Books: The Monastery
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Sir Walter Scott >> The Monastery
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"And if thou dost, Lord of Morton, its ruins will tumble above the tombs
of thine own ancestors. Be the issue as God wills, the Abbot of Saint
Mary's gives up no one whom he hath promised to protect."
"Abbot!" said Murray, "bethink thee ere we are driven to deal roughly
--the hands of these men," he said, pointing to the soldiers, "will make
wild work among shrines and cells, if we are compelled to undertake a
search for this Englishman."
"Ye shall not need," said a voice from the crowd; and, advancing
gracefully before the Earls, the Euphuist flung from him the mantle in
which he was muffled. "Via the cloud that shadowed Shafton!" said he;
"behold, my lords, the Knight of Wilverton, who spares you the guilt
of violence and sacrilege."
"I protest before God and man against any infraction of the privileges
of this house," said the Abbot, "by an attempt to impose violent hands
upon the person of this noble knight. If there be yet spirit in a
Scottish Parliament, we will make you hear of this elsewhere, my
lords!"
"Spare your threats," said Murray; "it may be, my purpose with Sir
Piercie Shafton is not such as thou dost suppose--Attach him,
pursuivant, as our prisoner, rescue or no rescue."
"I yield myself," said the Euphuist, "reserving my right to defy my
Lord of Murray and my Lord of Morton to single duel, even as one
gentleman may demand satisfaction of another."
"You shall not want those who will answer your challenge, Sir Knight,"
replied Morton, "without aspiring to men above thine own degree."
"And where am I to find these superlative champions," said the English
knight, "whose blood runs more pure than that of Piercie Shafton?"
"Here is a flight for you, my lord!" said Murray.
"As ever was flown by a wild-goose," said Stawarth Bolton, who had
now approached to the front of the party.
"Who dared to say that word?" said the Euphuist, his face crimson with
rage.
"Tut! man," said Bolton, "make the best of it, thy mother's father was
but a tailor, old Overstitch of Holderness--Why, what! because thou
art a misproud bird, and despiseth thine own natural lineage, and
rufflest in unpaid silks and velvets, and keepest company with
gallants and cutters, must we lose our memory for that? Thy mother,
Moll Overstitch, was the prettiest wench in those parts--she was
wedded by wild Shafton of Wilverton, who men say, was akin to the
Piercie on the wrong side of the blanket."
"Help the knight to some strong waters," said Morton; "he hath fallen
from such a height, that he is stunned with the tumble."
In fact, Sir Piercie Shafton looked like a man stricken by a
thunderbolt, while, notwithstanding the seriousness of the scene
hitherto, no one of those present, not even the Abbot himself, could
refrain from laughing at the rueful and mortified expression of his
face.
"Laugh on," he said at length, "laugh on, my masters," shrugging his
shoulders; "it is not for me to be offended--yet would I know full
fain from that squire who is laughing with the loudest, how he had
discovered this unhappy blot in an otherwise spotless lineage, and for
what purpose he hath made it known?"
"_I_ make it known?" said Halbert Glendinning, in
astonishment,--for to him this pathetic appeal was made,--"I never
heard the thing till this moment."
[Footnote: The contrivance of provoking the irritable vanity of Sir
Piercie Shafton, by presenting him with a bodkin, indicative of his
descent from a tailor, is borrowed from a German romance, by the
celebrated Tieck, called Das Peter Manchem, _i. e._ The Dwarf
Peter. The being who gives name to the tale, is the Burg-geist, or
castle spectre, of a German family, whom he aids with his counsel, as
he defends their castle by his supernatural power. But the Dwarf Peter
is so unfortunate an adviser, that all his counsels, though producing
success in the immediate results, are in the issue attended with
mishap and with guilt. The youthful baron, the owner of the haunted
castle, falls in love with a maiden, the daughter of a neighbouring
count, a man of great pride, who refuses him the hand of the young
lady, on account of his own superiority of descent. The lover,
repulsed and affronted, returns to take counsel with the Dwarf Peter,
how he may silence the count, and obtain the victory in the argument,
the next time they enter on the topic of pedigree. The dwarf gives
his patron or pupil a horse-shoe, instructing him to give it to the
count when he is next giving himself superior airs on the subject of
his family. It has the effect accordingly. The count, understanding it
as an allusion to a misalliance of one of his ancestors with the
daughter of a blacksmith, is thrown into a dreadful passion with the
young lover, the consequences of which are the seduction of the young
lady, and the slaughter of her father.
If we suppose the dwarf to represent the corrupt part of human
nature,--that "law in our members which wars against the law of our
minds,"--the work forms an ingenious allegory.]
