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The Abbot

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Abbot




It was upon the evening of a sultry summer's day, when the sun was
half-sunk behind the distant western mountains of Liddesdale, that the
Lady took her solitary walk on the battlements of a range of
buildings, which formed the front of the castle, where a flat roof of
flag-stones presented a broad and convenient promenade. The level
surface of the lake, undisturbed except by the occasional dipping of a
teal-duck, or coot, was gilded with the beams of the setting luminary,
and reflected, as if in a golden mirror, the hills amongst which it
lay embossed. The scene, otherwise so lonely, was occasionally
enlivened by the voices of the children in the village, which,
softened by distance, reached the ear of the Lady, in her solitary
walk, or by the distant call of the herdsman, as he guided his cattle
from the glen in which they had pastured all day, to place them in
greater security for the night, in the immediate vicinity of the
village. The deep lowing of the cows seemed to demand the attendance
of the milk-maidens, who, singing shrilly and merrily, strolled forth,
each with her pail on her head, to attend to the duty of the evening.
The Lady of Avenel looked and listened; the sounds which she heard
reminded her of former days, when her most important employment, as
well as her greatest delight, was to assist Dame Glendinning and Tibb
Tackett in milking the cows at Glendearg. The thought was fraught
with melancholy.

"Why was I not," she said, "the peasant girl which in all men's eyes I
seemed to be? Halbert and I had then spent our life peacefully in his
native glen, undisturbed by the phantoms either of fear or of
ambition. His greatest pride had then been to show the fairest herd in
the Halidome; his greatest danger to repel some pilfering snatcher
from the Border; and the utmost distance which would have divided us,
would have been the chase of some outlying deer. But, alas! what
avails the blood which Halbert has shed, and the dangers which he
encounters, to support a name and rank, dear to him because he has it
from me, but which we shall never transmit to our posterity! with me
the name of Avenel must expire."

She sighed as the reflections arose, and, looking towards the shore of
the lake, her eye was attracted by a group of children of various
ages, assembled to see a little ship, constructed by some village
artist, perform its first voyage on the water. It was launched amid
the shouts of tiny voices and the clapping of little hands, and shot
bravely forth on its voyage with a favouring wind, which promised to
carry it to the other side of the lake. Some of the bigger boys ran
round to receive and secure it on the farther shore, trying their
speed against each other as they sprang like young fawns along the
shingly verge of the lake. The rest, for whom such a journey seemed
too arduous, remained watching the motions of the fairy vessel from
the spot where it had been launched. The sight of their sports pressed
on the mind of the childless Lady of Avenel.

"Why are none of these prattlers mine?" she continued, pursuing the
tenor of her melancholy reflections. "Their parents can scarce find
them the coarsest food--and I, who could nurse them in plenty, I am
doomed never to hear a child call me mother!"

The thought sunk on her heart with a bitterness which resembled envy,
so deeply is the desire of offspring implanted in the female breast.
She pressed her hands together as if she were wringing them in the
extremity of her desolate feeling, as one whom Heaven had written
childless. A large stag-hound of the greyhound species approached at
this moment, and attracted perhaps by the gesture, licked her hands
and pressed his large head against them. He obtained the desired
caresses in return, but still the sad impression remained.

"Wolf," she said, as if the animal could have understood her
complaints, "thou art a noble and beautiful animal; but, alas! the
love and affection that I long to bestow, is of a quality higher than
can fall to thy share, though I love thee much."

And, as if she were apologizing to Wolf for withholding from him any
part of her regard, she caressed his proud head and crest, while,
looking in her eyes, he seemed to ask her what she wanted, or what he
could do to show his attachment. At this moment a shriek of distress
was heard on the shore, from the playful group which had been lately
so jovial. The Lady looked, and saw the cause with great agony.

