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 thehorizon, when the voice of his companion summoned him to resume theirpilgrimage; and when, hastily arranging his dress, he went to attend hercall, the enthusiastic matron stood already at the threshold, preparedfor her journey. There was in all the deportment of this remarkablewoman, a promptitude of execution, and a sternness of perseverance,founded on the fanaticism which she nursed so deeply, and which seemedto absorb all the ordinary purposes and feelings of mortality. One onlyhuman affection gleamed through her enthusiastic energies, like thebroken glimpses of the sun through the rising clouds of a storm. It washer maternal fondness for her grandson--a fondness carried almost to theverge of dotage, in circumstances where the Catholic religion was notconcerned, but which gave way instantly when it chanced either to thwartor come in contact with the more settled purpose of her soul, and themore devoted duty of her life. Her life she would willingly have laiddown to save the earthly object of her affection; but that object itselfshe was ready to hazard, and would have been willing to sacrifice,could the restoration of the Church of Rome have been purchased with hisblood. Her discourse by the way, excepting on the few occasions in whichher extreme love of her grandson found opportunity to display itself inanxiety for his health and accommodation, turned entirely on the dutyof raising up the fallen honours of the Church, and replacing a Catholicsovereign on the throne. There were times at which she hinted, thoughvery obscurely and distantly, that she herself was foredoomed by Heavento perform a part in this important task; and that she had more thanmere human warranty for the zeal with which she engaged in it. But onthis subject she expressed herself in such general language, that it wasnot easy to decide whether she made any actual pretensions to a directand supernatural call, like the celebrated Elizabeth Barton, commonlycalled the Nun of Kent; [Footnote: A fanatic nun, called the Holy Maidof Kent, who pretended to the gift of prophecy and power of miracles.Having denounced the doom of speedy death against Henry VIII. for hismarriage with Anne Boleyn, the prophetess was attainted in Parliament,and executed with her accomplices. Her imposture was for a time sosuccessful, that even Sir Thomas More was disposed to be a believer.]or whether she dwelt upon the general duty which was incumbent onall Catholics of the time, and the pressure of which she felt in anextraordinary degree.
Yet though Magdalen Graeme gave no direct intimation of her pretensionsto be considered as something beyond the ordinary class of mortals,the demeanour of one or two persons amongst the travellers whom theyoccasionally met, as they entered the more fertile and populous part ofthe valley, seemed to indicate their belief in her superior attributes.It is true, that two clowns, who drove before them a herd of cattle--oneor two village wenches, who seemed bound for some merry-making--astrolling soldier, in a rusted morion, and a wandering student, as histhreadbare black cloak and his satchel of books proclaimed him--passedour travellers without observation, or with a look of contempt; and,moreover, that two or three children, attracted by the appearance ofa dress so nearly resembling that of a pilgrim, joined in hooting andcalling "Out upon the mass-monger!" But one or two, who nourished intheir bosoms respect for the downfallen hierarchy--casting first atimorous glance around, to see that no one observed them--hastilycrossed themselves--bent their knee to Sister Magdalen, by whichname they saluted her--kissed her hand, or even the hem of herdalmatique--received with humility the Benedicite with which she repaidtheir obeisance; and then starting up, and again looking timidly roundto see that they had been unobserved, hastily resumed their journey.Even while within sight of persons of the prevailing faith, there wereindividuals bold enough, by folding their arms and bending their head,to give distant and silent intimation that they recognized SisterMagdalen, and honoured alike her person and her purpose.
She failed not to notice to her grandson these marks of honour andrespect which from time to time she received. "You see," she said, "myson, that the enemies have been unable altogether to suppress the goodspirit, 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 ofa quality which can help us but little. See you not all those who wearsteel at their side, and bear marks of better quality, ruffle past us asthey would past the meanest beggars? for those who give us any marks ofsympathy, 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, norskill to use them if they had. That poor wretch that last kneeled to youwith such deep devotion, and who seemed emaciated by the touch of somewasting disease within, and the grasp of poverty without--that pale,shivering, miserable caitiff, how can he aid the great schemes youmeditate?"
"Much, my son," said the Matron, with more mildness than the pageperhaps expected. "When that pious son of the church returns from theshrine of Saint Ringan, whither he now travels by my counsel, and by theaid of good Catholics,--when he returns, healed, of his wastingmalady, high in health, and strong in limb, will not the glory of hisfaithfulness, and its miraculous reward, speak louder in the ears ofthis besotted people of Scotland, than the din which is weekly made in athousand heretical pulpits?"
"Ay, but, mother, I fear the Saint's hand is out. It is long since wehave 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 HolyChurch commands, and doubt not Saint Ringan's power of healing; but, beit said with reverence, he hath not of late showed the inclination."
