by John Galt
CHAPTER XIII
After Dominick Callender and my grandfather had conversed some time,with many interchanges of the kindly remembrances of past pleasures, thegentle friar began to bewail his sad estate in being a professed monk,and so mournfully to deplore the rashness with which inexperienced youthoften takes upon itself a yoke it can never lay down, that thecompassion of his friend was sorrowfully awakened, for he saw he wasliving a life of bitterness and grief. He heard him, however, withoutmaking any reply or saying anything concerning his own lot of hazard andadventure; for, considering Dominick to be leagued with the papisticalorders, he did not think him safe to be trusted, notwithstanding theunchanged freshness of the loving-kindness which he still seemed to bearin his heart; nor even, had he not felt this jealousy, would he havethought himself free to speak of his errand, far less to have given toany stranger aught that might have been an inkling of his noble master'szealous, but secret, stirrings for the weal of Scotland and theenfranchisement of the worshippers of the true God.
When my grandfather had arrived at his horse, and prepared to mount,Dominick Callender said to him if he would ride slowly for a little wayhe would walk by his side, adding, "For maybe I'll ne'er see youagain--I'm a-weary of this way of life, and the signs of the times bodeno good to the church. I hae a thought to go into some foreign landwhere I may taste the air of a freeman, and I feel myself comfortedbefore I quit our auld, hard-favoured but warm-hearted Scotland, inmeeting wi' ane that reminds me how I had once sunny mornings and summerdays."
This was said so much in the sincerity of a confiding spirit that mygrandfather could not refrain from observing, in answer, that he fearedhis friar's cloak did not sit easy upon him, which led him on toacknowledge that it was so.
"I am speaking to you, Gilhaize," said he, "with the frank heart of auldlangsyne, and I dinna scruple to confess to one that I hae often thoughtof, and weary't to see again, and wondered what had become of, that myconscience has revolted against the errors of the papacy, and that I amnow upon the eve of fleeing my native land and joining the Reformed atGeneva. And maybe I'm no ordain'd to spend a' my life in exile, for noman can deny that the people of Scotland are not inwardly the warmadversaries of the church. That last and cruellest deed, the sacrificeof the feckless old man of fourscore and upward, has proven that thehumanity of the world will no longer endure the laws and pretensions ofthe church, and there are few in Paisley whom the burning of auld Millhas not kindled with the spirit of resistance."
The latter portion of these words was as joyous tidings to mygrandfather, and he tightened his reins and entered into a moreparticular and inquisitive discourse with his companion, by which hegathered that the martyrdom of Master Mill had indeed caused greatastonishment and wrath among the pious in and about Paisley, and notonly among them, but had estranged the affections even of the moreworldly from the priesthood, of whom it was openly said that the senseof pity towards the commonalty of mankind was extinguished within them,and that they were all in all for themselves.
But as they were proceeding through the town and along the road,conversing in a familiar but earnest manner on these great concerns,Dominick Callender began to inveigh against the morals of his brethren,and to lament again, in a very piteous manner, that he was decreed, byhis monastic profession, from the enjoyment of the dearest and tenderestpleasures of man. And before they separated, it came out that he hadbeen for some time touched with the soft enchantments of love for ayoung maiden, the daughter of a gentleman of good account in Paisley,and that her chaste piety was as the precious gum wherewith theEgyptians of old preserved their dead in everlasting beauty, keepingfrom her presence all taint of impurity and of thoughts sullying toinnocence, insomuch that, even were he inclined, as he said many of hisbrethren would have been, to have acted the part of a secret canker tothat fair blossom, the gracious and holy embalmment of her virtues wouldhave proved an incorruptible protection.
"But," he exclaimed, with a sorrowful voice, "that which is her gloryand my admiration and praise is converted by the bondage of my unnaturalvows into a curse to us both. The felicity that we might have enjoyedtogether in wedded life is forbidden to us as a great crime. But thelaws of God are above the canons of the church, the voice of Nature islouder than the fulminations of the Vatican, and I have resolved to obeythe one and give ear to the other despite the horrors that await onapostacy. Can you, Gilhaize, in aught assist my resolution?"
