J. Cuthbert Hadden - "Haydn"

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New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
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PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

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Books: The Monastery

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Monastery




Henry Warden was led in, his hands still bound, but his feet at liberty.

"Clear the apartment," said the Sub-Prior, "of all but the necessary
guard on the prisoner."

All retired except Christie of the Clinthill, who, having dismissed
the inferior troopers whom he commanded, unsheathed his sword, and
placed himself beside the door, as if taking upon him the character of
sentinel.

The judge and the accused met face to face, and in that of both was
enthroned the noble confidence of rectitude. The monk was about, at
the utmost risk to himself and his community, to exercise what in his
ignorance he conceived to be his duty. The preacher, actuated by a
better-informed, yet not a more ardent zeal, was prompt to submit to
execution for God's sake, and to seal, were it necessary, his mission
with his blood. Placed at such a distance of time as better enables us
to appreciate the tendency of the principles on which they severally
acted, we cannot doubt to which the palm ought to be awarded. But the
zeal of Father Eustace was as free from passion and personal views as
if it had been exerted in a better cause.

They approached each other, armed each and prepared for intellectual
conflict, and each intently regarding his opponent, as if either hoped
to spy out some defect, some chasm in the armour of his antagonist.--
As they gazed on each other, old recollections began to awake in
either bosom, at the sight of features long unseen and much altered,
but not forgotten. The brow of the Sub-Prior dismissed by degrees its
frown of command, the look of calm yet stern defiance gradually
vanished from that of Warden, and both lost for an instant that of
gloomy solemnity. They had been ancient and intimate friends in youth
at a foreign university, but had been long separated from each other;
and the change of name, which the preacher had adopted from motives of
safety, and the monk from the common custom of the convent, had
prevented the possibility of their hitherto recognizing each other in
the opposite parts which they had been playing in the great polemical
and political drama. But now the Sub-Prior exclaimed, "Henry
Wellwood!" and the preacher replied, "William Allan!"--and, stirred by
the old familiar names, and never-to-be-forgotten recollections of
college studies and college intimacy, their hands were for a moment
locked in each other.

"Remove his bonds," said the Sub-Prior, and assisted Christie in
performing that office with his own hands, although the prisoner
scarcely would consent to be unbound, repeating with emphasis, that he
rejoiced in the cause for which he suffered shame. When his hands were
at liberty, however, he showed his sense of the kindness by again
exchanging a grasp and a look of affection with the Sub-Prior.

The salute was frank and generous on either side, yet it was but the
friendly recognition and greeting which are wont to take place betwixt
adverse champions, who do nothing in hate but all in honour. As each
felt the pressure of the situation in which they stood, he quitted the
grasp of the other's hand, and fell back, confronting each other with
looks more calm and sorrowful than expressive of any other passion.
The Sub-Prior was the first to speak.

"And is this, then, the end of that restless activity of mind, that
bold and indefatigable love of truth that urged investigation to its
utmost limits, and seemed to take heaven itself by storm--is this the
termination of Wellwood's career?--And having known and loved him
during the best years of our youth, do we meet in our old age as judge
and criminal?"

"Not as judge and criminal," said Henry Warden,--for to avoid
confusion we describe him by his later and best known name--"Not as
judge and criminal do we meet, but as a misguided oppressor and his
ready and devoted victim. I, too, may ask, are these the harvest of
the rich hopes excited by the classical learning, acute logical
powers, and varied knowledge of William Allan, that he should sink to
be the solitary drone of a cell, graced only above the swarm with the
high commission of executing Roman malice on all who oppose Roman
imposture?"

"Not to thee," answered the Sub-Prior, "be assured--not unto thee, nor
unto mortal man, will I render an account of the power with which the
church may have invested me. It was granted but as a deposit for her
welfare--for her welfare it shall at every risk be exercised, without
fear and without favour."

"I expected no less from your misguided zeal," answered the preacher;
"and in me have you met one on whom you may fearlessly exercise your
authority, secure that his mind at least will defy your influence, as
the snows of that Mont Blanc which we saw together, shrink not under
the heat of the hottest summer sun."

"I do believe thee," said the Sub-Prior, "I do believe that thine is
indeed metal unmalleable by force. Let it yield then to persuasion.
Let us debate these matters of faith, as we once were wont to conduct
our scholastic disputes, when hours, nay, days, glided past in the
mutual exercise of our intellectual powers. It may be thou mayest yet
hear the voice of the shepherd, and return to the universal fold."