"Why, did not that old rude soldier learn it from thee?" said the
knight, in increasing amazement.
"Not I, by Heaven!" said Bolton; "I never saw the youth in my life
before."
"But you _have_ seen him ere now, my worthy master," said Dame
Glendinning, bursting in her turn from the crowd. "My son, this is
Stawarth Bolton, he to whom we owe life, and the means of preserving
it--if he be a prisoner, as seems most likely, use thine interest with
these noble lords to be kind to the widow's friend."
"What, my Dame of the Glen!" said Bolton, "thy brow is more withered,
as well as mine, since we met last, but thy tongue holds the touch
better than my arm. This boy of thine gave me the foil sorely this
morning. The Brown Varlet has turned as stout a trooper as I
prophesied; and where is White Head?"
"Alas!" said the mother, looking down, "Edward has taken orders, and
become a monk of this Abbey."
"A monk and a soldier!--Evil trades both, my good dame. Better have
made one a good master fashioner, like old Overstitch, of Holderness.
I sighed when I envied you the two bonny children, but I sigh not now
to call either the monk or the soldier mine own. The soldier dies in
the field, the monk scarce lives in the cloister."
"My dearest mother," said Halbert, "where is Edward--can I not speak
with him?"
"He has just left us for the present," said Father Philip, "upon a
message from the Lord Abbot."
"And Mary, my dearest mother?" said Halbert.--Mary Avenel was not far
distant, and the three were soon withdrawn from the crowd, to hear and
relate their various chances of fortune.
While the subordinate personages thus disposed of themselves, the
Abbot held serious discussion with the two Earls, and, partly yielding
to their demands, partly defending himself with skill and eloquence,
was enabled to make a composition for his Convent, which left it
provisionally in no worse situation than before. The Earls were the
more reluctant to drive matters to extremity, since he protested, that
if urged beyond what his conscience would comply with, he would throw
the whole lands of the Monastery into the Queen of Scotland's hands,
to be disposed of at her pleasure. This would not have answered the
views of the Earls, who were contented, for the time, with a moderate
sacrifice of money and lands. Matters being so far settled, the Abbot
became anxious for the fate of Sir Piercie Shafton, and implored mercy
in his behalf.
"He is a coxcomb," he said, "my lords, but he is a generous, though a
vain fool; and it is my firm belief you have this day done him more pain
than if you had run a poniard into him."
"Run a needle into him you mean, Abbot," said the Earl of Morton;
"by mine honour, I thought this grandson of a fashioner of doublets was
descended from a crowned head at least!"
"I hold with the Abbot," said Murray; "there were little honour in
surrendering him to Elizabeth, but he shall be sent where he can do
her no injury. Our pursuivant and Bolton shall escort him to Dunbar,
and ship him off for Flanders.--But soft, here he comes, and leading a
female, as I think."
"Lords and others," said the English knight with great solemnity,
"make way for the Lady of Piercie Shafton--a secret which I listed not
to make known, till fate, which hath betrayed what I vainly strove to
conceal, makes me less desirous to hide that which I now announce to
you."
"It is Mysie Happer, the Miller's daughter, on my life!" said Tibb
Tacket. "I thought the pride of these Piercies would have a fa'."
"It is indeed the lovely Mysinda," said the knight, "whose merits
towards her devoted servant deserved higher rank than he had to bestow."
"I suspect, though," said Murray, "that we should not have heard of
the Miller's daughter being made a lady, had not the knight proved to be
the grandson of a tailor."
"My lord," said Piercie Shafton, "it is poor valour to strike him that
cannot smite again; and I hope you will consider what is due to a
prisoner by the law of arms, and say nothing more on this odious
subject. When I am once more mine own man, I will find a new road to
dignity."
"_Shape_ one, I presume," said the Earl of Morton.
"Nay, Douglas, you will drive him mad,"--said Murray; "besides, we
have other matter in hand--I must see Warden wed Glendinning with Mary
Avenel, and put him in possession of his wife's castle without delay. It
will be best done ere our forces leave these parts."
"And I," said the Miller, "have the like grist to grind; for I hope some
one of the good fathers will wed my wench with her gay bridegroom."
"It needs not," said Shafton; "the ceremonial hath been solemnly
performed."
"It will not be the worse of another bolting," said the Miller; "it is
always best to be sure, as I say when I chance to take multure twice
from the same meal-sack."
"Stave the miller off him," said Murray, "or he will worry him dead.
