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The Abbot

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"Cow?" said Roland Graeme, "by my faith, I thought it had been the
devil that roared so near me. Who ever heard of a convent containing a
cow-house?"

"Cow and calf may come hither now," answered Catherine, "for we have
no means to keep out either. But I advise you, kind sir, to return to
the place from whence you came."

"Not till I see your charge, fair sister," answered Roland, and made
his way into the apartment, in spite of the half serious half laughing
remonstrances of the girl.

The poor solitary cow, now the only severe recluse within the nunnery,
was quartered in a spacious chamber, which had once been the refectory
of the convent. The roof was graced with groined arches, and the wall
with niches, from which the images had been pulled down. These
remnants of architectural ornaments were strangely contrasted with the
rude crib constructed for the cow in one corner of the apartment, and
the stack of fodder which was piled beside it for her food.
[Footnote: This, like the cell of Saint Cuthbert, is an imaginary
scene, but I took one or two ideas of the desolation of the interior
from a story told me by my father. In his youth--it may be near eighty
years since, as he was born in 1729--he had occasion to visit an old
lady who resided in a Border castle of considerable renown. Only one
very limited portion of the extensive ruins sufficed for the
accommodation of the inmates, and my father amused himself by
wandering through the part that was untenanted. In a dining-apartment,
having a roof richly adorned with arches and drops, there was
deposited a large stack of hay, to which calves were helping
themselves from opposite sides. As my father was scaling a dark
ruinous turnpike staircase, his greyhound ran up before him, and
probably was the means of saving his life, for the animal fell through
a trap-door, or aperture in the stair, thus warning the owner of the
danger of the ascent. As the dog continued howling from a great depth,
my father got the old butler, who alone knew most of the localities
about the castle, to unlock a sort of stable, in which Kill-buck was
found safe and sound, the place being filled with the same commodity
which littered the stalls of Augeas, and which had rendered the dog's
fall an easy one.]

"By my faith," said the page, "Crombie is more lordly lodged than any
one here!"

"You had best remain with her," said Catherine, "and supply by your
filial attentions the offspring she has had the ill luck to lose."

"I will remain, at least, to help you to prepare her night's lair,
pretty Catherine," said Roland, seizing upon a pitch-fork.

"By no means," said Catherine; "for, besides that you know not in the
least how to do her that service, you will bring a chiding my way, and
I get enough of that in the regular course of things."

"What! for accepting my assistance?" said the page,--"for accepting
_my_ assistance, who am to be your confederate in some deep
matter of import? That were altogether unreasonable--and, now I think
on it, tell me if you can, what is this mighty emprise to which I am
destined?"

"Robbing a bird's nest, I should suppose," said Catherine,
"considering the champion whom they have selected."

"By my faith," said the youth, "and he that has taken a falcon's nest
in the Scaurs of Polmoodie, has done something to brag of, my fair
sister.--But that is all over now--a murrain on the nest, and the
eyases and their food, washed or unwashed, for it was all anon of
cramming these worthless kites that I was sent upon my present
travels. Save that I have met with you, pretty sister, I could eat my
dagger-hilt for vexation at my own folly. But, as we are to be
fellow-travellers--"

"Fellow-labourers! not fellow-travellers!" answered the girl; "for to
your comfort be it known, that the Lady Abbess and I set out earlier
than you and your respected relative to-morrow, and that I partly
endure your company at present, because it may be long ere we meet
again."

"By Saint Andrew, but it shall not though," answered Roland; "I will
not hunt at all unless we are to hunt in couples."

"I suspect, in that and in other points, we must do as we are bid,"
replied the young lady.--"But, hark! I hear my aunt's voice."

The old lady entered in good earnest, and darted a severe glance at
her niece, while Roland had the ready wit to busy himself about the
halter of the cow.

"The young gentleman," said Catherine, gravely, "is helping me to tie
the cow up faster to her stake, for I find that last night when she
put her head out of window and lowed, she alarmed the whole village;
and--we shall be suspected of sorcery among the heretics, if they do
not discover the cause of the apparition, or lose our cow if they do."

"Relieve yourself of that fear," said the Abbess, somewhat ironically;
"the person to whom she is now sold, comes for the animal presently."

"Good night, then, my poor companion," said Catherine, patting the
animal's shoulders; "I hope thou hast fallen into kind hands, for my
happiest hours of late have been spent in tending thee--I would I had
been born to no better task!"

