by Walter Scott
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.
Where is he? Has the deep earth swallow'd him? Or hath he melted like some airy phantom That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun? Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, And pass'd beyond the circuit of the sight With things of the night's shadows? ANONYMOUS.
The disappearance of the youth, whose disguise and whose fate have, wehope, inclined our readers to take some interest in him, will requiresome explanation ere we proceed with the other personages of the story,and we shall set about giving it accordingly.
When Augustine was consigned to his cell for the second time on thepreceding evening, both the monk and the young Knight of Valence hadseen the key turned upon him, and had heard him secure the door in theinside with the bolt which had been put on at his request by sisterUrsula, in whose affections the youth of Augustine, his extremehandsomeness, and, above all, his indisposition of body and hismelancholy of mind, had gained him considerable interest.
So soon, accordingly, as Augustine re-entered his apartment, he wasgreeted in a whisper by the sister, who, during the interval of hisabsence, had contrived to slip into the cell, and having tappicedherself behind the little bed, came out with great appearance of joy,to greet the return of the youth. The number of little attentions, thedisposal of holly boughs, and such other evergreens as the seasonpermitted, showed the anxiety of the holy sisters to decorate thechamber of their guest, and the greetings of sister Ursula expressedthe same friendly interest, at the same time intimating that she wasalready in some degree in possession of the stranger's mystery.
As Augustine and the holy sister were busied in exchange of confidence,the extraordinary difference between, their countenances and theirpersons must have struck any one who might have been accidentally awitness of their interview. The dark pilgrim's robe of the disguisedfemale was not a stronger contrast to the white woollen garment worn bythe votaress of Saint Bride, than the visage of the nun, seamed withmany a ghastly scar, and the light of one of her eyes extinguished forever, causing it to roll a sightless luminary in her head, was to thebeautiful countenance of Augustine, now bent with a confidential, andeven affectionate look, upon the extraordinary features of hercompanion.
"You know," said the supposed Augustine, "the principal part of mystory; can you, or will you, lend me your assistance? If not, mydearest sister, you must consent to witness my death, rather than myshame. Yes, sister Ursula, I will not be pointed at by the finger ofscorn, as the thoughtless maiden who sacrificed so much for a youngman, of whose attachment she was not so well assured as she ought tohave been. I will not be dragged before De Walton, for the purpose ofbeing compelled, by threats of torture, to declare myself the female inhonour of whom he holds the Dangerous Castle. No doubt, he might beglad to give his hand in wedlock to a damsel whose dowry is so ample;but who can tell whether he will regard me with that respect whichevery woman would wish to command, or pardon that boldness of which Ihave been guilty, even though its consequences have been in his ownfavour?"
"Nay, my darling daughter," answered the nun, "comfort yourself; for inall I can aid you, be assured I will. My means are somewhat more thanmy present situation may express, and, be assured, they shall be triedto the uttermost. Methinks, I still hear that lay which you sung to theother sisters and myself, although I alone, touched by feelings kindredto yours, had the address to comprehend that it told your own tale."
"I am yet surprised," said Augustine, speaking beneath her breath, "howI had the boldness to sing in your ears the lay, which, in fact, wasthe history of my disgrace."
"Alas! that you will say so," returned the nun; "there was not a wordbut what resembled those tales of love and of high-spirited daringwhich the best minstrels love to celebrate, and the noblest knights andmaidens weep at once and smile to hear. The Lady Augusta of Berkely, agreat heiress, according to the world, both in land and movable goods,becomes the King's ward by the death of her parents; and thus is on thepoint of being given away in marriage to a minion of the King ofEngland, whom in these Scottish valleys, we scruple not to call aperemptory tyrant."