The little ship, the object of the children's delighted attention, had
stuck among some tufts of the plant which bears the water-lily, that
marked a shoal in the lake about an arrow-flight from the shore. A
hardy little boy, who had taken the lead in the race round the margin
of the lake, did not hesitate a moment to strip off his
_wylie-coat_, plunge into the water, and swim towards the object
of their common solicitude. The first movement of the Lady was to call
for help; but she observed that the boy swam strongly and fearlessly,
and as she saw that one or two villagers, who were distant spectators
of the incident, seemed to give themselves no uneasiness on his
account, she supposed that he was accustomed to the exercise, and that
there was no danger. But whether, in swimming, the boy had struck his
breast against a sunken rock, or whether he was suddenly taken with
cramp, or whether he had over-calculated his own strength, it so
happened, that when he had disembarrassed the little plaything from
the flags in which it was entangled, and sent it forward on its
course, he had scarce swam a few yards in his way to the shore, than
he raised himself suddenly from the water, and screamed aloud,
clapping his hands at the same time with an expression of fear and
pain.

The Lady of Avenel, instantly taking the alarm, called hastily to the
attendants to get the boat ready. But this was an affair of some time.
The only boat permitted to be used on the lake, was moored within the
second cut which intersected the canal, and it was several minutes ere
it could be unmoored and got under way. Meantime, the Lady of Avenel,
with agonizing anxiety, saw that the efforts that the poor boy made to
keep himself afloat, were now exchanged for a faint struggling, which
would soon have been over, but for aid equally prompt and unhoped-for.
Wolf, who, like some of that large species of greyhound, was a
practised water-dog, had marked the object of her anxiety, and,
quitting his mistress's side, had sought the nearest point from which
he could with safety plunge into the lake. With the wonderful instinct
which these noble animals have so often displayed in the like
circumstances, he swam straight to the spot where his assistance was
so much wanted, and seizing the child's under-dress in his mouth, he
not only kept him afloat, but towed him towards the causeway. The
boat having put off with a couple of men, met the dog half-way, and
relieved him of his burden. They landed on the causeway, close by the
gates of the castle, with their yet lifeless charge, and were there
met by the Lady of Avenel, attended by one or two of her maidens,
eagerly waiting to administer assistance to the sufferer.

He was borne into the castle, deposited upon a bed, and every mode of
recovery resorted to, which the knowledge of the times, and the skill
of Henry Warden, who professed some medical science, could dictate.
For some time it was all in vain, and the Lady watched, with
unspeakable earnestness, the pallid countenance of the beautiful
child. He seemed about ten years old. His dress was of the meanest
sort, but his long curled hair, and the noble cast of his features,
partook not of that poverty of appearance. The proudest noble in
Scotland might have been yet prouder could he have called that child
his heir. While, with breathless anxiety, the Lady of Avenel gazed on
his well-formed and expressive features, a slight shade of colour
returned gradually to the cheek; suspended animation became restored
by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened his eyes, which to the
human countenance produces the effect of light upon the natural
landscape, stretched his arms towards the Lady, and muttered the word
"Mother," that epithet, of all others, which is dearest to the female
ear.

"God, madam," said the preacher, "has restored the child to your
wishes; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may not one day
wish that he had perished in his innocence."

"It shall be my charge," said the Lady; and again throwing her arms
around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and caresses, so much
was she agitated by the terror arising from the danger in which he had
been just placed, and by joy at his unexpected deliverance.

"But you are not my mother," said the boy, recovering his
recollection, and endeavouring, though faintly, to escape from the
caresses of the Lady of Avenel; "you are not my mother,--alas! I have
no mother--only I have dreamt that I had one."

"I will read the dream for you, my love," answered the Lady of Avenel;
"and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has heard my wishes,
and, in his own marvellous manner, hath sent me an object on which my
affections may expand themselves." She looked towards Warden as she
spoke. The preacher hesitated what he should reply to a burst of
passionate feeling, which, perhaps, seemed to him more enthusiastic
than the occasion demanded. In the meanwhile, the large stag-hound,
Wolf, which, dripping wet as he was, had followed his mistress into
the apartment, and had sat by the bedside, a patient and quiet
spectator of all the means used for resuscitation of the being whom he
had preserved, now became impatient of remaining any longer unnoticed,
and began to whine and fawn upon the Lady with his great rough paws.

"Yes," she said, "good Wolf, and you shall be remembered also for your
day's work; and I will think the more of you for having preserved the
life of a creature so beautiful."

