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The Abbot

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Abbot




It was undoubtedly lucky for Catherine, as well as for Roland, that
the latter did not share in the excessive mirth of the former. For,
seated as she was, with her back to the casement, Catherine could
easily escape the observation of the two matrons during the course of
their promenade; whereas Graeme was so placed, with his side to the
window, that his mirth, had he shared that of his companion, would
have been instantly visible, and could not have failed to give offence
to the personages in question. He sate, however, with some impatience,
until Catherine had exhausted either her power or her desire of
laughing, and was returning with good grace to the exercise of her
needle, and then he observed with some dryness, that "there seemed no
great occasion to recommend to them to improve their acquaintance, as
it seemed, that they were already tolerably familiar."

Catherine had an extreme desire to set off upon a fresh score, but she
repressed it strongly, and fixing her eyes on her work, replied by
asking his pardon, and promising to avoid future offence.

Roland had sense enough to feel, that an air of offended dignity was
very much misplaced, and that it was with a very different bearing he
ought to meet the deep blue eyes which had borne such a hearty burden
in the laughing scene. He tried, therefore, to extricate himself as
well as he could from his blunder, by assuming a tone of correspondent
gaiety, and requesting to know of the nymph, "how it was her pleasure
that they should proceed in improving the acquaintance which had
commenced so merrily."

"That," she said, "you must yourself discover; perhaps I have gone a
step too far in opening our interview."

"Suppose," said Roland Graeme, "we should begin as in a tale-book, by
asking each other's names and histories?"

"It is right well imagined," said Catherine, "and shows an argute
judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only put in a question
or two at the dark parts of the story. Come, unfold then your name and
history, my new acquaintance."

"I am called Roland Graeme, and that tall woman is my grandmother."

"And your tutoress?--good. Who are your parents?"

"They are both dead," replied Roland.

"Ay, but who were they? you _had_ parents, I presume?"

"I suppose so," said Roland, "but I have never been able to learn much
of their history. My father was a Scottish knight, who died gallantly
in his stirrups--my mother was a Graeme of Hathergill, in the
Debateable Land--most of her family were killed when the Debateable
country was burned by Lord Maxwell and Herries of Caerlaverock."

"Is it long ago?" said the damsel.

"Before I was born," answered the page.

"That must be a great while since," said she, shaking her head
gravely; "look you, I cannot weep for them."

"It needs not," said the youth, "they fell with honour."

"So much for your lineage, fair sir," replied his companion, "of whom
I like the living specimen (a glance at the casement) far less than
those that are dead. Your much honoured grandmother looks as if she
could make one weep in sad earnest. And now, fair sir, for your own
person--if you tell not the tale faster, it will be cut short in the
middle; Mother Bridget pauses longer and longer every time she passes
the window, and with her there is as little mirth as in the grave of
your ancestors."

"My tale is soon told--I was introduced into the castle of Avenel to
be page to the lady of the mansion."

"She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?" said the maiden.

"As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the puritan
when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of her own, for
quartering me in the Castle--it would have failed, however, after we
had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but for an unexpected master
of ceremonies--"

"And who was that?" said the girl.

"A large black dog, Wolf by name, who brought me into the castle one
day in his mouth, like a hurt wild-duck, and presented me to the
lady."

"A most respectable introduction, truly," said Catherine; "and what
might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly to know what my
acquaintances can do at need."

"To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield lance, bow,
and brand."

"And to boast of all this when you have learned it," said Catherine,
"which, in France at least, is the surest accomplishment of a page.
But proceed, fair sir; how came your Huguenot lord and your no less
Huguenot lady to receive and keep in the family so perilous a person
as a Catholic page?"

"Because they knew not that part of my history, which from infancy I
have been taught to keep secret--and because my grand-dame's former
zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain, had laid all this
suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis," said the page; and in so
saying, he edged his chair towards the seat of the fair querist.

"Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir," answered the
blue-eyed maiden, "for, unless I greatly mistake, these reverend
ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the
acquaintance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a certain
point--so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and reply to
my questions.--By what achievements did you prove the qualities of a
page, which you had thus happily acquired?"

Roland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the damsel's
conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit.