"Now, out upon thee, mean-spirited wench!" said the Abbess; "is that a
speech worthy of the name of Seyton, or of the mouth of a sister of
this house, treading the path of election--and to be spoken before a
stranger youth, too?--Go to my oratory, minion--there read your Hours
till I come thither, when I will read you such a lecture as shall make
you prize the blessings which you possess."

Catherine was about to withdraw in silence, casting a half sorrowful
half comic glance at Roland Graeme, which seemed to say--"You see to
what your untimely visit has exposed me," when, suddenly changing her
mind, she came forward to the page, and extended her hand as she bid
him good evening. Their palms had pressed each other ere the
astonished matron could interfere, and Catherine had time to
say--"Forgive me, mother; it is long since we have seen a face that
looked with kindness on us. Since these disorders have broken up our
peaceful retreat, all has been gloom and malignity. I bid this youth
kindly farewell, because he has come hither in kindness, and because
the odds are great, that we may never again meet in this world. I
guess better than he, that the schemes on which you are rushing are
too mighty for your management, and that you are now setting the stone
a-rolling, which must surely crush you in its descent. I bid
fare-well," she added, "to my fellow-victim!"

This was spoken with a tone of deep and serious feeling, altogether
different from the usual levity of Catherine's manner, and plainly
showed, that beneath the giddiness of extreme youth and total
inexperience, there lurked in her bosom a deeper power of sense and
feeling, than her conduct had hitherto expressed.

The Abbess remained a moment silent after she had left the room. The
proposed rebuke died on her tongue, and she appeared struck with the
deep and foreboding, tone in which her niece had spoken her good-even.
She led the way in silence to the apartment which they had formerly
occupied, and where there was prepared a small refection, as the
Abbess termed it, consisting of milk and barley-bread. Magdalen
Graeme, summoned to take share in this collation, appeared from an
adjoining apartment, but Catherine was seen no more. There was little
said during the hasty meal, and after it was finished, Roland Graeme
was dismissed to the nearest cell, where some preparations had been
made for his repose.

The strange circumstances in which he found himself, had their usual
effect in preventing slumber from hastily descending on him, and he
could distinctly hear, by a low but earnest murmuring in the apartment
which he had left, that the matrons continued in deep consultation to
a late hour. As they separated he heard the Abbess distinctly express
herself thus: "In a word, my sister, I venerate your character and the
authority with which my Superiors have invested you; yet it seems to
me, that, ere entering on this perilous course, we should consult some
of the Fathers of the Church."

"And how and where are we to find a faithful Bishop or Abbot at whom
to ask counsel? The faithful Eustatius is no more--he is withdrawn
from a world of evil, and from the tyranny of heretics. May Heaven and
our Lady assoilzie him of his sins, and abridge the penance of his
mortal infirmities!--Where shall we find another, with whom to take
counsel?"

"Heaven will provide for the Church," said the Abbess; "and the
faithful fathers who yet are suffered to remain in the house of
Kennaquhair, will proceed to elect an Abbot. They will not suffer the
staff to fall down, or the mitre to be unfilled, for the threats of
heresy."

"That will I learn to-morrow," said Magdalen Graeme; "yet who now
takes the office of an hour, save to partake with the spoilers in
their work of plunder?--to-morrow will tell us if one of the thousand
saints who are sprung from the House of Saint Mary's continues to look
down on it in its misery.--Farewell, my sister--we meet at Edinburgh."

"Benedicito!" answered the Abbess, and they parted.

"To Kennaquhair and to Edinburgh we bend our way." thought Roland
Graeme. "That information have I purchased by a sleepless hour--it
suits well with my purpose. At Kennaquhair I shall see Father
Ambrose;--at Edinburgh I shall find the means of shaping my own course
through this bustling world, without burdening my affectionate
relation--at Edinburgh, too, I shall see again the witching novice,
with her blue eyes and her provoking smile."--He fell asleep, and it
was to dream of Catherine Seyton.




Chapter the Thirteenth.


What, Dagon up again!--I thought we had hurl'd him
Down on the threshold, never more to rise.
Bring wedge and axe; and, neighbours, lend your hands
And rive the idol into winter fagots!
ATHELSTANE, OR THE CONVERTED DANE.