"I must not say so, my sister," said the pilgrim; "and yet, true it is,that the cousin of the obscure parasite Gaviston, on whom the kingwished to confer my poor hand, was neither by birth, merit, norcircumstance, worthy of such an alliance. Meantime, I heard of the fameof Sir John de Walton; and I heard of it not with the less interestthat his feats of chivalry were said to adorn a knight, who, rich ineverything else, was poor in worldly goods, and in the smiles offortune. I saw this Sir John de Walton, and I acknowledge that athought, which had already intruded itself on my imagination, became,after this interview, by frequent recurrence, more familiar, and morewelcome to me. Methought that the daughter of a powerful Englishfamily, if she could give away with her hand such wealth as the worldspoke of, would more justly and honourably bestow it in remedying theerrors of fortune in regard to a gallant knight like De Walton, than inpatching the revenues of a beggarly Frenchman, whose only merit was inbeing the kinsman of a man who was very generally detested by the wholekingdom of England, excepting the infatuated monarch himself."
"Nobly designed, my daughter," said the nun; "what more worthy of anoble heart, possessing riches, beauty, birth, and rank, than to conferthem all upon indigent and chivalrous merit?"
"Such, dearest sister, was my intention," replied Augustine; "but Ihave, perhaps, scarce sufficiently explained the manner in which Imeant to proceed. By the advice of a minstrel of our house, the samewho is now prisoner at Douglas, I caused exhibit a large feast uponChristmas eve, and sent invitations abroad to the young knights ofnoble name who were known to spend their leisure in quest of arms andadventures. When the tables were drawn, and the feast concluded,Bertram, as had been before devised, was called upon to take his harp.He sung, receiving from all who were present the attention due to aminstrel of so much fame. The theme which he chose, was the frequentcapture of this Douglas Castle, or, as the poet termed it, CastleDangerous. 'Where are the champions of the renowned Edward the First,'said the minstrel, 'when the realm of England cannot furnish a manbrave enough, or sufficiently expert in the wars, to defend a miserablehamlet of the North against the Scottish rebels, who have vowed toretake it over our soldiers' heads ere the year rolls to an end? Whereare the noble ladies, whose smiles used to give countenance to theKnights of Saint George's Cross? Alas! the spirit of love and ofchivalry is alike dead amongst us--our knights are limited to pettyenterprises--and our noblest heiresses are given as prizes tostrangers, as if their own country had no one to deserve them.'--Herestopt the harp; and I shame to say, that I myself, as if moved toenthusiasm by the song of the minstrel, arose, and taking from my neckthe chain of gold which supported a crucifix of special sanctity, Imade my vow, always under the King's permission, that I would give myhand, and the inheritance of my fathers, to the good knight, being ofnoble birth and lineage, who should keep the Castle of Douglas in theKing of England's name, for a year and a day. I sat down, my dearestsister, deafened with the jubilee in which my guests expressed theirapplause of my supposed patriotism. Yet some degree of pause took placeamidst the young knights, who might reasonably have been supposed readyto embrace this offer, although at the risk of being encumbered withAugusta of Berkely."
"Shame on the man," said sister Ursula, "who should think so! Put yourbeauty alone, my dearest, into consideration, and a true knight oughtto have embraced the dangers of twenty Castles of Douglas, rather thanlet such an invaluable opportunity of gaining your favour be lost."
"It may be that some in reality thought so," said the pilgrim; "but itwas supposed that the king's favour might be lost by those who seemedtoo anxious to thwart his royal purpose upon his ward's hand. At anyrate, greatly to my joy, the only person who availed himself of theoffer I had made was Sir John de Walton; and as his acceptance of itwas guarded by a clause, saving and reserving the king's approbation, Ihope he has not suffered any dimin
ution of Edward's favour."
"Assure yourself, noble and high-spirited young lady," replied the nun,"that there is no fear of thy generous devotion hurting thy lover withthe King of England. Something we hear concerning worldly passages,even in this remote nook of Saint Bride's cloister; and the report goesamong the English soldiers that their king was indeed offended at yourputting your will in opposition to his own; yet, on the other hand,this preferred lover, Sir John de Walton, was a man of such extensivefame, and your offer was so much in the character of better but notforgotten times, that even a king could not at the beginning of a longand stubborn war deprive an errant cavalier of his bride, if she shouldbe duly won by his sword and lance."