"And has this land deserved it?" said the Catholic matron, advancinghastily while she spoke, until she attained the summit of a risingground, over which the path led, and then standing again still."Here," she said, "stood the Cross, the limits of the Halidome of SaintMary's--here--on this eminence--from which the eye of the holy pilgrimmight first catch a view of that ancient monastery, the light of theland, the abode of Saints, and the grave of monarchs--Where is now thatemblem of our faith? It lies on the earth--a shapeless block, from whichthe broken fragments have been carried off, for the meanest uses, tillnow no semblance of its original form remains. Look towards the east,my son, where the sun was wont to glitter on stately spires--from whichcrosses and bells have now been hurled, as if the land had been invadedonce more by barbarous heathens.--Look at yonder battlements, of whichwe can, even at this distance, descry the partial demolition; and askif this land can expect from the blessed saints, whose shrines and whoseimages have been profaned, any other miracles but those of vengeance?How long," she exclaimed, looking upward, "How long shall it bedelayed?" She paused, and then resumed with enthusiastic rapidity, "Yes,my son, all on earth is but for a period--joy and grief, triumph anddesolation, succeed each other like cloud and sunshine;--the vineyardshall not be forever trodden down, the gaps shall be amended, and thefruitful branches once more dressed and trimmed. Even this day--ay,even this hour, I trust to hear news of importance. Dally not--let uson--time is brief, and judgment is certain."
She resumed the path which led to the Abbey--a path which, in ancienttimes, was carefully marked out by posts and rails, to assist thepilgrim in his journey--these were now torn up and destroyed. Ahalf-hour's walk placed them in front of the once splendid Monastery,which, although the church was as yet entire, had not escaped the furyof the times. The long range of cells and of apartments for the use ofthe brethren, which occupied two sides of the great square, were almostentirely ruinous, the interior having been consumed by fire, whichonly the massive architecture of the outward walls had en
abled them toresist. The Abbot's house, which formed the third side of the square,was, though injured, still inhabited, and afforded refuge to the fewbrethren, who yet, rather by connivance than by actual authority,--werepermitted to remain at Kennaquhair. Their stately offices--theirpleasant gardens--the magnificent cloisters constructed for theirrecreation, were all dilapidated and ruinous; and some of the buildingmaterials had apparently been put into requisition by persons in thevillage and in the vicinity, who, formerly vassals of the Monastery, hadnot hesitated to appropriate to themselves a part of the spoils. Rolandsaw fragments of Gothic pillars richly carved, occupying the place ofdoor-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 awretched cow-house. The church itself was less injured than the otherbuildings of the Monastery. But the images which had been placed in thenumerous niches of its columns and buttresses, having all fallen underthe charge of idolatry, to which the superstitious devotion of thePapists had justly exposed them, had been broken and thrown down,without much regard to the preservation of the rich and airy canopiesand pedestals on which they were placed; nor, if the devastation hadstopped short at this point, could we have considered the preservationof these monuments of antiquity as an object to be put in the balancewith the introduction of the reformed worship.
Our pilgrims saw the demolition of these sacred and venerablerepresentations of saints and angels--for as sacred and venerable theyhad been taught to consider them--with very different feelings. Theantiquary may be permitted to regret the necessity of the action, butto Magdalen Graeme it seemed a deed of impiety, deserving the instantvengeance of heaven,--a sentiment in which her relative joined for themoment as cordially as herself. Neither, however, gave vent to theirfeelings in words, and uplifted hands and eyes formed their only mode ofexpressing them. The page was about to approach the great eastern gateof the church, but was prevented by his guide. "That gate," she said,"has long been blockaded, that the heretical rabble may not know therestill exist among the brethren of Saint Mary's men who dare worshipwhere their predecessors prayed while alive, and were interred whendead--follow me this way, my son."
Roland Graeme followed accordingly; and Magdalen, casting a hasty glanceto see whether they were observed, (for she had learned caution from thedanger of the times,) commanded her grandson to knock at a little wicketwhich she pointed out to him. "But knock gently," she added, with amotion expressive of caution. After a little space, during which noanswer was returned, she signed to Roland to repeat his summons foradmission; and the door at length partially opening, discovered aglimpse of the thin and timid porter, by whom the duty was performed,skulking from the observation of those who stood without; butendeavouring at the same time to gain a sight of them without beinghimself seen. How different from the proud consciousness of dignity withwhich the porter of ancient days offered his important brow, and hisgoodly person, to the pilgrims who repaired to Kennaquhair! His solemn"_Intrate, mei filii,_" was exchanged for a tremulous "You cannot enternow--the brethren are in their chambers." But, when Magdalen Graemeasked, in an under tone of voice, "Hast thou forgotten me, my brother?"he changed his apologetic refusal to "Enter, my honoured sister, enterspeedily, for evil eyes are upon us."
