The Abbot

Chapter 12

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 _t**--t**_ 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 s*x, 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."

"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.