"Ah! dearest sister Ursula!" sighed the disguised pilgrim, "but, on theother hand, how much time must pass by in the siege, by defeating whichthat suit must needs be advanced? While I sat in my lonely castle,tidings came to astound me with the numerous, or rather the constantdangers, with which my lover was surrounded, until at length, in amoment I think of madness, I resolved to set out in this masculinedisguise; and having myself with my own eyes seen in what situation Ihad placed my knight, I determined to take such measures in respect toshortening the term of his trial, or otherwise, as a sight of DouglasCastle, and--why should I deny it?--of Sir John de Walton, mightsuggest. Perhaps you, my dearest sister, may not so well understand mybeing tempted into flinching from the resolution which I had laid downfor my own honour, and that of my lover; but consider, that myresolution was the consequence of a moment of excitation, and that thecourse which I adopted was the conclusion of a long, wasting, sickeningstate of uncertainty, the effect of which was to weaken the nerveswhich were once highly strung with love of my country, as I thought;but in reality, alas! with fond and anxious feelings of a more selfishdescription."
"Alas!" said sister Ursula, evincing the strongest symptoms of interestand compassion, "am I the person, dearest child, whom you suspect ofinsensibility to the distresses which are the fruit of true love? Doyou suppose that the air which is breathed within these walls has theproperty upon the female heart, of such marvellous fountains as theysay change into stone the substances which are immersed into theirwaters? Hear my tale, and judge if it can be thus with one whopossesses my causes of grief. And do not fear for loss of time; we mustlet our neighbours at Hazelside be settled for the evening, ere Ifurnish you with the means of escape; and you must have a trusty guide,for whose fidelity I will be responsible, to direct your path throughthese woods, and protect you in case of any danger, too likely to occurin these troublesome times. It will thus be nigh an hour ere youdepart; and sure I am that in no manner can you spend the time betterthan in listening to distresses too similar to your own, and flowingfrom the source of disappointed affection which you must needssympathize with."
The distresses of the Lady Augusta did not prevent her being in somedegree affected, almost ludicrously, with the singular contrast betweenthe hideous countenance of this victim of the tender passion, and thecause to which she imputed her sorrows; but it was not a moment forgiving way to a sense of the ridiculous, which would have been in thehighest degree offensive to the sister of Saint Bride, whose good-willshe had so many reasons to conciliate. She readily, therefore,succeeded in preparing herself to listen to the votary--with anappearance of sympathy, which might reward that which she had herselfexperienced at the hands of sister Ursula; while the unfortunaterecluse, with an agitation which made her ugliness still moreconspicuous, narrated, nearly in a whisper, the followingcircumstances:--
"My misfortunes commenced long before I was called sister Ursula, orsecluded as a votaress within these walls. My father was a nobleNorman, who, like many of his countrymen, sought and found fortune atthe court of the King of Scotland. He was endowed with the sheriffdomof this county, and Maurice de Hattely, or Hautlieu, was numbered amongthe wealthy and powerful barons of Scotland. Wherefore should I denyit, that the daughter of this baron, then called Margaret de Hautlieu,was also distinguished among the great and fair of the land? It can beno censurable vanity which provokes me to speak the truth, and unless