Chapter 3

DEAR SIR,—I have been perusing your minstrelsy very diligently for a while past, and it being the first book I ever perused which was written by a person I had seen and conversed with, the consequence hath been to me a most sensible pleasure; for in fact it is the remarks and modern pieces that I have delighted most in, being as it were personally acquainted with many of the modern pieces formerly. My mother is actually a living miscellany of old songs. I never believed that she had half so many until I came to a trial. There are some (_sic_) in your collection of which she hath not a part, and I should by this time had a great number written for your amusement, thinking them all of great antiquity and lost to posterity, had I not luckily lighted upon a collection of songs in two volumes, published by I know not who, in which I recognised about half-a-score of my mother’s best songs, almost word for word. No doubt I was piqued, but it saved me much trouble, paper, and ink; for I am carefully avoiding anything which I have seen or heard of being in print, although I have no doubt that I shall err, being acquainted with almost no collections of that sort, but I am not afraid that you too will mistake. I am still at a loss with respect to some: such as the Battle of Flodden beginning, “From Spey to the Border,” a long poetical piece on the battle of Bannockburn, I fear modern: The Battle of the Boyne, Young Bateman’s Ghost, all of which, and others which I cannot mind, I could mostly recover for a few miles’ travel were I certain they could be of any use concerning the above; and I might have mentioned May Cohn and a duel between two friends, Graham and Bewick, undoubtedly very old. You must give me information in your answer. I have already scraped together a considerable quantity—suspend your curiosity, Mr. Scott, you will see them when I see you, of which I am as impatient as you can be to see the songs for your life. But as I suppose you have no personal acquaintance in this parish, it would be presumption in me to expect that you will visit my cottage, but I will attend you in any part of the Forest if you will send me word. I am far from supposing that a person of your discernment,—d—n it, I’ll blot out that, ’tis so like flattery. I say I don’t think you would despise a shepherd’s “humble cot an’ hamely fare,” as Burns hath it, yet though I would be extremely proud of a visit, yet hang me if I would know what to do wi’ ye. I am surprised to find that the songs in your collection differ so widely from my mother’s. Is Mr. Herd’s MS. genuine? I suspect it. Jamie Telfer differs in many particulars. Johnny Armstrong of Gilnockie is another song altogether. I have seen a verse of my mother’s way called Johny Armstrong’s last good-night cited in the _Spectator_, and another in _Boswell’s Journal_. It begins, “Is there ne’er a man in fair Scotland?” Do you know if this is in print, Mr. Scott? In the Tale of Tomlin the whole of the interlude about the horse and the hawk is a distinct song altogether. {30a} Clerk Saunders is nearly the same with my mother’s, until that stanza [xvi.] which ends, “was in the tower last night wi’ me,” then with another verse or two which are not in yours, ends Clerk Saunders. All the rest of the song in your edition is another song altogether, which my mother hath mostly likewise, and I am persuaded from the change in the stile that she is right, for it is scarce consistent with the forepart of the ballad. I have made several additions and variations out, to the printed songs, for your inspection, but only when they could be inserted without disjointing the songs as they are at present; to have written all the variations would scarcely be possible, and I thought would embarrass you exceedingly. _I have recovered another half verse of Old Maitlan_, _and have rhymed it thus_—

_Remember Fiery of the Scot_ _Hath cowr’d aneath thy hand_; For ilka drap o’ Maitlen’s blood I’ll gie _thee_ rigs o’ land.—

_The two last lines only are original_; _you will easily perceive that they occur in the very place where we suspected a want_. _I am surprised to hear that this song is suspected by some to be a modern forgery_; _this will be best proved by most of the old people hereabouts having a great part of it by heart_; many, indeed, are not aware of the manners of this place, it is but lately emerged from barbarity, and till this present age the poor illiterate people in these glens knew of no other entertainment in the long winter nights than in repeating and listening to these feats of their ancestors, which I believe to be handed down inviolate from father to son, for many generations, although no doubt, had a copy been taken of them at the end of every fifty years, there must have been some difference, which the repeaters would have insensibly fallen into merely by the change of terms in that period. I believe that it is thus that many very ancient songs have been modernised, which yet to a connoisseur will bear visible marks of antiquity. The Maitlen, for instance, exclusive of its mode of description, is all composed of words, which would mostly every one spell and pronounce in the very same dialect that was spoken some centuries ago.