But Wolf was not quite satisfied with the share of attention which he
thus attracted; he persisted in whining and pawing upon his mistress,
his caresses rendered still more troublesome by his long shaggy hair
being so much and thoroughly wetted, till she desired one of the
domestics, with whom he was familiar, to call the animal out of the
apartment. Wolf resisted every invitation to this purpose, until his
mistress positively commanded him to be gone, in an angry tone; when,
turning towards the bed on which the body still lay, half awake to
sensation, half drowned in the meanders of fluctuating delirium, he
uttered a deep and savage growl, curled up his nose and lips, showing
his full range of white and sharpened teeth, which might have matched
those of an actual wolf, and then, turning round, sullenly followed
the domestic out of the apartment.

"It is singular," said the Lady, addressing Warden; "the animal is not
only so good-natured to all, but so particularly fond of children.
What can ail him at the little fellow whose life he has saved?"

"Dogs," replied the preacher, "are but too like the human race in
their foibles, though their instinct be less erring than the reason of
poor mortal man when relying upon his own unassisted powers. Jealousy,
my good lady, is a passion not unknown to them, and they often evince
it, not only with respect to the preferences which they see given by
their masters to individuals of their own species, but even when their
rivals are children. You have caressed that child much and eagerly,
and the dog considers himself as a discarded favourite."

"It is a strange instinct," said the Lady; "and from the gravity with
which you mention it, my reverend friend, I would almost say that you
supposed this singular jealousy of my favourite Wolf, was not only
well founded, but justifiable. But perhaps you speak in jest?"

"I seldom jest," answered the preacher; "life was not lent to us to be
expended in that idle mirth which resembles the crackling of thorns
under the pot. I would only have you derive, if it so please you, this
lesson from what I have said, that the best of our feelings, when
indulged to excess, may give pain to others. There is but one in which
we may indulge to the utmost limit of vehemence of which our bosom is
capable, secure that excess cannot exist in the greatest intensity to
which it can be excited--I mean the love of our Maker."

"Surely," said the Lady of Avenel, "we are commanded by the same
authority to love our neighbour?"

"Ay, madam," said Warden, "but our love to God is to be unbounded--we
are to love him with our whole heart, our whole soul, and our whole
strength. The love which the precept commands us to bear to our
neighbour, has affixed to it a direct limit and qualification--we are
to love our neighbour as ourself; as it is elsewhere explained by the
great commandment, that we must do unto him as we would that he should
do unto us. Here there is a limit, and a bound, even to the most
praiseworthy of our affections, so far as they are turned upon
sublunary and terrestrial objects. We are to render to our neighbour,
whatever be his rank or degree, that corresponding portion of
affection with which we could rationally expect we should ourselves be
regarded by those standing in the same relation to us. Hence, neither
husband nor wife, neither son nor daughter, neither friend nor
relation, are lawfully to be made the objects of our idolatry. The
Lord our God is a jealous God, and will not endure that we bestow on
the creature that extremity of devotion which He who made us demands
as his own share. I say to you, Lady, that even in the fairest, and
purest, and most honourable feelings of our nature, there is that
original taint of sin which ought to make us pause and hesitate, ere
we indulge them to excess."

"I understand not this, reverend sir," said the Lady; "nor do I guess
what I can have now said or done, to draw down on me an admonition
which has something a taste of reproof."

"Lady," said Warden, "I crave your pardon, if I have urged aught
beyond the limits of my duty. But consider, whether in the sacred
promise to be not only a protectress, but a mother, to this poor
child, your purpose may meet the wishes of the noble knight your
husband. The fondness which you have lavished on the unfortunate, and,
I own, most lovely child, has met something like a reproof in the
bearing of your household dog.--Displease not your noble husband. Men,
as well as animals, are jealous of the affections of those they love."

"This is too much, reverend sir," said the Lady of Avenel, greatly
offended. "You have been long our guest, and have received from the
Knight of Avenel and myself that honour and regard which your
character and profession so justly demand. But I am yet to learn that
we have at any time authorized your interference in our family
arrangements, or placed you as a judge of our conduct towards each
other. I pray this may be forborne in future."

