chance for escape, he took from his neck the Bruce’s heart, and throwing it before him, exclaimed, “Pass first in fight, as thou wert wont to do, and Douglas will follow thee or die.” His body was found after the battle lying upon the silver case, and the heart of the Scottish king was returned to his native country, and interred beside the high altar under the east window of Melrose Abbey. decorative line
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