They entered accordingly, and having waited until the porter had, withjealous haste, barred and bolted the wicket, were conducted by himthrough 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 thevery walls with the avowal which he communicated.
"Our Fathers are assembled in the Chapter-house, worthy sister--yes, inthe Chapter-house--for the election of an Abbott.--Ah, Benedicite! theremust be no ringing of bells--no high mass--no opening of the great gatesnow, that the people might see and venerate their spiritual Father! OurFathers 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 firstsuccessors of Saint Peter himself were elected, not in sunshine, butin tempests--not in the halls of the Vatican, but in the subterraneanvaults and dungeons of heathen Rome--they were not gratulated withshouts and salvos of cannon-shot and of musketry, and the display ofartificial fire--no, my brother--but by the hoarse summons of Lictorsand Praetors, who came to drag the Fathers of the Church to martyrdom.From such adversity was the Church once raised, and by such will itnow be purified.--And mark me, brother! not in the proudest days of themitred Abbey, was a Superior ever chosen, whom his office shall so muchhonour, as _he_ shall be honoured, who now takes it upon him in thesedays 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 valiantFather Ambrose?"
"I know it," said Magdalen; "my heart told me long ere your lips haduttered his name. Stand forth, courageous champion, and man the fatalbreach!--Rise, bold and experienced pilot, and seize the helm whilethe tempest rages!--Turn back the battle, brave raiser of the fallenstandard!--Wield crook and slang, noble shepherd of a scattered flock!"
"I pray you, hush, my sister!" said the porter, opening a door which ledinto the great church, "the brethren will be presently here to celebratetheir election with a solemn mass--I must marshal them the way to thehigh altar--all the offices of this venerable house have now devolved onone poor decrepit old man."
He left the church, and Magdalen and Roland remained alone in that greatvaulted space, whose style of rich, yet chaste architecture, referredits origin to the early part of the fourteenth century, the best periodof Gothic building. But the niches were stripped of their images in theinside 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 demolitionof the idolatrous shrines. Lances and swords of antique size, which hadhung over the tombs of mighty warriors of former days, lay now strewedamong relics, with which the devotion of pilgrims had graced those oftheir peculiar saints; and the fragments of the knights and dames, whichhad once lain recumbent, or kneeled in an attitude of devotion, wheretheir mortal relics were reposed, were mingled with those of the saintsand angels of the Gothic chisel, which the hand of violence had sentheadlong from their stations.
The most fatal symptom of the whole appeared to be, that, though thisviolence had now been committed for many months, the Fathers had lost sototally all heart and resolution, that they had not adventured even uponclearing away the rubbish, or restoring the church to some decent degreeof order. This might have been done without much labour. But terror hadoverpowered the scanty remains of a body once so powerful, and, sensiblethey were only suffered to remain in this ancient seat by connivance andfrom compassion, they did not venture upon taking any step which mightbe construed into an assertion of their ancient rights, contentingthemselves with the secret and obscure exercise of their religiousceremonial, in as unostentatious a manner as was possible.
Two or three of the more aged brethren had sunk under the pressure ofthe times, and the ruins had been partly cleared away to permit theirinterment. One stone had been laid over Father Nicholas, which recordedof him in special, that he had taken the vows during the incumbency ofAbbot Ingelram, the period to which his memory so frequently recurred.Another flag-stone, yet more recently deposited, covered the body ofPhilip the Sacristan, eminent for his aquatic excursion with the phantomof Avenel, and a third, the most recent of all, bore the outline of amitre, and the words _Hic jacet Eustatius Abbas_; for no one dared toadd a word of commendation in favour of his learning, and strenuous zealfor the Roman Catholic faith.
Magdalen Graeme looked at and perused the brief records of thesemonuments successively, and paused over that of Father Eustace. "Ina good hour for thyself," she said, "but oh! in an evil hour for theChurch, wert thou called from us. Let thy spirit be with us, holyman--encourage thy successor to tread in thy footsteps--give him thybold and invent
ive capacity, thy zeal and thy discretion--even _thy_piety exceeds not his." As she spoke, a side door, which closed apassage from the Abbot's house into the church, was thrown open, thatthe Fathers might enter the choir, and conduct to the high altar theSuperior whom they had elected.