"No, Allan," replied the prisoner, "this is no vain question, devised
by dreaming scholiasts, on which they may whet their intellectual
faculties until the very metal be wasted away. The errors which I
combat are like those fiends which are only cast out by fasting and
prayer. Alas! not many wise, not many learned are chosen; the cottage
and the hamlet shall in our days bear witness against the schools and
their disciples. Thy very wisdom, which is foolishness, hath made
thee, as the Greeks of old, hold as foolishness that which is the only
true wisdom."

"This," said the Sub-Prior, sternly, "is the mere cant of ignorant
enthusiasm, which appealeth from learning and from authority, from the
sure guidance of that lamp which God hath afforded us in the Councils
and in the Fathers of the Church, to a rash, self-willed, and
arbitrary interpretation of the Scriptures, wrested according to the
private opinion of each speculating heretic."

"I disdain to reply to the charge," replied Warden. "The question at
issue between your Church and mine, is, whether we will be judged by
the Holy Scriptures, or by the devices and decisions of men not less
subject to error than ourselves, and who have defaced our holy
religion with vain devices, reared up idols of stone and wood, in form
of those, who, when they lived, were but sinful creatures, to share
the worship due only to the Creator--established a toll-house betwixt
heaven and hell, that profitable purgatory of which the Pope keeps the
keys, like an iniquitous judge commutes punishment for bribes,
and----"

"Silence, blasphemer," said the Sub-Prior, sternly, "or I will have thy
blatant obloquy stopped with a gag!"

"Ay," replied Warden, "such is the freedom of the Christian conference
to which Rome's priests so kindly invite us!--the gag--the rack--the
axe--is the _ratio ultima Romae_. But know thou, mine ancient
friend, that the character of thy former companion is not so changed
by age, but that he still dares to endure for the cause of truth all
that thy proud hierarchy shall dare to inflict."

"Of that," said the monk, "I nothing doubt--Thou wert ever a lion to
turn against the spear of the hunter, not a stag to be dismayed at the
sound of his bugle."--He walked through the room in silence.
"Wellwood," he said at length, "we can no longer be friends. Our
faith, our hope, our anchor on futurity, is no longer the same."

"Deep is my sorrow that thou speakest truth. May God so judge me,"
said the Reformer, "as I would buy the conversion of a soul like thine
with my dearest heart's blood."

"To thee, and with better reason, do I return the wish," replied the
Sub-Prior; "it is such an arm as thine that should defend the bulwarks
of the Church, and it is now directing the battering-ram against them,
and rendering practicable the breach through which all that is greedy,
and all that is base, and all that is mutable and hot-headed in this
innovating age, already hope to advance to destruction and to spoil.
But since such is our fate, that we can no longer fight side by side
as friends, let us at least act as generous enemies. You cannot have
forgotten,

'O gran bonta dei caralieri antiqui!
Erano nemici, eran' de fede diversa'--

Although, perhaps," he added, stopping short in his quotation, "your new
faith forbids you to reserve a place in your memory, even for what high
poets have recorded of loyal faith and generous sentiment."

"The faith of Buchanan," replied the preacher, "the faith of Buchanan
and of Beza, cannot be unfriendly to literature. But the poet you have
quoted affords strains fitter for a dissolute court than for a convent."

"I might retort on your Theodore Beza," said the Sub-Prior, smiling;
"but I hate the judgment that, like the flesh-fly, skims over whatever
is sound, to detect and settle upon some spot which is tainted. But to
the purpose. If I conduct thee or send thee a prisoner to St. Mary's,
thou art to-night a tenant of the dungeon, to-morrow a burden to the
gibbet-tree. If I were to let thee go hence at large, I were thereby
wronging the Holy Church, and breaking mine own solemn vow. Other
resolutions may be adopted in the capital, or better times may
speedily ensue. Wilt thou remain a true prisoner upon thy parole,
rescue or no rescue, as is the phrase amongst the warriors of this
country? Wilt thou solemnly promise that thou wilt do so, and at my
summons thou wilt present thyself before the Abbot and Chapter at
Saint Mary's, and that thou wilt not stir from this house above a
quarter of a mile in any direction? Wilt thou, I say, engage me thy
word for this? and such is the sure trust which I repose in thy good
faith, that thou shalt remain here unharmed and unsecured, a prisoner
at large, subject only to appear before our court when called upon."