"Lady," replied the preacher, with the boldness peculiar to the clergy
of his persuasion at that time, "when you weary of my admonitions--
when I see that my services are no longer acceptable to you, and the
noble knight your husband, I shall know that my Master wills me no
longer to abide here; and, praying for a continuance of his best
blessings on your family I will then, were the season the depth of
winter, and the hour midnight, walk out on yonder waste, and travel
forth through these wild mountains, as lonely and unaided, though far
more helpless, than when I first met your husband in the valley of
Glendearg. But while I remain here, I will not see you err from the
true path, no, not a hair's-breadth, without making the old man's
voice and remonstrance heard."

"Nay, but," said the Lady, who both loved and respected the good man,
though sometimes a little offended at what she conceived to be an
exuberant degree of zeal, "we will not part this way, my good friend.
Women are quick and hasty in their feelings; but, believe me, my
wishes and my purposes towards this child are such as both my husband
and you will approve of." The clergyman bowed, and retreated to his
own apartment.




Chapter the Second.


How steadfastly he fix'd his eyes on me--
His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears--
Then stretch'd his little arms, and call'd me mother!
What could I do? I took the bantling home--
I could not tell the imp he had no mother.
COUNT BASIL.

When Warden had left the apartment, the Lady of Avenel gave way to the
feelings of tenderness which the sight of the boy, his sudden danger,
and his recent escape, had inspired; and no longer awed by the
sternness, as she deemed it, of the preacher, heaped with caresses the
lovely and interesting child. He was now, in some measure, recovered
from the consequences of his accident, and received passively, though
not without wonder, the tokens of kindness with which he was thus
loaded. The face of the lady was strange to him, and her dress
different and far more sumptuous than any he remembered. But the boy
was naturally of an undaunted temper; and indeed children are
generally acute physiognomists, and not only pleased by that which is
beautiful in itself, but peculiarly quick in distinguishing and
replying to the attentions of those who really love them. If they see
a person in company, though a perfect stranger, who is by nature fond
of children, the little imps seem to discover it by a sort of
free-masonry, while the awkward attempts of those who make advances to
them for the purpose of recommending themselves to the parents,
usually fail in attracting their reciprocal attention. The little boy,
therefore, appeared in some degree sensible of the lady's caresses,
and it was with difficulty she withdrew herself from his pillow, to
afford him leisure for necessary repose.

"To whom belongs our little rescued varlet?" was the first question
which the Lady of Avenel put to her handmaiden Lilias, when they had
retired to the hall.

"To an old woman in the hamlet," said Lilias, "who is even now come so
far as the porter's lodge to inquire concerning his safety. Is it your
pleasure that she be admitted?"

"Is it my pleasure?" said the Lady of Avenel, echoing the question
with a strong accent of displeasure and surprise; "can you make any
doubt of it? What woman but must pity the agony of the mother, whose
heart is throbbing for the safety of a child so lovely!"

"Nay, but, madam," said Lilias, "this woman is too old to be the
mother of the child; I rather think she must be his grandmother, or
some more distant relation."

"Be she who she will, Lilias," replied the Lady, "she must have an
aching heart while the safety of a creature so lovely is uncertain. Go
instantly and bring her hither. Besides, I would willingly learn
something concerning his birth."

Lilias left the hall, and presently afterwards returned, ushering in a
tall female very poorly dressed, yet with more pretension to decency
and cleanliness than was usually combined with such coarse garments.
The Lady of Avenel knew her figure the instant she presented herself.
It was the fashion of the family, that upon every Sabbath, and on two
evenings in the week besides, Henry Warden preached or lectured in the
chapel at the castle. The extension of the Protestant faith was, upon
principle, as well as in good policy, a primary object with the Knight
of Avenel. The inhabitants of the village were therefore invited to
attend upon the instructions of Henry Warden, and many of them were
speedily won to the doctrine which their master and protector
approved. These sermons, homilies, and lectures, had made a great
impression on the mind of the Abbot Eustace, or Eustatius, and were a
sufficient spur to the severity and sharpness of his controversy with
his old fellow-collegiate; and, ere Queen Mary was dethroned, and
while the Catholics still had considerable authority in the Border
provinces, he more than once threatened to levy his vassals, and
assail and level with the earth that stronghold of heresy the Castle
of Avenel. But notwithstanding the Abbot's impotent resentment, and
notwithstanding also the disinclination of the country to favour the
new religion, Henry Warden proceeded without remission in his labours,
and made weekly converts from the faith of Rome to that of the
reformed church. Amongst those who gave most earnest and constant
attendance on his ministry, was the aged woman, whose form, tall, and
otherwise too remarkable to be forgotten, the Lady had of late
observed frequently as being conspicuous among the little audience.
She had indeed more than once desired to know who that stately-looking
woman was, whose appearance was so much above the poverty of her
vestments. But the reply had always been, that she was an
Englishwoman, who was tarrying for a season at the hamlet, and that no
one knew more concerning her. She now asked her after her name and
birth.