Roland Graeme slept long and sound, and the sun was high over the
horizon, when the voice of his companion summoned him to resume their
pilgrimage; and when, hastily arranging his dress, he went to attend
her call, the enthusiastic matron stood already at the threshold,
prepared for her journey. There was in all the deportment of this
remarkable woman, a promptitude of execution, and a sternness of
perseverance, founded on the fanaticism which she nursed so deeply,
and which seemed to absorb all the ordinary purposes and feelings of
mortality. One only human affection gleamed through her enthusiastic
energies, like the broken glimpses of the sun through the rising
clouds of a storm. It was her maternal fondness for her grandson--a
fondness carried almost to the verge of dotage, in circumstances where
the Catholic religion was not concerned, but which gave way instantly
when it chanced either to thwart or come in contact with the more
settled purpose of her soul, and the more devoted duty of her life.
Her life she would willingly have laid down to save the earthly object
of her affection; but that object itself she was ready to hazard, and
would have been willing to sacrifice, could the restoration of the
Church of Rome have been purchased with his blood. Her discourse by
the way, excepting on the few occasions in which her extreme love of
her grandson found opportunity to display itself in anxiety for his
health and accommodation, turned entirely on the duty of raising up
the fallen honours of the Church, and replacing a Catholic sovereign
on the throne. There were times at which she hinted, though very
obscurely and distantly, that she herself was foredoomed by Heaven to
perform a part in this important task; and that she had more than mere
human warranty for the zeal with which she engaged in it. But on this
subject she expressed herself in such general language, that it was
not easy to decide whether she made any actual pretensions to a direct
and supernatural call, like the celebrated Elizabeth Barton, commonly
called the Nun of Kent; [Footnote: A fanatic nun, called the Holy Maid
of Kent, who pretended to the gift of prophecy and power of miracles.
Having denounced the doom of speedy death against Henry VIII. for his
marriage with Anne Boleyn, the prophetess was attainted in Parliament,
and executed with her accomplices. Her imposture was for a time so
successful, that even Sir Thomas More was disposed to be a believer.]
or whether she dwelt upon the general duty which was incumbent on all
Catholics of the time, and the pressure of which she felt in an
extraordinary degree.

Yet though Magdalen Graeme gave no direct intimation of her
pretensions to be considered as something beyond the ordinary class of
mortals, the demeanour of one or two persons amongst the travellers
whom they occasionally met, as they entered the more fertile and
populous part of the valley, seemed to indicate their belief in her
superior attributes. It is true, that two clowns, who drove before
them a herd of cattle--one or two village wenches, who seemed bound
for some merry-making--a strolling soldier, in a rusted morion, and a
wandering student, as his threadbare black cloak and his satchel of
books proclaimed him--passed our travellers without observation, or
with a look of contempt; and, moreover, that two or three children,
attracted by the appearance of a dress so nearly resembling that of a
pilgrim, joined in hooting and calling "Out upon the mass-monger!" But
one or two, who nourished in their bosoms respect for the downfallen
hierarchy--casting first a timorous glance around, to see that no one
observed them--hastily crossed themselves--bent their knee to Sister
Magdalen, by which name they saluted her--kissed her hand, or even the
hem of her dalmatique--received with humility the Benedicite with
which she repaid their obeisance; and then starting up, and again
looking timidly round to see that they had been unobserved, hastily
resumed their journey. Even while within sight of persons of the
prevailing faith, there were individuals bold enough, by folding their
arms and bending their head, to give distant and silent intimation
that they recognized Sister Magdalen, and honoured alike her person
and her purpose.

She failed not to notice to her grandson these marks of honour and
respect which from time to time she received. "You see," she said, "my
son, that the enemies have been unable altogether to suppress the good
spirit, or to root out the true seed. Amid heretics and schismatics,
spoilers of the church's lands, and scoffers at saints and sacraments,
there is left a remnant."

"It is true, my mother," said Roland Graeme; "but methinks they are of
a quality which can help us but little. See you not all those who wear
steel at their side, and bear marks of better quality, ruffle past us
as they would past the meanest beggars? for those who give us any
marks of sympathy, are the poorest of the poor, and most outcast of
the needy, who have neither bread to share with us, nor swords to
defend us, nor skill to use them if they had. That poor wretch that
last kneeled to you with such deep devotion, and who seemed emaciated
by the touch of some wasting disease within, and the grasp of poverty
without--that pale, shivering, miserable caitiff, how can he aid the
great schemes you meditate?"