The preacher paused--"I am unwilling," he said, "to fetter my native
liberty by any self-adopted engagement. But I am already in your
power, and you may bind me to my answer. By such promise, to abide
within a certain limit, and to appear when called upon, I renounce not
any liberty which I at present possess, and am free to exercise; but,
on the contrary, being in bonds, and at your mercy, I acquire thereby
a liberty which I at present possess not. I will therefore accept of
thy proffer, as what is courteously offered on thy part, and may be
honourably accepted on mine."

"Stay yet," said the Sub-Prior; "one important part of thy engagement
is forgotten--thou art farther to promise, that while thus left at
liberty, thou wilt not preach or teach, directly or indirectly, any of
those pestilent heresies by which so many souls have been in this our
day won over from the kingdom of light to the kingdom of darkness."

"There we break off our treaty," said Warden, firmly--"Wo unto me if
I preach not the Gospel!"

The Sub-Prior's countenance became clouded, and he again paced the
apartment, and muttered, "A plague upon the self-willed fool!" then
stopped short in his walk, and proceeded in his argument.--"Why, by
thine own reasoning, Henry, thy refusal here is but peevish obstinacy.
It is in my power to place you where your preaching can reach no human
ear; in promising therefore to abstain from it, you grant nothing
which you have it in your power to refuse."

"I know not that," replied Henry Warden; "thou mayest indeed cast me
into a dungeon, but can I foretell that my Master hath not task-work
for me to perform even in that dreary mansion? The chains of saints
have, ere now, been the means of breaking the bonds of Satan. In a
prison, holy Paul found the jailor whom he brought to believe the word
of salvation, he and all his house."

"Nay," said the Sub-Prior, in a tone betwixt anger and scorn, "if you
match yourself with the blessed Apostle, it were time we had done--
prepare to endure what thy folly, as well as thy heresy,
deserves.--Bind him, soldier."

With proud submission to his fate, and regarding the Sub-Prior with
something which almost amounted to a smile of superiority, the preacher
placed his arms so that the bonds could be again fastened round him.

"Spare me not," he said to Christie; for even that ruffian hesitated
to draw the cord straitly.

The Sub-Prior, meanwhile, looked at him from under his cowl, which he
had drawn over his head, and partly over his face, as if he wished to
shade his own emotions. They were those of a huntsman within
point-blank shot of a noble stag, who is yet too much struck with his
majesty of front and of antler to take aim at him. They were those of
a fowler, who, levelling his gun at a magnificent eagle, is yet
reluctant to use his advantage when he sees the noble sovereign of the
birds pruning himself in proud defiance of whatever may be attempted
against him. The heart of the Sub-Prior (bigoted as he was) relented,
and he doubted if he ought to purchase, by a rigorous discharge of
what he deemed his duty, the remorse he might afterwards feel for the
death of one so nobly independent in thought and character, the
friend, besides, of his own happiest years, during which they had,
side by side, striven in the noble race of knowledge, and indulged
their intervals of repose in the lighter studies of classical and
general letters.

The Sub-Prior's hand pressed his half-o'ershadowed cheek, and his eye,
more completely obscured, was bent on the ground, as if to hide the
workings of his relenting nature.

"Were but Edward safe from the infection," he thought to
himself--"Edward, whose eager and enthusiastic mind presses forward in
the chase of all that hath even the shadow of knowledge, I might trust
this enthusiast with the women, after due caution to them that they
cannot, without guilt, attend to his reveries."

As the Sub-Prior revolved these thoughts, and delayed the definitive
order which was to determine the fate of the prisoner, a sudden noise
at the entrance of the tower diverted his attention for an instant,
and, his cheek and brow inflamed with all the glow of heat and
determination, Edward Glendinning rushed into the room.

* * * * *



Chapter the Thirty-Second.


Then in my gown of sober gray
Along the mountain path I'll wander,
And wind my solitary way
To the sad shrine that courts me yonder.

There, in the calm monastic shade,
All injuries may be forgiven;
And there for thee, obdurate maid,
My orisons shall rise to heaven.
THE CRUEL LADY OF THE MOUNTAINS.

The first words which Edward uttered were,--"My brother is safe,
reverend father--he is safe, thank God, and lives!--There is not in
Corri-nan-shian a grave, nor a vestige of a grave. The turf around
the fountain has neither been disturbed by pick-axe, spade, nor
mattock, since the deer's-hair first sprang there. He lives as surely
as I live!"

The earnestness of the youth--the vivacity with which he looked and
moved--the springy step, outstretched hand, and ardent eye, reminded
Henry Warden of Halbert, so lately his guide. The brothers had indeed
a strong family resemblance, though Halbert was far more athletic and
active in his person, taller and better knit in the limbs, and though
Edward had, on ordinary occasions, a look of more habitual acuteness
and more profound reflection. The preacher was interested as well as
the Sub-Prior.