Itell it myself, you could hardly suspect what a resemblance I once boreeven to the lovely Lady Augusta of Berkely. About this time broke outthose unfortunate feuds of Bruce and Baliol, which have been so longthe curse of this country. My father, determined in his choice of partyby the arguments of his wealthy kinsmen at the court of Edward,embraced with passion the faction of the English interest, and becameone of the keenest partisans, at first of John Baliol, and afterwardsof the English monarch. None among the Anglocised-Scottish, as hisparty was called, were so zealous as he for the red cross, and no onewas more detested by his countrymen who followed the national standardof Saint Andrew and the patriot Wallace. Among those soldiers of thesoil, Malcolm Fleming of Biggar was one of the most distinguished byhis noble birth, his high acquirements, and his fame in chivalry. I sawhim; and the ghastly spectre who now addresses you must not be ashamedto say, that she loved, and was beloved by, one of the handsomestyouths in Scotland. Our attachment was discovered to my father almostere we had owned it to each other, and he was furious both against mylover and myself; he placed me under the charge of a religious woman ofthis rule, and I was immured within the house of Saint Bride, where myfather shamed not to announce he would cause me to take the veil byforce, unless I agreed to wed a youth bred at the English court, hisnephew; and, as Heaven had granted him no son, the heir, as he hadresolved, of the house of Hautlieu. I was not long in making myelection. I protested that death should be my choice, rather than anyother husband excepting Malcolm Fleming. Neither was my lover lessfaithful; he found means to communicate to me a particular night onwhich he proposed to attempt to storm the nunnery of Saint Bride, andcarry me from hence to freedom and the greenwood, of which Wallace wasgenerally called the king. In an evil hour--an hour I think ofinfatuation and witchery--I suffered the abbess to wheedle the secretout of me, which I might have been sensible would appear more horriblyflagitious to her than to any other woman that breathed; but I had nottaken the vows, and I thought Wallace and Fleming had the same charmsfor every body as for me, and the artful woman gave me reason tobelieve that her loyalty to Bruce was without a flaw of suspicion, andshe took part in a plot of which my freedom was the object. The abbessengaged to have the English guards removed to a distance, and inappearance the troops were withdrawn. Accordingly, in the middle of thenight appointed, the window of my cell, which was two stories from theground, was opened without noise; and never were my eyes more gladdenedthan, as ready disguised and arrayed for flight, even in a horseman'sdress, like yourself, fairest. Lady Augusta, I saw Malcolm Flemingspring into the apartment. He rushed towards me; but at the same timemy father with ten of his strongest men filled the room, and criedtheir war-cry of Baliol. Blows were instantly dealt on every side. Aform like a giant, however, appeared in the midst of the tumult, anddistinguished himself, even to my half-giddy eye, by the ease withwhich he bore down and dispersed those who fought against our freedom.My father alone offered an opposition which threatened to prove fatalto him; for Wallace, it was said, could foil any two martial championsthat ever drew sword. Brushing from him the armed men, as a lady woulddrive away with her fan a swarm of troublesome flies, he secured me inone arm, used his other for our mutual protection, and I found myselfin the act of being borne in safety down the ladder by which mydeliverers had ascended from without,--but an evil fate awaited thisattempt.