The Abbot, my lord, offers us the hospitality of the Convent; I move
we should repair hither, Sir Piercie and all of us. I must learn to
know the Maid of Avenel--to-morrow I must act as her father--All
Scotland shall see how Murray can reward a faithful servant."
Mary Avenel and her lover avoided meeting the Abbot, and took up their
temporary abode in a house of the village, where next day their hands
were united by the Protestant preacher in presence of the two Earls.
On the same day Piercie Shafton and his bride departed, under an
escort which was to conduct him to the sea-side, and see him embark
for the Low Countries. Early on the following morning the bands of
the Earls were under march to the Castle of Avenel, to invest the
young bridegroom with the property of his wife, which was surrendered
to them without opposition.
But not without those omens which seemed to mark every remarkable
event which befell the fated family, did Mary take possession of the
ancient castle of her forefathers. The same warlike form which had
appeared more than once at Glendearg, was seen by Tibb Tacket and
Martin, who returned with their young mistress to partake her altered
fortunes. It glided before the cavalcade as they advanced upon the
long causeway, paused at each drawbridge, and flourished its hand, as
in triumph, as it disappeared under the gloomy archway, which was
surmounted by the insignia of the house of Avenel. The two trusty
servants made their vision only known to Dame Glendinning, who, with
much pride of heart, had accompanied her son to see him take his rank
among the barons of the land. "Oh, my dear bairn!" she exclaimed, when
she heard the tale, "the castle is a grand place to be sure, but I
wish ye dinna a' desire to be back in the quiet braes of Glendearg
before the play be played out." But this natural reflection, springing
from maternal anxiety, was soon forgotten amid the busy and pleasing
task of examining and admiring the new habitation of her son.
While these affairs were passing, Edward had hidden himself and his
sorrows in the paternal Tower of Glendearg, where every object was
full of matter for bitter reflection. The Abbot's kindness had
despatched him thither upon pretence of placing some papers belonging
to the Abbey in safety and secrecy; but in reality to prevent his
witnessing the triumph of his brother. Through the deserted
apartments, the scene of so many bitter reflections, the unhappy youth
stalked like a discontented ghost, conjuring up around him at every
step new subjects for sorrow and for self-torment. Impatient, at
length, of the state of irritation and agonized recollection in which
he found himself, he rushed out and walked hastily up the glen, as if
to shake off the load which hung upon his mind. The sun was setting
when he reached the entrance of Corri-nan-shian, and the recollection
of what he had seen when he last visited that haunted ravine, burst on
his mind. He was in a humour, however, rather to seek out danger than
to avoid it.
"I will face this mystic being," he said; "she foretold the fate which
has wrapt me in this dress,--I will know whether she has aught else to
tell me of a life which cannot but be miserable."
He failed not to see the White Spirit seated by her accustomed haunt,
and singing in her usual low and sweet tone. While she sung, she
seemed to look with sorrow on her golden zone, which was now
diminished to the fineness of a silken thread.
"Fare thee well, thou Holly green,
Thou shall seldom now be seen,
With all thy glittering garlands bending,
As to greet my slow descending,
Startling the bewilder'd hind.
Who sees thee wave without a wind.
"Farewell, Fountain! now not long
Shalt thou murmur to my song,
While thy crystal bubbles glancing,
Keep the time in mystic dancing,
Rise and swell, are burst and lost,
Like mortal schemes by fortune crost.
"The knot of fate at length is tied,
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is bride.
Vainly did my magic sleight
Send the lover from her sight;
Wither bush, and perish well,
Fall'n is lofty Avenel!"
The vision seemed to weep while she sung; and the words impressed on
Edward a melancholy belief, that the alliance of Mary with his brother
might be fatal to them both.
* * * * *
Here terminates the First Part of the Benedictine's Manuscript. I have
in vain endeavoured to ascertain the precise period of the story, as
the dates cannot be exactly reconciled with those of the most
accredited histories. But it is astonishing how careless the writers
of Utopia are upon these important subjects. I observe that the
learned Mr. Laurence Templeton, in his late publication entitled
IVANHOE, has not only blessed the bed of Edward the Confessor with an
offspring unknown to history, with sundry other solecisms of the same
kind, but has inverted the order of nature, and feasted his swine with
acorns in the midst of summer. All that can be alleged by the warmest
admirer of this author amounts to this,--that the circumstances
objected to are just as true as the rest of the story; which appears
to me (more especially in the matter of the acorns) to be a very
imperfect defence, and that the author will do well to profit by
Captain Absolute's advice to his servant, and never tell him more lies
than are indispensably necessary.
End of THE MONASTERY.
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