"Of whom do you speak, my son?" he said, in a tone as unconcerned as
if his own fate had not been at the same instant trembling in the
balance, and as if a dungeon and death did not appear to be his
instant doom--"Of whom, I say, speak you? If of a youth somewhat older
than you seem to be--brown-haired, open-featured, taller and stronger
than you appear, yet having much of the same air and of the same tone
of voice--if such a one is the brother whom you seek, it may be I can
tell you news of him."

"Speak, then, for Heaven's sake," said Edward--"life or death lies on
thy tongue!"

The Sub-Prior joined eagerly in the same request, and, without waiting
to be urged, the preacher gave so minute an account of the
circumstances under which he met the elder Glendinning, with so exact
a description of his person, that there remained no doubt as to his
identity. When he mentioned that Halbert Glendinning had conducted him
to a dell in which they found the grass bloody, and a grave newly
closed, and told how the youth accused himself of the slaughter of Sir
Piercie Shafton, the Sub-Prior looked on Edward with astonishment.

"Didst thou not say, even now," he said, "that there was no vestige of a
grave in that spot?"

"No more vestige of the earth having been removed than if the turf had
grown there since the days of Adam," replied Edward Glendinning. "It is
true," he added, "that the adjacent grass was trampled and bloody."

"These are delusions of the Enemy," said the Sub-Prior, crossing
himself.--"Christian men may no longer doubt of it."

"But an it be so," said Warden, "Christian men might better guard
themselves by the sword of prayer than by the idle form of a
cabalistical spell."

"The badge of our salvation," said the Sub-Prior, "cannot be so
termed--the sign of the cross disarmeth all evil spirits."

"Ay," answered Henry Warden, apt and armed for controversy, "but it
should be borne in the heart, not scored with the fingers in the air.
That very impassive air, through which your hand passes, shall as soon
bear the imprint of your action, as the external action shall avail
the fond bigot who substitutes vain motions of the body, idle
genuflections, and signs of the cross, for the living and heart-born
duties of faith and good works."

"I pity thee," said the Sub-Prior, as actively ready for polemics as
himself,--"I pity thee, Henry, and reply not to thee. Thou mayest as
well winnow forth and measure the ocean with a sieve, as mete out the
power of holy words, deeds, and signs, by the erring gauge of thine
own reason."

"Not by mine own reason would I mete them," said Warden; "but by
His holy Word, that unfading and unerring lamp of our paths, compared to
which human reason is but as a glimmering and fading taper, and your
boasted tradition only a misleading wildfire. Show me your Scripture
warrant for ascribing virtue to such vain signs and motions!"

"I offered thee a fair field of debate," said the Sub-Prior, "which
thou didst refuse. I will not at present resume the controversy."

"Were these my last accents," said the reformer, "and were they
uttered at the stake, half-choked with smoke, and as the fagots
kindled into a blaze around me, with that last utterance I would
testify against the superstitious devices of Rome."

The Sub-Prior suppressed with pain the controversial answer which
arose to his lips, and, turning to Edward Glendinning, he said, "there
could be now no doubt that his mother ought presently to be informed
that her son lived."

"I told you that two hours since," said Christie of the Clinthill, "an
you would have believed me. But it seems you are more willing to take
the word of an old gray sorner, whose life has been spent in pattering
heresy, than mine, though I never rode a foray in my life without duly
saying my paternoster."

"Go then," said Father Eustace to Edward; "let thy sorrowing mother
know that her son is restored to her from the grave, like the child of
the widow of Zarephath; at the intercession," he added, looking at
Henry Warden, "of the blessed Saint whom I invoked in his behalf."

"Deceived thyself," said Warden, instantly, "thou art a deceiver of
others. It was no dead man, no creature of clay, whom the blessed
Tishbite invoked, when, stung by the reproach of the Shunamite woman,
he prayed that her son's soul might come into him again."

"It was by his intercession, however," repeated the Sub-Prior; "for
what says the Vulgate? Thus it is written: '_Et exaudivit Dominus
vocem Helie; et reversa est anima pueri intra cum, et
revixit_;'--and thinkest thou the intercession of a glorified saint
is more feeble than when he walks on earth, shrouded in a tabernacle
of clay, and seeing but with the eye of flesh?"