Pardon, my dear Sir, the freedom I have taken in addressing you—it is my nature; and I could not resist the impulse of writing to you any longer. Let me hear from you as soon as this comes to your hand, and tell me when you will be in Ettrick Forest, and suffer me to subscribe myself, Sir, your most humble and affectionate servant,

JAMES HOGG.

In Scott’s printed text of the ballad, two interpolations, of two lines each, are acknowledged in notes. They occur in stanzas vii., xlvi., and are attributed to Hogg. In fact, Hogg sent one of them (vii.) to Laidlaw in his manuscript. The other he sent to Scott on 30th June 1802.

Colonel Elliot, in the spirit of the Higher Criticism (_chimæra bombinans in vacuo_), writes, {31a} “Few will doubt that the footnotes” (on these interpolations) “were inserted with the purpose of leading the public to think that Hogg made no other interpolations; but I am afraid I must go further than this and say that, since they were inserted on the editor’s responsibility, the intention must have been to make it appear as if no other interpolations by any other hand had been inserted.”

But no other interpolations by another hand _were_ inserted! Some verbal emendations were made by Scott, but he never put in a stanza or two lines of his own.

Colonel Elliot provides us with six pages of the Higher Criticism. He knows how to distinguish between verses by Hogg, and verses by Scott! {32a} But, save when Scott puts one line, a ballad formula, where Hogg has another line, Scott makes no interpolations, and the ballad formula he probably took, with other things of no more importance, from Mrs. Hogg’s recitation. Oh, Higher Criticism!

I now print the ballad as Hogg sent it to Laidlaw, between August 1801 and March 1802, in all probability.

[Back of Hogg’s MS.: Mr. William Laidlaw, Blackhouse.]

OLD MAITLAND A VERY ANTIENT SONG

THERE lived a king in southern land King Edward hecht his name Unwordily he wore the crown Till fifty years was gane.

He had a sister’s son o’s ain Was large o’ blood and bane And afterwards when he came up, Young Edward hecht his name.

One day he came before the king, And kneeld low on his knee A boon a boon my good uncle, I crave to ask of thee

“At our lang wars i’ fair Scotland I lang hae lang’d to be If fifteen hunder wale wight men You’ll grant to ride wi’ me.”

“Thou sal hae thae thou sal hae mae I say it sickerly; And I mysel an auld grey man Arrayd your host sal see.”—

King Edward rade King Edward ran— I wish him dool and pain! Till he had fifteen hundred men Assembled on the Tyne. And twice as many at North Berwick Was a’ for battle bound

They lighted on the banks of Tweed And blew their coals sae het And fired the Merce and Tevidale All in an evening late

As they far’d up o’er Lammermor They burn’d baith tower and town Until they came to a derksome house, Some call it Leaders Town

Whae hauds this house young Edward crys, Or whae gae’st ower to me A grey haired knight set up his head And cracked right crousely

Of Scotlands King I haud my house He pays me meat and fee And I will keep my goud auld house While my house will keep me

They laid their sowies to the wall Wi’ mony heavy peal But he threw ower to them again Baith piech and tar barille

With springs: wall stanes, and good of ern, Among them fast he threw Till mony of the Englishmen About the wall he slew.

Full fifteen days that braid host lay Sieging old Maitlen keen Then they hae left him safe and hale Within his strength o’ stane

Then fifteen barks, all gaily good, Met themen on a day, Which they did lade with as much spoil As they could bear away.

“England’s our ain by heritage; And whae can us gainstand, When we hae conquerd fair Scotland Wi’ bow, buckler, and brande”—

Then they are on to th’ land o’ france, Where auld King Edward lay, Burning each town and castle strong That ance cam in his way.