"In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert, wherein there was
mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened serving-women,
chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say nothing of tormenting
the chaplain in various ways, for that was my duty as a good
Catholic."

"Now, as I am a gentlewoman," said Catherine, "I think these heretics
have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all-accomplished a
serving-man! And what, fair sir, might have been the unhappy event
which deprived them of an inmate altogether so estimable?"

"Truly, fair gentlewoman," answered the youth, "your real proverb says
that the longest lane will have a turning, and mine was more--it was,
in fine, a turning off."

"Good!" said the merry young maiden, "it is an apt play on the word
--and what occasion was taken for so important a catastrophe?--Nay,
start not for my learning, I do know the schools--in plain phrase, why
were you sent from service?"

The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied,--"A short tale is
soon told--and a short horse soon curried. I made the falconer's boy
taste of my switch--the falconer threatened to make me brook his
cudgel--he is a kindly clown as well as a stout, and I would rather
have been cudgelled by him than any man in Christendom to choose--but
I knew not his qualities at that time--so I threatened to make him
brook the stab, and my Lady made me brook the 'Begone;' so adieu to
the page's office and the fair Castle of Avenel--I had not travelled
far before I met my venerable parent--And so tell your tale, fair
gentlewoman, for mine is done."

"A happy grandmother," said the maiden, "who had the luck to find the
stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, and a most
lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to an old lady's
gentleman-usher!"

"All this is nothing of your history," answered Roland Graeme, began to
be much interested in the congenial vivacity of this facetious young
gentlewoman,--" tale for tale is fellow-traveller's justice."

"Wait till we are fellow-travellers, then," replied Catherine.

"Nay, you escape me not so," said the page; "if you deal not justly by
me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever your dame be called,
and proclaim you for a cheat."

"You shall not need," answered the maiden--"my history is the
counterpart of your own; the same words might almost serve, change but
dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and I also am an
orphan."

"Have your parents been long dead?"

"This is the only question," said she, throwing down her fine eyes
with a sudden expression of sorrow, "that is the only question I
cannot laugh at."

"And Dame Bridget is your grandmother?"

The sudden cloud passed away like that which crosses for an instant
the summer sun, and she answered with her usual lively expression,
"Worse by twenty degrees--Dame Bridget is my maiden aunt."

"Over gods forbode!" said Roland--"Alas! that you have such a tale to
tell! and what horror comes next?"

"Your own history, exactly. I was taken upon trial for service--"

"And turned off for pinching the duenna, or affronting my lady's
waiting-woman?"

"Nay, our history varies there," said the damsel--"Our mistress broke
up house, or had her house broke up, which is the same thing, and I am
a free woman of the forest."

"And I am as glad of it as if any one had lined my doublet with cloth
of gold," said the youth.

"I thank you for your mirth," said she, "but the matter is not likely
to concern you."

"Nay, but go on," said the page, "for you will be presently
interrupted; the two good dames have been soaring yonder on the
balcony, like two old hooded crows, and their croak grows hoarser as
night comes on; they will wing to roost presently.--This mistress of
yours, fair gentlewoman, who was she, in God's name?"

"Oh, she has a fair name in the world," replied Catherine Seyton. "Few
ladies kept a fairer house, or held more gentlewomen in her household;
my aunt Bridget was one of her housekeepers. We never saw our
mistress's blessed face, to be sure, but we heard enough of her; were
up early and down late, and were kept to long prayers and light food."

"Out upon the penurious old beldam!" said the page.

"For Heaven's sake, blaspheme not!" said the girl, with an expression
of fear.--"God pardon us both! I meant no harm. I speak of our blessed
Saint Catherine of Sienna!--may God forgive me that I spoke so
lightly, and made you do a great sin and a great blasphemy. This was
her nunnery, in which there were twelve nuns and an abbess. My aunt
was the abbess, till the heretics turned all adrift."

"And where are your companions?" asked the youth.

"With the last year's snow," answered the maiden; "east, north, south,
and west--some to France, some to Flanders, some, I fear, into the
world and its pleasures. We have got permission to remain, or rather
our remaining has been connived at, for my aunt has great relations
among the Kerrs, and they have threatened a death-feud if any one
touches us; and bow and spear are the best warrant in these times."