"My father, whom the Champion of Scotland had spared for my sake, orrather for Fleming's, gained by his victor's compassion and lenity afearful advantage, and made a remorseless use of it. Having only hisleft hand to oppose to the maniac attempts of my father, even thestrength of Wallace could not prevent the assailant, with all theenergy of desperation, from throwing down the ladder, on which hisdaughter was perched like a dove in the grasp of an eagle. The championsaw our danger, and exerting his inimitable strength and agility,cleared himself and me from the ladder, and leaped free of the m
oat ofthe convent, into which we must otherwise have been precipitated. TheChampion of Scotland was saved in the desperate attempt, but I who fellamong a heap of stones and rubbish, I the disobedient daughter,wellnigh the apostate vestal, waked only from a long bed of sickness,to find myself the disfigured wretch, which you now see me. I thenlearned that Malcolm had escaped from the fray, and shortly after Iheard, with feelings less keen perhaps than they ought to have been,that my father was slain in one of the endless battles which took placebetween the contending factions. If he had lived, I might havesubmitted to the completion of my fate; but since he was no more, Ifelt that it would be a preferable lot to be a beggar in the streets ofa Scottish village, than, an abbess in this miserable house of SaintBride; nor was even that poor object of ambition, on which my fatherused to expatiate when desirous of persuading me to enter the monasticstate by milder means than throwing me off the battlements, long opento me. The old abbess died of a cold caught the evening of the fray;and the place, which might have been kept open until I was capable offilling it, was disposed of otherwise, when the English thought fit toreform, as they termed it, the discipline of the house; and instead ofelecting a new abbess, sent hither two or three friendly monks, whohave now the absolute government of the community, and wield itentirely according to the pleasure of the English. But I, for one, whohave had the honour to be supported by the arms of the Champion of mycountry, will not remain here to be commanded by this Abbot Jerome. Iwill go forth, nor do I fear to find relations and friends, who willprovide a more fitting place of refuge for Margaret de Hautlieu thanthe convent of Saint Bride; you, too, dearest lady, shall obtain yourfreedom, and it will be well to leave such information as will make SirJohn de Walton aware of the devotion with which his happy fate hasinspired you."
"It is not, then, your own intention," said the Lady Augusta, "toreturn into the world again, and you are about to renounce the lover,in a union with whom you and he once saw your joint happiness?"
"It is a question, my dearest child," said sister Ursula, "which I darenot ask myself, and to which I am absolutely uncertain what answer Ishould return. I have not taken the final and irrevocable vows; I havedone nothing to alter my situation with regard to Malcolm Fleming. Healso, by the vows plighted in the Chancery of Heaven, is my affiancedbridegroom, nor am I conscious that I less deserve his faith, in anyrespect now, than at the moment when it was pledged to me; but, Iconfess, dearest lady, that rumours have reached me, which sting me tothe quick; the reports of my wounds and scars are said to haveestranged the knight of my choice. I am now, indeed, poor," she added,with a sigh, "and I am no longer possessed of those personal charms,which they say attract the love, and fix the fidelity, of the othersex. I teach myself, therefore, to think, in my moments of settledresolution, that all betwixt me and Malcolm Fleming is at an end,saving good wishes on the part of both towards the other; and yet thereis a sensation in my bosom which whispers, in spite of my reason, thatif I absolutely believed that which I now say, there would be no objecton earth worthy my living for in order to attain it. This insinuatingprepossession whispers, to my secret soul, and in very opposition to myreason and understanding, that Malcolm Fleming, who could pledge hisall upon the service of his country, is incapable of nourishing theversatile affection of an ordinary, a coarse, or a venal character.Methinks, were the difference upon his part instead of mine, he wouldnot lose his interest in my eyes, because he was seamed with honourablescars, obtained in asserting the freedom of his choice, but that suchwounds would, in my opinion, add to his merit, whatever they took awayfrom his personal comeliness. Ideas rise on my soul, as if Malcolm andMargaret might yet be to each other all that their affections onceanticipated with so much security, and that a change, which tooknothing from the honour and virtue of the beloved person, must ratheradd to, than diminish, the charms of the union. Look at me, dearestLady Augusta!--look me--if you have courage--full in the face, and tellme whether I do not rave when my fancy is thus converting merepossibilities into that which is natural and probable."