Untill he cam unto that town Which some call Billop-Grace There were old Maitlen’s sons a’ three Learning at School alas

The eldest to the others said, O see ye what I see If a’ be true yon standard says, We’re fatherless a’ three

For Scotland’s conquerd up and down Landsmen we’ll never be: Now will you go my brethren two, And try some jeopardy

Then they hae saddled two black horse, Two black horse and a grey And they are on to Edwardes host Before the dawn of day

When they arriv’d before the host They hover’d on the ley Will you lend me our King’s standard To carry a little way

Where was thou bred where was thou born Wherein in what country— In the north of England I was born What needed him to lie.

A knight me got a lady bare I’m a squire of high renown I well may bear’t to any king, That ever yet wore crown.

He ne’er came of an Englishman Had sic an ee or bree But thou art likest auld Maitlen That ever I did see

But sic a gloom inon ae browhead Grant’s ne’er see again For many of our men he slew And many put to pain

When Maitlan heard his father’s name, An angry man was he Then lifting up a gilt dager Hung low down by his kee

He stab’d the knight the standard bore, He stabb’d him cruelly; Then caught the standard by the neuk, And fast away rade he.

Now is’t na time brothers he cry’d Now, is’t na time to flee Ay by my soothe they baith reply’d, We’ll bear you company

The youngest turn’d him in a path And drew a burnish’d brand And fifteen o’ the foremost slew Till back the lave did stand

He spurr’d the grey unto the path Till baith her sides they bled Grey! thou maun carry me away Or my life lies in wed

The captain lookit owr the wa’ Before the break o day There he beheld the three Scots lads Pursued alongst the way

Pull up portculzies down draw briggs My nephews are at hame And they shall lodge wi’ me to-night, In spite of all England

Whene’er they came within the gate They thrust their horse them frae And took three lang spears in their hands, Saying, here sal come nae mae

And they shott out and they shott in, Till it was fairly day When many of the Englishmen About the draw brigg lay.

Then they hae yoked carts and wains To ca’ their dead away And shot auld dykes aboon the lave In gutters where they lay

The king in his pavilion door Was heard aloud to say Last night three o’ the lads o’ France My standard stole away

Wi’ a fause tale disguis’d they came And wi’ a fauser train And to regain my gaye standard These men were a’ down slaine

It ill befits the youngest said A crowned king to lie But or that I taste meat and drink, Reproved shall he be.

He went before King Edward straight And kneel’d low on his knee I wad hae leave my liege he said, To speak a word wi’ thee

The king he turn’d him round about And wistna what to say Quo’ he, Man, thou’s hae leave to speak Though thou should speak a day.

You said that three young lads o’ France, Your standard stole away Wi’ a fause tale and fauser train, And mony men did slay

But we are nane the lads o’ France Nor e’er pretend to be We are three lads o’ fair Scotland, Auld Maitlen’s sons a’ three

Nor is there men in a your host, Dare fight us three to three Now by my sooth young Edward cry’d, Weel fitted sall ye be!

Piercy sall with the eldest fight And Ethert Lunn wi’ thee William of Lancastar the third And bring your fourth to me

He clanked Piercy owr the head A deep wound and a sair Till the best blood o’ his body Came rinnen owr his hair.

Now I’ve slain one slay ye the two; And that’s good company And if the two should slay ye baith, Ye’se get na help frae me

But Ethert Lunn a baited bear Had many battles seen He set the youngest wonder sair, Till the eldest he grew keen

I am nae king nor nae sic thing My word it sanna stand For Ethert shall a buffet bide, Come he aneath my brand.

He clanked Ethert owr the head, A deep wound and a sair Till a’ the blood of his body Came rinnen owr his hair

Now I’ve slayne two slay ye the one; Isna that gude company And tho’ the one should slay ye both Ye’se get nae help o’ me.

