CHAPTER I.
But lost to me, for ever lost those joys, Which reason scatters, and which time destroys.
No more the midnight fairy-train I view, All in the merry moonlight tippling dew.
Even the last lingering fiction of the brain, The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again.
_The Library._
The moral bard, from whom we borrow the motto of this chapter, has touched a theme with which most readers have some feelings that vibrate unconsciously. Superst.i.tion, when not arrayed in her full horrors, but laying a gentle hand only on her suppliant"s head, had charms which we fail not to regret, even in those stages of society from which her influence is wellnigh banished by the light of reason and general education. At least, in more ignorant periods, her system of ideal terrors had something in them interesting to minds which had few means of excitement. This is more especially true of those lighter modifications of superst.i.tious feelings and practices which mingle in the amus.e.m.e.nts of the ruder ages, and are, like the auguries of Hallow-e"en in Scotland, considered partly as matter of merriment, partly as sad and prophetic earnest. And, with similar feelings, people even of tolerable education have, in our times, sought the cell of a fortune-teller, upon a frolic, as it is termed, and yet not always in a disposition absolutely sceptical towards the responses they receive.
When the sisters of Burgh-Westra arrived in the apartment destined for a breakfast, as ample as that which we have described on the preceding morning, and had undergone a jocular rebuke from the Udaller for their late attendance, they found the company, most of whom had already breakfasted, engaged in an ancient Norwegian custom, of the character which we have just described.
It seems to have been borrowed from those poems of the Scalds, in which champions and heroines are so often represented as seeking to know their destiny from some sorceress or prophetess, who, as in the legend called by Gray the Descent of Odin, awakens by the force of Runic rhyme the unwilling revealer of the doom of fate, and compels from her answers, often of dubious import, but which were then believed to express some shadow of the events of futurity.
An old sibyl, Euphane Fea, the housekeeper we have already mentioned, was installed in the recess of a large window, studiously darkened by bear-skins and other miscellaneous drapery, so as to give it something the appearance of a Laplander"s hut, and accommodated, like a confessional chair, with an aperture, which permitted the person within to hear with ease whatever questions should be put, though not to see the querist. Here seated, the voluspa, or sibyl, was to listen to the rhythmical enquiries which should be made to her, and return an extemporaneous answer. The drapery was supposed to prevent her from seeing by what individuals she was consulted, and the intended or accidental reference which the answer given under such circ.u.mstances bore to the situation of the person by whom the question was asked, often furnished food for laughter, and sometimes, as it happened, for more serious reflection. The sibyl was usually chosen from her possessing the talent of improvisation in the Norse poetry; no unusual accomplishment, where the minds of many were stored with old verses, and where the rules of metrical composition are uncommonly simple. The questions were also put in verse; but as this power of extemporaneous composition, though common, could not be supposed universal, the medium of an interpreter might be used by any querist, which interpreter, holding the consulter of the oracle by the hand, and standing by the place from which the oracles were issued, had the task of rendering into verse the subject of enquiry.
On the present occasion, Claud Halcro was summoned, by the universal voice, to perform the part of interpreter; and, after shaking his head, and muttering some apology for decay of memory and poetical powers, contradicted at once by his own conscious smile of confidence and by the general shout of the company, the lighthearted old man came forward to play his part in the proposed entertainment.
But just as it was about to commence, the arrangement of parts was singularly altered. Norna of the Fitful-head, whom every one excepting the two sisters believed to be at the distance of many miles, suddenly, and without greeting, entered the apartment, walked majestically up to the bearskin tabernacle, and signed to the female who was there seated to abdicate her sanctuary. The old woman came forth, shaking her head, and looking like one overwhelmed with fear; nor, indeed, were there many in the company who saw with absolute composure the sudden appearance of a person, so well known and so generally dreaded as Norna.
She paused a moment at the entrance of the tent; and, as she raised the skin which formed the entrance, she looked up to the north, as if imploring from that quarter a strain of inspiration; then signing to the surprised guests that they might approach in succession the shrine in which she was about to install herself, she entered the tent, and was shrouded from their sight.
But this was a different sport from what the company had meditated, and to most of them seemed to present so much more of earnest than of game, that there was no alacrity shown to consult the oracle. The character and pretensions of Norna seemed, to almost all present, too serious for the part which she had a.s.sumed; the men whispered to each other, and the women, according to Claud Halcro, realized the description of glorious John Dryden,--
"With horror shuddering, in a heap they ran."
The pause was interrupted by the loud manly voice of the Udaller. "Why does the game stand still, my masters? Are you afraid because my kinswoman is to play our voluspa? It is kindly done in her, to do for us what none in the isles can do so well; and we will not baulk our sport for it, but rather go on the merrier."
There was still a pause in the company, and Magnus Troil added, "It shall never be said that my kinswoman sat in her bower unhalsed, as if she were some of the old mountain-giantesses, and all from faint heart.
I will speak first myself; but the rhyme comes worse from my tongue than when I was a score of years younger.--Claud Halcro, you must stand by me."
Hand in hand they approached the shrine of the supposed sibyl, and after a moment"s consultation together, Halcro thus expressed the query of his friend and patron. Now, the Udaller, like many persons of consequence in Zetland, who, as Sir Robert Sibbald has testified for them, had begun thus early to apply both to commerce and navigation, was concerned to some extent in the whale-fishery of the season, and the bard had been directed to put into his halting verse an enquiry concerning its success.
CLAUD HALCRO.