"Nay, then, you sit under a sure shadow," said the youth; "and I
suppose you wept yourself blind when Saint Catherine broke up
housekeeping before you had taken arles [Footnote: _Anglice_--
Earnest-money] in her service?"

"Hush! for Heaven's sake," said the damsel, crossing herself; "no more
of that! but I have not quite cried my eyes out," said she, turning
them upon him, and instantly again bending them upon her work. It was
one of those glances which would require the threefold plate of brass
around the heart, more than it is needed by the mariners, to whom
Horace recommends it. Our youthful page had no defence whatever to
offer.

"What say you, Catherine," he said, "if we two, thus strangely turned
out of service at the same time, should give our two most venerable
duennas the torch to hold, while we walk a merry measure with each
other over the floor of this weary world?"

"A goodly proposal, truly," said Catherine, "and worthy the mad-cap
brain of a discarded page!--And what shifts does your worship propose
we should live by?--by singing ballads, cutting purses, or swaggering
on the highway? for there, I think, you would find your most
productive exchequer."

"Choose, you proud peat!" said the page, drawing off in huge disdain
at the calm and unembarrassed ridicule with which his wild proposal
was received. And as he spoke the words, the casement was again
darkened by the forms of the matrons--it opened, and admitted Magdalen
Graeme and the Mother Abbess, so we must now style her, into the
apartment.




Chapter the Twelfth.


Nay, hear me, brother--I am elder, wiser,
And holier than thou--And age, and wisdom,
And holiness, have peremptory claims,
And will be listen'd to.
OLD PLAY.

When the matrons re-entered, and put an end to the conversation--which
we have detailed in the last chapter, Dame Magdalen Graeme thus
addressed her grandson and his pretty companion: "Have you spoke
together, my children?--Have you become known to each other as
fellow-travellers on the same dark and dubious road, whom chance hath
brought together, and who study to learn the tempers and dispositions
of those by whom their perils are to be shared?"

It was seldom the light-hearted Catharine could suppress a jest, so
that she often spoke when she would have acted more wisely in holding
her peace.

"Your grandson admires the journey which you propose so very greatly,
that he was even now preparing for setting out upon it instantly."

"This is to be too forward, Roland," said the dame, addressing him,
"as yesterday you were over slack--the just mean lies in obedience,
which both waits for the signal to start, and obeys it when
given.--But once again, my children, have you so perused each other's
countenances, that when you meet, in whatever disguise the times may
impose upon you, you may recognize each in the other the secret agent
of the mighty work in which you are to be leagued?--Look at each
other, know each line and lineament of each other's countenance. Learn
to distinguish by the step, by the sound of the voice, by the motion
of the hand, by the glance of the eye, the partner whom Heaven hath
sent to aid in working its will.--Wilt thou know that maiden,
whensoever, or wheresoever you shall again meet her, my Roland
Graeme?"

As readily as truly did Roland answer in the affirmative. "And thou,
my daughter, wilt thou again remember the features of this youth?"

"Truly, mother," replied Catherine Seyton, "I have not seen so many
men of late, that I should immediately forget your grandson, though I
mark not much about him that is deserving of especial remembrance."

"Join hands, then, my children," said Magdalen Graeme; but, in saying
so, was interrupted by her companion, whose conventual prejudices had
been gradually giving her more and more uneasiness, and who could
remain acquiescent no longer.

"Nay, my good sister, you forget," said she to Magdalen, "Catharine is
the betrothed bride of Heaven--these intimacies cannot be."

"It is in the cause of Heaven that I command them to embrace," said
Magdalen, with the full force of her powerful voice; "the end, sister,
sanctifies the means we must use."

"They call me Lady Abbess, or Mother at the least, who address me,"
said Dame Bridget, drawing herself up, as if offended at her friend's
authoritative manner--"the Lady of Heathergill forgets that she speaks
to the Abbess of Saint Catherine."