The twasome they hae slayn the one They maul’d them cruelly Then hang them owr the drawbridge, That a’ the host might see

They rade their horse they ran their horse, Then hover’d on the ley We be three lads o’ fair Scotland, We fain wad fighting see

This boasting when young Edward heard, To’s uncle thus said he, I’ll take yon lad I’ll bind yon lad, And bring him bound to thee

But God forbid King Edward said That ever thou should try Three worthy leaders we hae lost, And you the fourth shall be.

If thou wert hung owr yon drawbrigg Blythe wad I never be But wi’ the pole-axe in his hand, Outower the bridge sprang he

The first stroke that young Edward gae He struck wi might and main He clove the Maitlen’s helmet stout, And near had pierced his brain.

When Matlen saw his ain blood fa, An angry man was he He let his weapon frae him fa’ And at his neck did flee

And thrice about he did him swing, Till on the ground he light Where he has halden young Edward Tho’ he was great in might

Now let him up, King Edward cry’d, And let him come to me And for the deed that ye hae done Ye shal hae earldoms three

It’s ne’er be said in France nor Ire In Scotland when I’m hame That Edward once was under me, And yet wan up again

He stabb’d him thro and thro the hear He maul’d him cruelly Then hung him ower the drawbridge Beside the other three

Now take from me that feather bed Make me a bed o’ strae I wish I neer had seen this day To mak my heart fu’ wae

If I were once at London Tower, Where I was wont to be I never mair should gang frae hame, Till borne on a bier-tree

At the end of his copy Hogg writes (probably of stanza vii.)—“You may insert the two following lines anywhere you think it needs them, or substitute two better—

And marching south with curst Dunbar A ready welcome found.”

II _WHAT IS AULD MAITLAND_?

Is _Auld Maitland_ a sheer forgery by Hogg, or is it in any sense, and if so, in what sense, antique and traditional? That Hogg made the whole of it is to me incredible. He had told Laidlaw on 20th July 1801, that he would make no ballads on traditions without Scott’s permission, written in Scott’s hand. Moreover, how could he have any traditions about “Auld Maitland, his noble Sonnis three,” personages of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries? Scott had read about them in poems of about 1580, but these poems then lay in crabbed manuscripts. Again, Hogg wrote in words (“springs, wall-stanes”) of whose meaning he had no idea; he took it as he heard it in recitation. Finally, the style is not that of Hogg when he attempts the ballad. Scott observed that “this ballad, notwithstanding its present appearance, has a claim to very high antiquity.” The language, except for a few technical terms, is modern, but what else could it be if handed down orally? The language of undoubted ballads is often more modern than that which was spoken in my boyhood in Ettrick Forest. As Sir Walter Scott remarked, a poem of 1570–1580, which he quotes from the Maitland MSS., “would run as smoothly, and appear as modern, as any verse in the ballad (with a few exceptions) if divested of its antique spelling.”

We now turn to the historical characters in the ballad.

Sir Richard Maitland of Lauder, or Thirlestane, says Scott, was already in his lands, and making donations to the Church in 1249. If, in 1296, forty-seven years later, he held his castle against Edward I., as in the ballad, he must have been a man of, say, seventy-five. By about 1574 his descendant, Sir Richard Maitland, was consoled for his family misfortunes (his famous son, Lethington, having died after the long siege of Edinburgh Castle, which he and Kirkcaldy of Grange held for Queen Mary), by a poet who reminded him that his ancestor, in the thirteenth century, lost all his sons—“peerless pearls”—save one, “Burdallane.” The Sir Richard of 1575 has also one son left (John, the minister of James VI.). {41a}

From this evidence, in 1802 in MS. unpublished, and from other Maitland MSS., we learn that, in the sixteenth century, the Auld Maitland of the ballad was an eminent character in the legends of that period, and in the ballads of the people. {41b} His

Nobill sonnis three, Ar sung in monie far countrie, _Albeit in rural rhyme_.