The Lady of Berkely, conscious of the necessity, raised her eyes on theunfortunate nun, afraid of losing her own chance of deliverance by themode in which she should conduct herself in this crisis; yet notwilling at the same time to flatter the unfortunate Ursula, withsuggesting ideas for which her own sense told her she could hardly findany rational grounds. But her imagination, stored with the minstrelsyof the time, brought back to her recollection the Loathly Lady in "Themarriage of Sir Gawain," and she conducted her reply in the followingmanner:--
"You ask me, my dear Lady Margaret, a trying question, which it wouldbe unfriendly to answer otherwise than sincerely, and most cruel toanswer with too much rashness. It is true, that what is called beauty,is the first quality on which we of the weaker sex learn to set avalue; we are flattered by the imputation of personal charms, whetherwe actually possess them or not; and no doubt we learn to place uponthem a great deal more consequence than in reality is found to belongto them. Women, however, even, such as are held by their own sex, andperhaps in secret by themselves, as devoid of all pretensions tobeauty, have been known to become, from their understanding, theirtalents, or their accomplishments, the undoubted objects of the warmestattachment. Wherefore then should you, in the mere rashness of yourapprehension, deem it impossible that your Malcolm Fleming should bemade of that porcelain clay of the earth, which despises the passingcaptivations of outward form in comparison to the charms of trueaffection, and the excellence of talents and virtue?"
The nun pressed her companion's hand to her bosom, and answered herwith a deep sigh.
"I fear," she said, "you flatter me; and yet in a crisis like this, itdoes one good to be flattered, even as cordials, otherwise dangerous tothe constitution, are wisely given to support a patient through aparoxysm of agony, and enable him to endure at least what they cannotcure. Answer only one question, and it will be time to drop thisconversation. Could you, sweet lady--you upon whom fortune has bestowedso many charms--could any argument make you patient under theirretrievable loss of your personal advantages, with the concomitantloss, as in my case is most probable, of that lover for whom you havealready done so much?"
The English lady cast her eyes again on her friend, and could not helpshuddering a little at the thought of her own beautiful countenancebeing exchanged for the seamed and scarred features of the Lady ofHautlieu, irregularly lighted by the beams of a single eye.
"Believe me," she said, looking solemnly upwards, "that even in thecase which you suppose, I would not sorrow so much for myself, as Iwould for the poor-spirited thoughts of the lover who could leave mebecause those transitory charms (which must in any case erelong taketheir departure) had fled ere yet the bridal day. It is, however,concealed by the decrees of Providence, in what manner, or to whatextent, other persons, with whose disposition we are not fullyacquainted, may be affected by such changes. I can only assure you thatmy hopes go with yours, and that there is no difficulty which shallremain in your path in future, if it is in my power to removeit.--Hark!"--
"It is the signal of our freedom," replied Ursula, giving attention tosomething resembling the whoop of the night-owl. "We must prepare toleave the convent in a few minutes. Have you anything to take with you?"
"Nothing," answered the Lady of Berkely, "except the few valuables,which I scarce know why I brought with me on my flight hither. Thisscroll, which I shall leave behind, gives my faithful minstrelpermission to save himself, by confessing to Sir John de Walton who theperson really is whom he has had within his reach."
"It is strange," said the novice of Saint Bride, "through whatextraordinary labyrinths this Love, this Will-of-the-Wisp, guides hisvotaries, Take heed as you descend; this trap-door, carefullyconcealed, curiously jointed and oiled, leads to a secret postern,where I conceive the horses already wait, which will enable us speedilyto bid adieu to Saint Bride's--Heaven's blessing on her, and on herconvent! We can have no advantage from any light, until we are in theopen air."
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During this time, sister Ursula, to give her for the last time herconventual name, exchanged her stole, or loose upper garment, for themore succinct cloak and hood of a horseman. She led the way throughdivers passages, studiously complicated, until the Lady of Berkely,with throbbing heart, stood in the pale and doubtful moonlight, whichwas shining with grey uncertainty upon the walls of the ancientbuilding. The imitation of an owlet's cry directed them to aneighbouring large elm, and on approaching it, they were aware of threehorses, held by one, concerning whom they could only see that he wastall, strong, and accoutred in the dress of a man-at-arms.
"The sooner," he said, "we are gone from this place, Lady Margaret, itis so much the better. You have only to direct the course which weshall hold."
Lady Margaret's answer was given beneath her breath; and replied towith a caution from the guide to ride slowly and silently for the firstquarter of an hour, by which time inhabited places would be left at adistance.
