The Prose Marmion

The Prose Marmion
Вальтер Скотт

Sara Davis Jenkins

The Prose Marmion A Tale of the Scottish Border

INTRODUCTION

Sir Walter Scott, poet and novelist, was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, five years before the Declaration of Independence in America. Unlike most little Scotch boys, he was not sturdy and robust, and in his second year, a lameness appeared that never entirely left him. Being frail and delicate, he received the most tender care from parents and grandparents. Five consecutive years of his life, from the age of three to the age of eight, were spent on his grandfather's farm at Sandyknow. At the end of this period, he returned to Edinburgh greatly improved in health, and soon after, entered the high school, where he remained four years. A course at the university followed the high school, but Scott never gained distinction as a scholar. He loved romances, old plays, travels, and poetry too well, ever to become distinguished in philosophy, mathematics, or the dry study of dead languages.

In his early years, he had formed a taste for ballad literature, which very significantly influenced, if it did not wholly determine, the character of his writings. The historical incidents upon which the ballads were founded, their traditional legends, affected him profoundly, and he wished to become at once a poet of chivalry, a writer of romance. His father, however, had other plans for his son, and the lad was made a lawyer's apprentice in the father's office. Continuing, as recreation, his reading, he gave six years to the study of law, being admitted to the bar when only twenty-one. For years, he cultivated literature as a relaxation from business.

At the age of twenty-six he married, and about this time accepted the office of deputy sheriff of Selkirkshire, largely moved to do so by his unwillingness to rely upon his pen for support. Nine years later, 1806, through family influence he was appointed, at a good salary, to one of the chief clerkships in the Scottish court of sessions. The fulfillment of his long-cherished desire of abandoning his labors as an advocate, in order to devote himself to literature, was now at hand. He had already delighted the public by various early literary efforts, the most important being the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," parts of which had occupied him since childhood. This was followed by "Sir Tristrem" and the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." Scott was now enrolled among the poets of the day, and while never neglecting the duties of office, he entered upon his literary career with unflagging industry. "Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," "Don Roderick," and "Rokeby" reflected his romantic fervor.

Lord Byron now had entered the field of letters, and Scott, conscious of the power of his rival, determined to seek fame in other than poetic paths. This determination produced "Waverly," whose success gave birth to Scott's desire to be numbered among the landed gentry of the country. Under the influence of this passion, the novels now associated with his name followed with startling rapidity, and their growth developed in the author an unwillingness to be known as a penman writing for fortune. Literary fame was less dear to him than the upbuilding of a family name. The novels went for a time fatherless, but the baronial mansion, still one of the most famous shrines of the curious, grew into the stately proportions of Abbotsford.

In 1820. George IV. conferred upon Scott the baronetcy, dearer than all the plaudits of the public. But

"Giddy chance never bears,
That mortal bliss shall last for years,"

and the failure of banker and of publisher disclosed that the landed baronet had been a silent partner in the house of his printer for a quarter of a century, for whose debts Scott was liable to the extent of one hundred thousand pounds and to his bankers for enough more to make the entire debt one hundred fifty thousand pounds. Unappalled by the loss, Scott refused all offers of release from his creditors, and began to pay the debt by means of his pen, determined to preserve Abbotsford to his children's children. At a dinner given in 1827, he threw off all disguise, and acknowledged the authorship of the Waverly novels.

His great exertions brought on paralysis. A visit to Italy failed to improve his condition, and he returned to die on the banks of the Tweed, and to be laid at rest in Dreyburg Abbey. He had paid one hundred thousand pounds of the debt, and the publishers of his works had sufficient confidence in their sale to advance the remaining fifty thousand pounds, the estate thus being left free of encumbrance.

Of his four children, two sons and two daughters, none left male issue. A grandchild, the wife of Robert Hope, was permitted by Parliament to assume the name of Scott, and her son Walter, at the age of twenty-one, was knighted by Queen Victoria.

Edinburgh has erected to his memory a most graceful monument, and Westminster Abbey a memorial. Visitors, under certain limitations, are permitted to visit the mansion, to see the enchanted library, and the famous study, to stray about the grounds where the famous writer spent the happiest, as well as the saddest, years of his life.

CHAPTER I

In all the border country that lies between England and Scotland, no castle stands more fair than Norham. Fast by its rock-ribbed walls flows the noble Tweed, and on its battled towers frown the hills of Cheviot.