Pinkerton published, in 1786, none of the pieces to which Scott refers in his extracts from the Maitland MSS. How, then, did Hogg, if Hogg forged the ballad, know of Maitland and his “three noble sons”? Except Colonel Elliot, to whose explanation we return, I am not aware that any critic has tried to answer this question.

It seems to me that if the _Ballad of Otterburne_, extant in 1550 in England, survived in Scottish memory till Herd’s fragment appeared in 1776, a tradition of Maitland, who was popular in the ballads of 1575, and known to Gawain Douglas seventy years earlier, may also have persisted. There is no impossibility.

Looking next at Scott’s _Auld Maitland_ the story is that King Edward I. reigned for fifty years. He had a nephew Edward (an apocryphal person: such figures are common in ballads), who wished to take part in the invasion of Scotland. The English are repulsed by old Maitland from his “darksome house” on the Leader. The English, however, (stanza xv.) conquer Scotland, and join Edward I. in France. They besiege that town,

Which some call Billop-Grace (xviii.).

Here Maitland’s three sons are learning at school, as Scots often were educated in France. They see that Edward’s standard quarters the arms of France, and infer that he has conquered their country. They “will try some jeopardy.” Persuading the English that they are themselves Englishmen, they ask leave to carry the royal flag. The eldest is told that he is singularly like Auld Maitland. In anger he stabs the standard-bearer, seizes the flag, and, with his brothers, spurs to Billop-Grace, where the French captain receives them. There is fighting at the gate. The King says that three disguised lads of France have stolen his flag. The Maitlands apparently heard of this; the youngest goes to Edward, and explains that they are Maitland’s sons, and Scots; they challenge any three Englishmen; a thing in the manner of the period. The three Scots are victorious. Young Edward then challenges one of the dauntless three, who slays him. Edward wishes himself home at London Tower.

Such is the story. It is out of the regular line of ballad narrative, but it does not follow that, in the sixteenth century, some such tale was not told “in rural rhyme” about Maitland’s “three noble sons.” That it is not historically true is nothing, of course, and that it is not in the Scots of the thirteenth century is nothing.

Colonel Elliot asks, What in the ballad raised suspicion of forgery (in 1802–03)? The historical inaccuracies are common to all historical ballads. (In an English ballad known to me of 1578, Henry Darnley is “hanged on a tree”!)

Next, “there are occasional lines, and even stanzas, which jar in style to such a degree that they must have been written by two separate hands.”

But this, also, is a common feature. In “Professor Child and the Ballad,” Mr. W. M. Hart gives a list of Professor Child’s notes on the multiplicity of hands, which he, and every critic, detect in some ballads with a genuinely antique substratum. {44a}

Colonel Elliot quotes, as in his opinion the best, stanzas viii., ix., x., xi., while he thinks xv., xviii. the worst. I give these stanzas—

VIII.

They lighted on the banks o’ Tweed, And blew their coals sae het, And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, All in an evening late.

IX.

As they fared up o’er Lammermoor, They burned baith up and doun, Until they came to a darksome house, Some call it Leader Town.

X.

“Wha hauds this house?” young Edward cried, “Or wha gi’est ower to me?” A grey-hair’d knight set up his head, And crackit right crousely:

XI.

“Of Scotland’s king I haud my house, He pays me meat and fee; And I will keep my guid auld house, While my house will keep me.”

I cannot, I admit, find any fault with these stanzas: cannot see any reason why they should not be traditional.

Then Colonel Elliot cites, as the worst—

XV.

Then fifteen barks, all gaily good, Met them upon a day, Which they did lade with as much spoil As they could take away.

XVIII.

Until we came unto that town Which some call Billop-Grace; There were Auld Maitland’s sons, a’ three, Learning at school, alas!

Now, if I venture to differ from Colonel Elliot here, I may plead that I am practised in the art of ballad-faking, and can produce high testimonials of skill! To me stanzas xv., xviii. seem to differ much from viii.–xi., but not in such a way as Hogg would have differed, had he made them. Hogg’s error would have lain, as Scott’s did, in being, as Scott said of Mrs. Hemans, _too poetical_.