There was so much vehemence and the passion of grief in theseejaculations, that my grandfather wist not well what to say. He toldhim, however, not to be rash in what he did, nor to disclose his intentssave only to those in whom he could confide, for the times were perilousto everyone that slackened in reverence to the papacy, particularly tosuch as had pastured within the chosen folds of the church.
"Bide," said he, "till you see what issue is ordained to come from thisdreadful deed which so shaketh all the land, making the abbey towerstopple and tremble to their oldest and deepest foundations. Truth isawakened and gone forth conquering and to conquer. It cannot be thatancient iniquities will be much longer endured, the arm of Wrath israised against them, the sword of Revenge is drawn forth from itsscabbard by Justice, and Nature has burst asunder the cords of the Romanharlot and stands in her freedom, like Samson, when the Spirit of theLord was mightily poured upon him, as he awoke from the lap of Delilah."
The gentle friar, as my grandfather often told, stood for some timeastounded at this speech, and then he said,--
"I dreamt not, Gilhaize, that beneath a countenance so calm and comely,the zealous fires of a warrior's bravery could have been kindled to sovehement a heat. But I will vex you with no questions. Heaven is on yourside, and may its redeeming promptings never allow its ministers to resttill the fetters are broken and the slaves are set free."
With these words he stepped forward to shake my grandfather by the handand to bid him farewell, but just as he came to the stirrup he haltedand said,--
"It is not for nothing that the remembrance of you has been preserved somuch brighter and dearer to me than that of all my kin. There was ayesomething about you in our heedless days that often made me wonder, Icould not tell wherefore, and now, when I behold you in the prime ofmanhood, it fills me with admiration and awe and makes me do homage toyou as a master."
Much more he added to the same effect, which the modesty of mygrandfather would not allow him to repeat; but when they had parted, andmy grandfather had ridden forward some two or three miles, he recalledto mind what had passed between them, and he used to say that thisdiscourse with his early friend first opened to him a view of thegrievous captivity which Nature suffered in the monasteries andconvents, notwithstanding the loose lives imputed to their inmates; andhe saw that the Reformation would be hailed by many that languished inthe bondage of their vows as a great and glorious deliverance. But stillhe was wont to say, even with such as these, it was overly mingled withtemporal concernments, and that they longed for it less on account ofits immortal issues than for its sensual emancipations.
And as he was proceeding on his way in this frame of mind, and thinkingon all that he had seen and learnt from the day in which he bade adieuto his father's house, he came to a place where the road forked off intwo different airts, and not knowing which to take, he stopped his horseand waited till a man drew nigh whom he observed coming towards him. Bythis man he was told that the road leading leftward led to Kilmarnockand Ayr, and the other on the right to Kilwinning; so, without sayinganything, he turned his horse's head into the latter, the which he wasmoved to do by sundry causes and reasons. First, he had remarked thatthe chances in his journey had, in a very singular manner, led him togain much of that sort of knowledge which the Lords of the Congregationthirsted for; and second, he had no doubt that Winterton was in pursuitof him to Kilmarnock, for some purpose of frustration or circumvention,the which, though he was not able to divine, he could not but considerimportant, if it was, as he thought, the prime motive of that varlet'sjourn
ey.
But he was chiefly disposed to prefer the Kilwinning road, though it wasseveral miles more of bout-gait, on account of the rich abbacy in thattown, hoping he might glean and gather some account how the clergy therestood affected, the meeting with Dominick Callender having afforded hima vista of friends and auxiliaries in the enemy's camp little thoughtof. Besides all this, he reflected, that as it was of consequence heshould reach the Lord Boyd in secrecy, he would be more likely to do soby stopping at Kilwinning and feeing someone there to guide him to theDean Castle by moonlight. I have heard him say, however, the speakablemotives of his deviation from the straight road were at the time farless effectual in moving him thereto than a something which he could nottell, that with an invisible hand took his horse, as it were, by thebridle-rings and constrained him to go into the Kilwinning track. In thewhole of this journey there was indeed a very extraordinarymanifestation of a special providence, not only in the protectionvouchsafed towards himself, but in the remarkable accidents andoccurrences by which he was enabled to enrich himself with the knowledgeso precious at that time to those who were chosen to work the great workof the Gospel in Scotland.