In 1678, John Dalrymple, a farmer, driven beyond his tether by the impending marriage of his former sweetheart, Peggy Moffat, to Captain Neil MacKenzie, summoned the devil to intervene. No record exists of Dalrymple's response to Satan's appearance, but I imagine he might have been as surprised as anyone else present. According to local legend, the devil challenged Dalrymple and MacKenzie to dance for Moffat's affections. The pair danced for three days, Dalrymple with the honest but basic steps of a countryman and MacKenzie on the tips of his toes in the continental manner now familiar to students of 'traditional' Scottish dancing. As the third day drew to a close, MacKenzie, whose technique demanded greater effort than his rival's ponderous steps, suddenly expired in a ball of flame leaving Dalrymple to claim his prize. Unfortunately, the farmer's moment of triumph was brief. Physically and mentally depleted by his ordeal, he aged rapidly becoming a grey and stooped figure virtually overnight. Unable to maintain his farm, he ended his days wandering the forest bemoaning his lot in tedious detail to anyone he encountered. To this day, a meeting with John Dalrymple's ghost augurs ill. History doesn't record what became of Peggy Moffat, though the account of the incident in the Parish History insists that she emigrated. The devil, meanwhile, is alleged to have returned to wreak havoc in Drumfeld on three subsequent occasions, the last of which, in 1903 resulted in his being tarred, feathered and driven into the hills (some accounts suggest that this might have been a case of mistaken identity, the consequence of over-exuberant Ne'er Day celebrations.)
Modern minds, while giving credence to infinitely more fatuous theories, recoil from the notion of a literal Satan. While I remain undecided on that score, a lifetime spent peering into the abyss has established the incessant activity of malign influence to which each and every individual is vulnerable. Mass communications now ensure that the threat, whether from Beast or Idea, is greater than at any period in human history.
Wonderful story. Deals with the devil never end well.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jessica. My grandfather used to recite a poem about the "dance off" of which I only remember an excerpt:
ReplyDeleteHe danced the dance of the righteous
He danced the dance of the brave
As ardent as the morning
And as sombre as the grave.
He danced for those who passed before
And those as yet unnamed.
He danced for those who walk in joy
And those who walk in pain.
The captain tried to match him
With steps recalled from his youth
And as he jigged on the stone cold floor
His steps revealed the truth
For he danced the dance of a tyrant
And he danced the dance of a troll
And those who watched him dancing
Felt winter in their souls.
Lucifer plucked his fiddle
And Gabriel blew his horn
They danced until the sunset
Through evening till the morn.
John Dalrymple, resolute,
Danced on with vigour and glee,
But the Captains’s lips turned blue then grey
And he danced upon his knees.
The floor opened up beneath him
And sucked him to his grave.
He’d danced the dance of a villain,
Now he died the death of a knave.
I think I've misremembered quite a bit: I remember a recurring refrain "He danced the dance of a rascal/And he danced the dance of a knave" which I've always applied to my brother.