"When I was what you call me," said Magdalen, "you indeed were the
Abbess of Saint Catherine, but both names are now gone, with all the
rank that the world and that the church gave to them; and we are now,
to the eye of human judgment, two poor, despised, oppressed women,
dragging our dishonoured old age to a humble grave. But what are we in
the eye of Heaven?--Ministers, sent forth to work his will,--in whose
weakness the strength of the church shall be manifested-before whom
shall be humbled the wisdom of Murray, and the dark strength of
Morton,--And to such wouldst thou apply the narrow rules of thy
cloistered seclusion?--or, hast thou forgotten the order which I
showed thee from thy Superior, subjecting thee to me in these
matters?"

"On thy head, then, be the scandal and the sin," said the Abbess,
sullenly.

"On mine be they both," said Magdalen. "I say, embrace each other,
my children."

But Catherine, aware, perhaps, how the dispute was likely to
terminate, had escaped from the apartment, and so disappointed the
grandson, at least as much as the old matron.

"She is gone," said the Abbess, "to provide some little refreshment.
But it will have little savour to those who dwell in the world; for I,
at least, cannot dispense with the rules to which I am vowed, because
it is the will of wicked men to break down the sanctuary in which they
wont to be observed."

"It is well, my sister," replied Magdalen, "to pay each even the
smallest tithes of mint and cummin which the church demands, and I
blame not thy scrupulous observance of the rules of thine order. But
they were established by the church, and for the church's benefit; and
reason it is that they should give way when the salvation of the
church herself is at stake."

The Abbess made no reply.

One more acquainted with human nature than the inexperienced page,
might have found amusement in comparing the different kinds of
fanaticisms which these two females exhibited. The Abbess, timid,
narrowminded, and discontented, clung to ancient usages and
pretensions which were ended by the Reformation; and was in adversity,
as she had been in prosperity, scrupulous, weak-spirited, and bigoted.
While the fiery and more lofty spirit of her companion suggested a
wider field of effort, and would not be limited by ordinary rules in
the extraordinary schemes which were suggested by her bold and
irregular imagination. But Roland Graeme, instead of tracing these
peculiarities of character in the two old damps, only waited with
great anxiety for the return of Catherine, expecting probably that the
proposal of the fraternal embrace would be renewed, as his grandmother
seemed disposed to carry matters with a high hand.

His expectations, or hopes, if we may call them so, were, however,
disappointed; for, when Catherine re-entered on the summons of the
Abbess, and placed on the table an earthen pitcher of water, and four
wooden platters, with cups of the same materials, the Dame of
Heathergill, satisfied with the arbitrary mode in which she had borne
down the opposition of the Abbess, pursued her victory no farther--a
moderation for which her grandson, in his heart, returned her but
slender thanks.

In the meanwhile, Catherine continued to place upon the table the
slender preparations for the meal of a recluse, which consisted almost
entirely of colewort, boiled and served up in a wooden platter, having
no better seasoning than a little salt, and no better accompaniment
than some coarse barley-bread, in very moderate quantity. The
water-pitcher, already mentioned, furnished the only beverage. After a
Latin grace, delivered by the Abbess, the guests sat down to their
spare entertainment. The simplicity of the fare appeared to produce no
distaste in the females, who ate of it moderately, but with the usual
appearance of appetite. But Roland Graeme had been used to better
cheer. Sir Halbert Glendinning, who affected even an unusual degree of
nobleness in his housekeeping, maintained it in a style of genial
hospitality, which rivalled that of the Northern Barons of England. He
might think, perhaps, that by doing so, he acted yet more completely
the part for which he was born--that of a great Baron and a leader.
Two bullocks, and six sheep, weekly, were the allowance when the Baron
was at home, and the number was not greatly diminished during his
absence. A boll of malt was weekly brewed into ale, which was used by
the household at discretion. Bread was baked in proportion for the
consumption of his domestics and retainers; and in this scene of
plenty had Roland Graeme now lived for several years. It formed a bad
introduction to lukewarm greens and spring-water; and probably his
countenance indicated some sense of the difference, for the Abbess
observed, "It would seem, my son, that the tables of the heretic
Baron, whom you have so long followed, are more daintily furnished
than those of the suffering daughters of the church; and yet, not upon
the most solemn nights of festival, when the nuns were permitted to
eat their portion at mine own table, did I consider the cates, which
were then served up, as half so delicious as these vegetables and this
water, on which I prefer to feed, rather than do aught which may
derogate from the strictness of my vow. It shall never be said that
the mistress of this house made it a house of feasting, when days of
darkness and of affliction were hanging over the Holy Church, of which
I am an unworthy member."