During this controversy Edward Glendinning appeared restless and
impatient, agitated by some internal feeling, but whether of joy,
grief, or expectation, his countenance did not expressly declare. He
took now the unusual freedom to break in upon the discourse of the
Sub-Prior, who, notwithstanding his resolution to the contrary, was
obviously kindling in the spirit of controversy, which Edward diverted
by conjuring his reverence to allow him to speak a few words with him
in private.

"Remove the prisoner," said the Sub-Prior to Christie; "look to him
carefully that he escape not; but for thy life do him no injury."

His commands being obeyed, Edward and the monk were left alone, when
the Sub-Prior thus addressed him:

"What hath come over thee, Edward, that thy eye kindles so wildly, and
thy cheek is thus changing from scarlet to pale? Why didst thou break
in so hastily and unadvisedly upon the argument with which I was
prostrating yonder heretic? And wherefore dost thou not tell thy
mother that her son is restored to her by the intercession, as Holy
Church well warrants us to believe, of Blessed Saint Benedict, the
patron of our Order? For if ever my prayers were put forth to him with
zeal, it hath been in behalf of this house, and thine eyes have seen
the result--go tell it to thy mother."

"I must tell her then," said Edward, "that if she has regained one son,
another is lost to her."

"What meanest thou, Edward? what language is this?" said the Sub-Prior.

"Father," said the youth, kneeling down to him, "my sin and my shame
shall be told thee, and thou shalt witness my penance with thine own
eyes."

"I comprehend thee not," said the Sub-Prior. "What canst thou have
done to deserve such self-accusation?--Hast thou too listened," he
added, knitting his brows, "to the demon of heresy, ever most
effectual tempter of those, who, like yonder unhappy man, are
distinguished by their love of knowledge?"

"I am guiltless in that matter," answered Glendinning, "nor have
presumed to think otherwise than thou, my kind father, hast taught me,
and than the Church allows."

"And what is it then, my son," said the Sub-Prior, kindly, "which thus
afflicts thy conscience? speak it to me, that I may answer thee in the
words of comfort; for the Church's mercy is great to those obedient
children who doubt not her power."

"My confession will require her mercy," replied Edward. "My brother
Halbert--so kind, so brave, so gentle, who spoke not, thought not,
acted not, but in love to me, whose hand had aided me in every
difficulty, whose eye watched over me like the eagle's over her
nestlings, when they prove their first flight from the eyry--this
brother, so kind, so gently affectionate--I heard of his sudden, his
bloody, his violent death, and I rejoiced--I heard of his unexpected
restoration, and I sorrowed!"

"Edward," said the father, "thou art beside thyself--what could urge
thee to such odious ingratitude?--In your hurry of spirits you have
mistaken the confused tenor of your feelings--Go, my son, pray and
compose thy mind--we will speak of this another time."

"No, father, no," said Edward, vehemently, "now or never!--I will find
the means to tame this rebellious heart of mine, or I will tear it out
of my bosom--Mistake its passions?--No, father, grief can ill be
mistaken for joy--All wept, all shrieked around me--my mother--the
menials--she too, the cause of my crime--all wept--and I--I could
hardly disguise my brutal and insane joy under the appearance of
revenge--Brother, I said, I cannot give thee tears, but I will give
thee blood--Yes, father, as I counted hour after hour, while I kept
watch upon the English prisoner, and said, I am an hour nearer to hope
and to happiness----"

"I understand thee not, Edward," said the monk, "nor can I conceive in
what way thy brother's supposed murder should have affected thee with
such unnatural joy--Surely the sordid desire to succeed him in his
small possessions----"

"Perish the paltry trash!" said Edward, with the same emotion. "No,
father, it was rivalry--it was jealous rage--it was the love of Mary
Avenel, that rendered me the unnatural wretch I confess myself!"

"Of Mary Avenel!" said the Priest--"of a lady so high above either of
you in name and in rank? How dared Halbert--how dared you, to presume
to lift your eye to her but in honour and respect, as a superior of
another degree from yours?"

"When did love wait for the sanction of heraldry?" replied Edward;
"and in what but a line of dead ancestors was Mary, our mother's guest
and foster-child, different from us, with whom she was brought up?--
Enough, we loved--we both loved her! But the passion of Halbert was
requited. He knew it not, he saw it not--but I was sharper-eyed. I saw
that even when I was more approved, Halbert was more beloved. With me
she would sit for hours at our common task with the cold simplicity
and indifference of a sister, but with Halbert she trusted not
herself. She changed colour, she was fluttered when he approached her;
and when he left her, she was sad, pensive, and solitary. I bore all
this--I saw my rival's advancing progress in her affections--I bore
it, father, and yet I hated him not--I could not hate him!"