"Magdalen Graeme is my name," said the woman; "I come of the Graemes
of Heathergill, in Nicol Forest, [Footnote: A district of Cumberland,
lying close to the Scottish border.] a people of ancient blood."

"And what make you," continued the Lady, "so far distant from your
home?"

"I have no home," said Magdalen Graeme, "it was burnt by your
Border-riders--my husband and my son were slain--there is not a drop's
blood left in the veins of any one which is of kin to mine."

"That is no uncommon fate in these wild times, and in this unsettled
land," said the Lady; "the English hands have been as deeply dyed in
our blood as ever those of Scotsmen have been in yours."

"You have right to say it, Lady," answered Magdalen Graeme; "for men
tell of a time when this castle was not strong enough to save your
father's life, or to afford your mother and her infant a place of
refuge. And why ask ye me, then, wherefore I dwell not in mine own
home, and with mine own people?"

"It was indeed an idle question," answered the Lady, "where misery so
often makes wanderers; but wherefore take refuge in a hostile
country?"

"My neighbours were Popish and mass-mongers," said the old woman; "it
has pleased Heaven to give me a clearer sight of the gospel, and I
have tarried here to enjoy the ministry of that worthy man Henry
Warden, who, to the praise and comfort of many, teacheth the Evangel
in truth and in sincerity."

"Are you poor?" again demanded the Lady of Avenel.

"You hear me ask alms of no one," answered the Englishwoman.

Here there was a pause. The manner of the woman was, if not
disrespectful, at least much less than gracious; and she appeared to
give no encouragement to farther communication. The Lady of Avenel
renewed the conversation on a different topic.

"You have heard of the danger in which your boy has been placed?"

"I have, Lady, and how by an especial providence he was rescued from
death. May Heaven make him thankful, and me!"

"What relation do you bear to him?"

"I am his grandmother, lady, if it so please you; the only relation he
hath left upon earth to take charge of him."

"The burden of his maintenance must necessarily be grievous to you in
your deserted situation?" pursued the Lady.

"I have complained of it to no one," said Magdalen Graeme, with the
same unmoved, dry, and unconcerned tone of voice, in which she had
answered all the former questions.

"If," said the Lady of Avenel, "your grandchild could be received into
a noble family, would it not advantage both him and you?"

"Received into a noble family!" said the old woman, drawing herself
up, and bending her brows until her forehead was wrinkled into a frown
of unusual severity; "and for what purpose, I pray you?--to be my
lady's page, or my lord's jackman, to eat broken victuals, and contend
with other menials for the remnants of the master's meal? Would you
have him to fan the flies from my lady's face while she sleeps, to
carry her train while she walks, to hand her trencher when she feeds,
to ride before her on horseback, to walk after her on foot, to sing
when she lists, and to be silent when she bids?--a very weathercock,
which, though furnished in appearance with wings and plumage, cannot
soar into the air--cannot fly from the spot where it is perched, but
receives all its impulse, and performs all its revolutions, obedient
to the changeful breath of a vain woman? When the eagle of Helvellyn
perches on the tower of Lanercost, and turns and changes his place to
show how the wind sits, Roland Graeme shall be what you would make
him."

The woman spoke with a rapidity and vehemence which seemed to have in
it a touch of insanity; and a sudden sense of the danger to which the
child must necessarily be exposed in the charge of such a keeper,
increased the Lady's desire to keep him in the castle if possible.

"You mistake me, dame," she said, addressing the old woman in a
soothing manner; "I do not wish your boy to be in attendance on
myself, but upon the good knight my husband. Were he himself the son
of a belted earl, he could not better be trained to arms, and all that
befits a gentleman, than by the instructions and discipline of Sir
Halbert Glendinning."

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