Day was dying, St. George's banner, broad and gay, hung in the evening breeze that scarce had power to wave it o'er the keep. Warriors on the turrets were moving across the sky like giants, their armor flashing back the gleam of the setting sun, when a horseman dashed forward, spurred on his proud steed, and blew his bugle before the dark archway of the castle. The warder, knowing well the horn he heard, hastened from the wall and warned the captain of the guard. At once was given the command, "Make the entrance free! Let every minstrel, every herald, every squire, prepare to receive Lord Marmion, who waits below!" The iron-studded gate was unbarred, the portcullis raised, the drawbridge dropped, and proudly across it, stepped a red roan charger, bearing the noble guest.

Lord Marmion was a stalwart knight, whose visage told of many a battle. The scar on his brown cheek spoke of Bosworth Field, and the fire that burned in his eye showed a spirit still proud. The lines of care on his brow, and the threads of silver in his black curling hair, spoke less of age than of toil. The square-turned joints, the evident strength of body and limb, bespoke not a carpet-knight, but a grim champion. From head to foot, he was clad in mail of Milan steel. His helmet of embossed gold hung at the saddle-bow. A falcon hovered in the crest, and soared on the azure field of the noble lord's shield, above the motto, "Who checks at me, to death is dight!"

The horse was as richly clad as its rider. The reins were embroidered in blue, and ribbons of the same color decked the arched neck and mane. The housings were of blue trapped with gold.

Behind the leader, rode gallant squires of noble name. Though still a squire, each had well earned knighthood. Each could tame a war horse, draw a bow, wield a sword, dance in the hall, carve at the board, frame love ditties, and sing them to fair ladies.

Next in the train, came four men-at-arms: two carried halbert, bill, axe, and lance; a third led the sumpter mules and the ambling palfrey, which served to bear Lord Marmion when he wished to relieve his battle steed; the most trusty of the four held on high the pennon, furled in its glossy blue streamers. Last were twenty yeomen, two and two, in blue jerkins, black hose, and wearing falcons embroidered on each breast. At their belts hung quivers, and in their hands were boar-spears, tough and strong. They knew the art of hunting by lake or in wood, could bend a six-foot bow, or, at the behest of their lord, send far the cloth-yard spear.

To welcome Marmion, the Flower of English Chivalry, the soldiers of the guard of Norham stood in the castle yard, with reversed pike and spear. Minstrels and trumpeters were there, the welcome was prepared, and as the train entered, a clang sounded through turret and tower, such as the old castle had seldom heard.

Trumpets flourished, the martial airs rang out as Marmion crossed the court, scattering angels among the ranks. Loud rose the cry:

"Welcome to Norham, Marmion!
Stout heart and open hand!
Thou flower of English land!"

Two pursuivants stood at the entrance to the donjon, and hailed the guest as Lord of Fontenaye, of Lutterward, Scrivelbaye, of "Tamworth tower and town." To requite their courtesy, Marmion, as he alighted, hung about the neck of each a chain of twelve marks.

"Largesse, largesse, knight of the crest of gold!" cried the heralds, in acknowledgment of the bounty received;

"'A blazon'd shield in battle won,
Ne'er guarded heart so bold.'"

As they marshalled him to the castle hall, the guests stood aside, and again the trumpets flourished, and the heralds cried:

"'Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion,
With the crest and helm of gold!
Full well we know the trophies won
In the lists at Cottiswold:
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove
'Gainst Marmion's force to stand;
To him he lost his lady-love,
And to the King his land.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,
A sight both sad and fair;
We saw Lord Marmion pierce the shield,
And saw the saddle bare;
We saw the victor win the crest
He wears with worthy pride;
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,
His foeman's scutcheon tied.
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!
Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquered in the right,
Marmion of Fontenaye!'"

As the welcome died away, forth stepped Sir Hugh, lord of the castle. He led his visitor to the raised dais and placed him in the seat of honor, while a northern harper chanted a rude hymn. The ear of Marmion could scarcely brook the barbarous sound, yet much he praised, well knowing that,

"Lady's suit, and minstrel's strain,
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain."

As the weird strains died away, the host pressed the English lord to bide long as a guest, promising rest for horse, and refreshment and pleasure for man, with many a joust, or feat at arms, for those who wished to learn northern ways.

At this the brow of Marmion grew dark and stern. Sir Hugh marked the changed look, and pouring out a bowl of sparkling wine, said:

"'Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion:
But first I pray thee fair,
Where hast thou left that page of thine,
Whose beauty was so rare?
When last in Raby towers we met,
The boy I closely eyed,
And often marked his cheeks were wet
With tears he fain would hide.'"