"Much, my son," said the Matron, with more mildness than the page
perhaps expected. "When that pious son of the church returns from the
shrine of Saint Ringan, whither he now travels by my counsel, and by
the aid of good Catholics,--when he returns, healed, of his wasting
malady, high in health, and strong in limb, will not the glory of his
faithfulness, and its miraculous reward, speak louder in the ears of
this besotted people of Scotland, than the din which is weekly made in
a thousand heretical pulpits?"

"Ay, but, mother, I fear the Saint's hand is out. It is long since we
have heard of a miracle performed at St. Ringan's."

The matron made a dead pause, and, with a voice tremulous with
emotion, asked, "Art thou so unhappy as to doubt the power of the
blessed Saint?"

"Nay, mother," the youth hastened to reply, "I believe as the Holy
Church commands, and doubt not Saint Ringan's power of healing; but,
be it said with reverence, he hath not of late showed the
inclination."

"And has this land deserved it?" said the Catholic matron, advancing
hastily while she spoke, until she attained the summit of a rising
ground, over which the path led, and then standing again still.
"Here," she said, "stood the Cross, the limits of the Halidome of
Saint Mary's--here--on this eminence--from which the eye of the holy
pilgrim might first catch a view of that ancient monastery, the light
of the land, the abode of Saints, and the grave of monarchs--Where is
now that emblem of our faith? It lies on the earth--a shapeless block,
from which the broken fragments have been carried off, for the meanest
uses, till now no semblance of its original form remains. Look towards
the east, my son, where the sun was wont to glitter on stately
spires--from which crosses and bells have now been hurled, as if the
land had been invaded once more by barbarous heathens.--Look at yonder
battlements, of which we can, even at this distance, descry the
partial demolition; and ask if this land can expect from the blessed
saints, whose shrines and whose images have been profaned, any other
miracles but those of vengeance? How long," she exclaimed, looking
upward, "How long shall it be delayed?" She paused, and then resumed
with enthusiastic rapidity, "Yes, my son, all on earth is but for a
period--joy and grief, triumph and desolation, succeed each other like
cloud and sunshine;--the vineyard shall not be forever trodden down,
the gaps shall be amended, and the fruitful branches once more dressed
and trimmed. Even this day--ay, even this hour, I trust to hear news
of importance. Dally not--let us on--time is brief, and judgment is
certain."

She resumed the path which led to the Abbey--a path which, in ancient
times, was carefully marked out by posts and rails, to assist the
pilgrim in his journey--these were now torn up and destroyed. A
half-hour's walk placed them in front of the once splendid Monastery,
which, although the church was as yet entire, had not escaped the fury
of the times. The long range of cells and of apartments for the use of
the brethren, which occupied two sides of the great square, were
almost entirely ruinous, the interior having been consumed by fire,
which only the massive architecture of the outward walls had enabled
them to resist. The Abbot's house, which formed the third side of the
square, was, though injured, still inhabited, and afforded refuge to
the few brethren, who yet, rather by connivance than by actual
authority,--were permitted to remain at Kennaquhair. Their stately
offices--their pleasant gardens--the magnificent cloisters constructed
for their recreation, were all dilapidated and ruinous; and some of
the building materials had apparently been put into requisition by
persons in the village and in the vicinity, who, formerly vassals of
the Monastery, had not hesitated to appropriate to themselves a part
of the spoils. Roland saw fragments of Gothic pillars richly carved,
occupying the place of door-posts to the meanest huts; and here and
there a mutilated statue, inverted or laid on its side, made the
door-post, or threshold, of a wretched cow-house. The church itself
was less injured than the other buildings of the Monastery. But the
images which had been placed in the numerous niches of its columns and
buttresses, having all fallen under the charge of idolatry, to which
the superstitious devotion of the Papists had justly exposed them, had
been broken and thrown down, without much regard to the preservation
of the rich and airy canopies and pedestals on which they were placed;
nor, if the devastation had stopped short at this point, could we have
considered the preservation of these monuments of antiquity as an
object to be put in the balance with the introduction of the reformed
worship.