"Mother darksome, Mother dread-- Dweller on the Fitful-head, Thou canst see what deeds are done Under the never-setting sun.
Look through sleet, and look through frost, Look to Greenland"s caves and coast,-- By the iceberg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale; Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped?"
The jest seemed to turn to earnest, as all, bending their heads around, listened to the voice of Norna, who, without a moment"s hesitation, answered from the recesses of the tent in which she was enclosed:--
NORNA.
"The thought of the aged is ever on gear,-- On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer; But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd, While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard."
There was a momentary pause, during which Triptolemus had time to whisper, "If ten witches and as many warlocks were to swear it, I will never believe that a decent man will either fash his beard or himself about any thing, so long as stock and crop goes as it should do."
But the voice from within the tent resumed its low monotonous tone of recitation, and, interrupting farther commentary, proceeded as follows:--
NORNA.
"The ship, well-laden as bark need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea;-- The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland[1] is fluttering aloft: Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast;[2]
Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,-- And three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all."
"Now the powers above look down and protect us!" said Bryce Snailsfoot; "for it is mair than woman"s wit that has spaed out that ferly. I saw them at North Ronaldshaw, that had seen the good bark, the Olave of Lerwick, that our worthy patron has such a great share in that she may be called his own in a manner, and they had broomed[3] the ship, and, as sure as there are stars in heaven, she answered them for seven fish, exact as Norna has telled us in her rhyme!"
"Umph--seven fish exactly? and you heard it at North Ronaldshaw?" said Captain Cleveland, "and I suppose told it as a good piece of news when you came hither?"
"It never crossed my tongue, Captain," answered the pedlar; "I have kend mony chapmen, travelling merchants, and such like, neglect their goods to carry clashes and clavers up and down, from one countryside to another; but that is no traffic of mine. I dinna believe I have mentioned the Olave"s having made up her cargo to three folks since I crossed to Dunrossness."
"But if one of those three had spoken the news over again, and it is two to one that such a thing happened, the old lady prophesies upon velvet."
Such was the speech of Cleveland, addressed to Magnus Troil, and heard without any applause. The Udaller"s respect for his country extended to its superst.i.tions, and so did the interest which he took in his unfortunate kinswoman. If he never rendered a precise a.s.sent to her high supernatural pretensions, he was not at least desirous of hearing them disputed by others.
"Norna," he said, "his cousin," (an emphasis on the word,) "held no communication with Bryce Snailsfoot, or his acquaintances. He did not pretend to explain how she came by her information; but he had always remarked that Scotsmen, and indeed strangers in general, when they came to Zetland, were ready to find reasons for things which remained sufficiently obscure to those whose ancestors had dwelt there for ages."
Captain Cleveland took the hint, and bowed, without attempting to defend his own scepticism.
"And now forward, my brave hearts," said the Udaller; "and may all have as good tidings as I have! Three whales cannot but yield--let me think how many hogsheads"----
There was an obvious reluctance on the part of the guests to be the next in consulting the oracle of the tent.
"Gude news are welcome to some folks, if they came frae the deil himsell," said Mistress Baby Yellowley, addressing the Lady Glowrowrum,--for a similarity of disposition in some respects had made a sort of intimacy betwixt them--"but I think, my leddy, that this has ower mickle of rank witchcraft in it to have the countenance of douce Christian folks like you and me, my leddy."
"There may be something in what you say, my dame," replied the good Lady Glowrowrum; "but we Hialtlanders are no just like other folks; and this woman, if she be a witch, being the Fowd"s friend and near kinswoman, it will be ill taen if we haena our fortunes spaed like a" the rest of them; and sae my nieces may e"en step forward in their turn, and nae harm dune. They will hae time to repent, ye ken, in the course of nature, if there be ony thing wrang in it, Mistress Yellowley."
While others remained under similar uncertainty and apprehension, Halcro, who saw by the knitting of the old Udaller"s brows, and by a certain impatient shuffle of his right foot, like the motion of a man who with difficulty refrains from stamping, that his patience began to wax rather thin, gallantly declared, that he himself would, in his own person, and not as a procurator for others, put the next query to the Pythoness. He paused a minute--collected his rhymes, and thus addressed her:
CLAUD HALCRO.
"Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conn"d full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time: Tell me, shall my lays be sung, Like Hacon"s of the golden tongue, Long after Halcro"s dead and gone?
Or, shall Hialtland"s minstrel own One note to rival glorious John?"
The voice of the sibyl immediately replied, from her sanctuary,
NORNA.
"The infant loves the rattle"s noise; Age, double childhood, hath its toys; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the strings.
The Eagle mounts the polar sky-- The Imber-goose, unskill"d to fly, Must be content to glide along, Where seal and sea-dog list his song."
Halcro bit his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and then, instantly recovering his good-humour, and the ready, though slovenly power of extemporaneous composition, with which long habit had invested him, he gallantly rejoined,
CLAUD HALCRO.
"Be mine the Imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave and silent bay:-- The archer"s aim so shall I shun-- So shall I "scape the levell"d gun-- Content my verse"s tuneless jingle, With Thule"s sounding tides to mingle, While, to the ear of wandering wight, Upon the distant headland"s height, Soften"d by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony!"
As the little bard stepped back, with an alert gait, and satisfied air, general applause followed the spirited manner in which he had acquiesced in the doom which levelled him with an Imber-goose. But his resigned and courageous submission did not even yet encourage any other person to consult the redoubted Norna.