"Well hast thou said, my sister," replied Magdalen Graeme; "but now it
is not only time to suffer in the good cause, but to act in it. And
since our pilgrim's meal is finished, let us go apart to prepare for
our journey tomorrow, and to advise on the manner in which these
children shall be employed, and what measures we can adopt to supply
their thoughtlessness and lack of discretion."

Notwithstanding his indifferent cheer, the heart of Roland Graeme
bounded high at this proposal, which he doubted not would lead to
another _tête-â-tête_ betwixt him and the pretty novice. But he
was mistaken. Catherine, it would seem, had no mind so far to indulge
him; for, moved either by delicacy or caprice, or some of those
indescribable shades betwixt the one and the other, with which women
love to tease, and at the same time to captivate, the ruder sex, she
reminded the Abbess that it was necessary she should retire an hour
before vespers; and, receiving the ready and approving nod of her
Superior, she arose to withdraw. But before leaving the apartment, she
made obeisance to the matrons, bending herself till her hands touched
her knees, and then made a lesser reverence to Roland, which consisted
in a slight bend of the body and gentle depression of the head. This
she performed very demurely; but the party on whom the salutation was
conferred, thought he could discern in her manner an arch and
mischievous exultation over his secret disappointment.--"The devil
take the saucy girl," he thought in his heart, though the presence of
the Abbess should have repressed all such profane imaginations,--"she
is as hard-hearted as the laughing hyaena that the story-books tell
of--she has a mind that I shall not forget her this night at least."

The matrons now retired also, giving the page to understand that he
was on no account to stir from the convent, or to show himself at the
windows, the Abbess assigning as a reason, the readiness with which
the rude heretics caught at every occasion of scandalizing the
religious orders.

"This is worse than the rigour of Mr. Henry Warden, himself," said the
page, when he was left alone; "for, to do him justice, however strict
in requiring the most rigid attention during the time of his homilies,
he left us to the freedom of our own wills afterwards--ay, and would
take a share in our pastimes, too, if he thought them entirely
innocent. But these old women are utterly wrapt up in gloom, mystery
and self-denial.--Well, then, if I must neither stir out of the gate
nor look out at window, I will at least see what the inside of the
house contains that may help to pass away one's time--peradventure I
may light on that blue-eyed laugher in some corner or other."

Going, therefore, out of the chamber by the entrance opposite to that
through which the two matrons had departed, (for it may be readily
supposed that he had no desire to intrude on their privacy.) he
wandered from one chamber to another, through the deserted edifice,
seeking, with boyish eagerness, some source of interest and amusement.
Here he passed through a long gallery, opening on either hand into the
little cells of the nuns, all deserted, and deprived of the few
trifling articles of furniture which the rules of the order admitted.

"The birds are flown," thought the page; "but whether they will find
themselves worse off in the open air than in these damp narrow cages,
I leave my Lady Abbess and my venerable relative to settle betwixt
them. I think the wild young lark whom they have left behind them,
would like best to sing under God's free sky."

A winding stair, strait and narrow, as if to remind the nuns of their
duties of fast and maceration, led down to a lower suite of
apartments, which occupied the ground story of the house. These rooms
were even more ruinous than those which he had left; for, having
encountered the first fury of the assailants by whom the nunnery had
been wasted, the windows had been dashed in, the doors broken down,
and even the partitions betwixt the apartments, in some places,
destroyed. As he thus stalked from desolation to desolation, and began
to think of returning from so uninteresting a research to the chamber
which he had left, he was surprised to hear the low of a cow very
close to him. The sound was so unexpected at the time and place, that
Roland Graeme started as if it had been the voice of a lion, and laid
his hand on his dagger, while at the same moment the light and lovely
form of Catherine Seyton presented itself at the door of the apartment
from which the sound had issued.

"Good even to you, valiant champion!" said she: "since the days of
Guy of Warwick, never was one more worthy to encounter a dun cow."

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