Our pilgrims saw the demolition of these sacred and venerable
representations of saints and angels--for as sacred and venerable they
had been taught to consider them--with very different feelings. The
antiquary may be permitted to regret the necessity of the action, but
to Magdalen Graeme it seemed a deed of impiety, deserving the instant
vengeance of heaven,--a sentiment in which her relative joined for the
moment as cordially as herself. Neither, however, gave vent to their
feelings in words, and uplifted hands and eyes formed their only mode
of expressing them. The page was about to approach the great eastern
gate of the church, but was prevented by his guide. "That gate," she
said, "has long been blockaded, that the heretical rabble may not know
there still exist among the brethren of Saint Mary's men who dare
worship where their predecessors prayed while alive, and were interred
when dead--follow me this way, my son."

Roland Graeme followed accordingly; and Magdalen, casting a hasty
glance to see whether they were observed, (for she had learned caution
from the danger of the times,) commanded her grandson to knock at a
little wicket which she pointed out to him. "But knock gently," she
added, with a motion expressive of caution. After a little space,
during which no answer was returned, she signed to Roland to repeat
his summons for admission; and the door at length partially opening,
discovered a glimpse of the thin and timid porter, by whom the duty
was performed, skulking from the observation of those who stood
without; but endeavouring at the same time to gain a sight of them
without being himself seen. How different from the proud consciousness
of dignity with which the porter of ancient days offered his important
brow, and his goodly person, to the pilgrims who repaired to
Kennaquhair! His solemn "_Intrate, mei filii,_" was exchanged for
a tremulous "You cannot enter now--the brethren are in their
chambers." But, when Magdalen Graeme asked, in an under tone of voice,
"Hast thou forgotten me, my brother?" he changed his apologetic
refusal to "Enter, my honoured sister, enter speedily, for evil eyes
are upon us"

They entered accordingly, and having waited until the porter had, with
jealous haste, barred and bolted the wicket, were conducted by him
through several dark and winding passages. As they walked slowly on,
he spoke to the matron in a subdued voice, as if he feared to trust
the very walls with the avowal which he communicated.

"Our Fathers are assembled in the Chapter-house, worthy sister--yes,
in the Chapter-house--for the election of an Abbott.--Ah, Benedicite!
there must be no ringing of bells--no high mass--no opening of the
great gates now, that the people might see and venerate their
spiritual Father! Our Fathers must hide themselves rather like robbers
who choose a leader, than godly priests who elect a mitred Abbot."

"Regard not that, my brother," answered Magdalen Graeme; "the first
successors of Saint Peter himself were elected, not in sunshine, but
in tempests--not in the halls of the Vatican, but in the subterranean
vaults and dungeons of heathen Rome--they were not gratulated with
shouts and salvos of cannon-shot and of musketry, and the display of
artificial fire--no, my brother--but by the hoarse summons of Lictors
and Praetors, who came to drag the Fathers of the Church to martyrdom.
From such adversity was the Church once raised, and by such will it
now be purified.--And mark me, brother! not in the proudest days of
the mitred Abbey, was a Superior ever chosen, whom his office shall so
much honour, as _he_ shall be honoured, who now takes it upon him
in these days of tribulation. On whom, my brother, will the choice
fall?"

"On whom can it fall--or, alas! who would dare to reply to the call,
save the worthy pupil of the Sainted Eustatius--the good and valiant
Father Ambrose?"

"I know it," said Magdalen; "my heart told me long ere your lips had
uttered his name. Stand forth, courageous champion, and man the fatal
breach!--Rise, bold and experienced pilot, and seize the helm while
the tempest rages!--Turn back the battle, brave raiser of the fallen
standard!--Wield crook and slang, noble shepherd of a scattered
flock!"

"I pray you, hush, my sister!" said the porter, opening a door which
led into the great church, "the brethren will be presently here to
celebrate their election with a solemn mass--I must marshal them the
way to the high altar--all the offices of this venerable house have
now devolved on one poor decrepit old man."

He left the church, and Magdalen and Roland remained alone in that
great vaulted space, whose style of rich, yet chaste architecture,
referred its origin to the early part of the fourteenth century, the
best period of Gothic building. But the niches were stripped of their
images in the inside as well as the outside of the church; and in the
pell-mell havoc, the tombs of warriors and of princes had been
included in the demolition of the idolatrous shrines. Lances and
swords of antique size, which had hung over the tombs of mighty
warriors of former days, lay now strewed among relics, with which the
devotion of pilgrims had graced those of their peculiar saints; and
the fragments of the knights and dames, which had once lain recumbent,
or kneeled in an attitude of devotion, where their mortal relics were
reposed, were mingled with those of the saints and angels of the
Gothic chisel, which the hand of violence had sent headlong from their
stations.

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