In former times, this was one of the most splendid of the many pageantswhich the hierarchy of Rome had devised to attract the veneration ofthe faithful. The period during which the Abbacy remained vacant, wasa state of mourning, or, as their emblematical phrase expressed it,of widowhood; a melancholy term, which was changed into rejoicing andtriumph when a new Superior was chosen. When the folding doors were onsuch solemn occasions thrown open, and the new Abbot appeared on thethreshold in full-blown dignity, with ring and mitre, and dalmatiqueand crosier, his hoary standard-bearers and his juvenile dispensers ofincense preceding him, and the venerable train of monks behind him, withall besides which could announce the supreme authority to which he wasnow raised, his appearance was a signal for the magnificent _jubilate_to rise from the organ and music-loft, and to be joined by thecorresponding bursts of Alleluiah from the whole assembled congregation.Now all was changed. In the midst of rubbish and desolation, seven oreight old men, bent and shaken as much by grief and fear as by age,shrouded hastily in the proscribed dress of their order, wandered likea procession of spectres, from the door which had been thrown open, upthrough the encumbered passage, to the high altar, there to instal theirelected Superior a chief of ruins. It was like a band of bewilderedtravellers choosing a chief in the wilderness of Arabia; or ashipwrecked crew electing a captain upon the barren island on which fatehas thrown them.
They who, in peaceful times, are most ambitious of authority amongothers, shrink from the competition at such eventful periods, whenneither ease nor parade attend the possession of it, and when it givesonly a painful pre-eminence both in danger and in labour, and exposesthe ill-fated chieftain to the murmurs of his discontented associates,as well as to the first assault of the common enemy. But he on whom theoffice of the Abbot of Saint Mary's was now conferred, had a mind fittedfor the situation to which he was called. Bold and enthusiastic, yetgenerous and forgiving--wise and skilful, yet zealous and prompt--hewanted but a better cause than the support of a decaying superstition,to have raised him to the rank of a truly great man. But as the endcrowns the work, it also forms the rule by which it must be ultimatelyjudged; and those who, with sincerity and generosity, fight and fall inan evil cause, posterity can only compassionate as victims of a generousbut fatal error. Amongst these, we must rank Ambrosius, the last Abbotof Kennaqubair, whose designs must be condemned, as their success wouldhave riveted on Scotland the chains of antiquated superstition andspiritual tyranny; but whose talents commanded respect, and whosevirtues, even from the enemies of his faith, extorted esteem.
The bearing of the new Abbot served of itself to dignify a ceremonialwhich was deprived of all other attributes of grandeur. Conscious ofthe peril in which they stood, and recalling, doubtless, the better daysthey had seen, there hung over his brethren an appearance of mingledterror, and grief, and shame, which induced them to hurry over theoffice in which they were engaged, as something at once degrading anddangerous.
But not so Father Ambrose. His features, indeed, expressed a deepmelancholy, as he walked up the centre aisle, amid the ruin of thingswhich he considered as holy, but his brow was undejected, and his stepfirm and solemn. He seemed to think that the dominion which he was aboutto receive, depended in no sort upon the external circumstances underwhich it was conferred; and if a mind so firm was accessible to sorrowor fear, it was not on his own account, but on that of the Church towhich he had devoted himself.
At length he stood on the broken steps of the high altar, barefooted, aswas the rule, and holding in his hand his pastoral staff, for the gemmedring and jewelled mitre had become secular spoils. No obedient vassalscame, man after man, to make their homage, and to offer the tributewhich should provide their spiritual Superior with palfrey andtrappings. No Bishop assisted at the solemnity, to receive into thehigher ranks of the Church nobility a dignitary, whose voice in thelegislature was as potential as his own. With hasty and maimed rites,the few remaining brethren stepped forward alternately to give their newAbbot the kiss of peace, in token of fraternal affection and spiritualhomage. Mass was then hastily performed, but in such precipitation as ifit had been hurried over rather to satisfy the scruples of a few youths,who were impatient to set out on a hunting party, than as if it made themost solemn part of a solemn ordination. The officiating priest falteredas he spoke the service, and often looked around, as if he expected tobe interrupted in the midst of his office; and the brethren listened tothat which, short as it was, they wished yet more abridged.[Footnote:In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the pleasures of the greatwith the observances of religion, it was common, when a party was bentfor the chase, to celebrate mass, abridged and maimed of its rites,called a hunting-mass, the brevity of which was designed to correspondwith the impatience of the audience.]
These symptoms of alarm increased as the ceremony proceeded, and, as itseemed, were not caused by mere apprehension alone; for, amid the pausesof the hymn, there were heard without sounds of a very different sort,beginning faintly and at a distance, but at length approaching close tothe exterior of the church, and stunning with dissonant clamour thoseengaged in the service. The winding of horns, blown with no regard toharmony or concert; the jangling of bells, the thumping of drums,the squeaking of bagpipes, and the clash of cymbals--the shouts of amultitude, now as in laughter, now as in anger--the shrill tones offemale voices, and of those of children, mingling with the deeperclamour of men, formed a Babel of sounds, which first drowned, and thenawed into utter silence, the official hymns of the Convent. The causeand result of this extraordinary interruption will be explained in thenext chapter.