by Walter Scott
CHAPTER III.
Over Gods forebode, then said the King, That thou shouldst shoot at me.
William Bell, Clim 'o the Cleugh, etc.
On the morning after the funeral, the legal officer whose authorityhad been found insufficient to effect an interruption of the funeralsolemnities of the late Lord Ravenswood, hastened to state before theKeeper the resistance which he had met with in the execution of hisoffice.
The statesman was seated in a spacious library, once a banqueting-roomin the old Castle of Ravenswood, as was evident from the armorialinsignia still displayed on the carved roof, which was vaulted withSpanish chestnut, and on the stained glass of the casement, throughwhich gleamed a dim yet rich light on the long rows of shelves, bendingunder the weight of legal commentators and monkish historians, whoseponderous volumes formed the chief and most valued contents of aScottish historian [library] of the period. On the massive oakentable and reading-desk lay a confused mass of letters, petitions, andparchments; to toil amongst which was the pleasure at once and theplague of Sir William Ashton's life. His appearance was grave and evennoble, well becoming one who held an high office in the state; and itwas not save after long and intimate conversation with him upon topicsof pressing and personal interest, that a stranger could have discoveredsomething vacillating and uncertain in his resolutions; an infirmity ofpurpose, arising from a cautious and timid disposition, which, as he wasconscious of its internal influence on his mind, he was, from pride aswell as policy, most anxious to conceal from others. He listened withgreat apparent composure to an exaggerated account of the tumult whichhad taken place at the funeral, of the contempt thrown on his ownauthority and that of the church and state; nor did he seem moved evenby the faithful report of the insulting and threatening language whichhad been uttered by young Ravenswood and others, and obviously directedagainst himself. He heard, also, what the man had been able to collect,in a very distorted and aggravated shape, of the toasts which had beendrunk, and the menaces uttered, at the subsequent entertainment. In fine,he made careful notes of all these particulars, and of the names ofthe persons by whom, in case of need, an accusation, founded upon theseviolent proceedings, could be witnessed and made good, and dismissed hisinformer, secure that he was now master of the remaining fortune, andeven of the personal liberty, of young Ravenswood.
When the door had closed upon the officer of the law, the Lord Keeperremained for a moment in deep meditation then, starting from hisseat, paced the apartment as one about to take a sudden and energeticresolution. "Young Ravenswood," he muttered, "is now mine--he is my own;he has placed himself in my hand, and he shall bend or break. I have notforgot the determined and dogged obstinacy with which his father foughtevery point to the last, resisted every effort at compromise, embroiledme in lawsuits, and attempted to assail my character when he couldnot otherwise impugn my rights. This boy he has left behind him--thisEdgar--this hot-headed, hare-brained fool, has wrecked his vessel beforeshe has cleared the harbor. I must see that he gains no advantageof some turning tide which may again float him off. These memoranda,properly stated to the privy council, cannot but be construed intoan aggravated riot, in which the dignity both of the civil andecclesiastical authorities stands committed. A heavy fine might beimposed; an order for committing him to Edinburgh or Blackness Castleseems not improper; even a charge of treason might be laid on many ofthese words and expressions, though God forbid I should prosecute thematter to that extent. No, I will not; I will not touch his life, evenif it should be in my power; and yet, if he lives till a change oftimes, what follows? Restitution--perhaps revenge. I know Atholepromised his interest to old Ravenswood, and here is his son alreadybandying and making a faction by his own contemptible influence. Whata ready tool he would be for the use of those who are watching thedownfall of our administration!"
While these thoughts were agitating the mind of the wily statesman, andwhile he was persuading himself that his own interest and safety, aswell as those of his friends and party, depended on using the presentadvantage to the uttermost against young Ravenswood, the Lord Keepersate down to his desk, and proceeded to draw up, for the information ofthe privy council, an account of the disorderly proceedings which,in contempt of his warrant, had taken place at the funeral of LordRavenswood. The names of most of the parties concerned, as well as thefact itself, would, he was well aware, sound odiously in the ears of hiscolleagues in administration, and most likely instigate them to make anexample of young Ravenswood, at least, in terrorem.
It was a point of delicacy, however, to select such expressions as mightinfer the young man's culpability, without seeming directly to urgeit, which, on the part of Sir William Ashton, his father's ancientantagonist, could not but appear odious and invidious. While he was inthe act of composition, labouring to find words which might indicateEdgar Ravenswood to be the cause of the uproar, without specificallymaking such a charge, Sir William, in a pause of his task, chanced, inlooking upward, to see the crest of the family for whose heir he waswhetting the arrows and disposing the toils of the law carved upon oneof the corbeilles from which the vaulted roof of the apartment sprung.It was a black bull's head, with the legend, "I bide my time"; andthe occasion upon which it was adopted mingled itself singularly andimpressively with the subject of his present reflections.
It was said by a constant tradition that a Malisius de Ravenswood had,in the 13th century, been deprived of his castle and lands by a powerfulusurper, who had for a while enjoyed his spoils in quiet. At length,on the eve of a costly banquet, Ravenswood, who had watched hisopportunity, introduced himself into the castle with a small band offaithful retainers. The serving of the expected feast was impatientlylooked for by the guests, and clamorously demanded by the temporarymaster of the castle. Ravenswood, who had assumed the disguise of asewer upon the occasion, answered, in a stern voice, "I bide my time";and at the same moment a bull's head, the ancient symbol of death, wasplaced upon the table. The explosion of the conspiracy took place uponthe signal, and the usurper and his followers were put to death. Perhapsthere was something in this still known and often repeated story whichcame immediately home to the breast and conscience of the Lord Keeper;for, putting from him the paper on which he had begun his report, andcarefully locking the memoranda which he had prepared into a cabinetwhich stood beside him, he proceeded to walk abroad, as if forthe purpose of collecting his ideas, and reflecting farther on theconsequences of the step which he was about to take, ere yet they becameinevitable.
In passing through a large Gothic ante-room, Sir William Ashton heardthe sound of his daughter's lute. Music, when the performers areconcealed, affects us with a pleasure mingled with surprise, andreminds us of the natural concert of birds among the leafy bowers. Thestatesman, though little accustomed to give way to emotions of thisnatural and simple class, was still a man and a father. He stopped,therefore, and listened, while the silver tones of Lucy Ashton's voicemingled with the accompaniment in an ancient air, to which some one hadadapted the following words:
"Look not thou on beauty's charming, Sit thou still when kings are arming, Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens, Stop thine ear against the singer, From the red gold keep they finger, Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die."
The sounds ceased, and the Keeper entered his daughter's apartment.
The words she had chosen seemed particularly adapted to her character;for Lucy Ashton's exquisitely beautiful, yet somewhat girlish featureswere formed to express peace of mind, serenity, and indifference tothe tinsel of wordly pleasure. Her locks, which were of shadowy gold,divided on a brow of exquisite whiteness, like a gleam of broken andpallid sunshine upon a hill of snow. The expression of the countenancewas in the last degree gentle, soft, timid, and feminine, and seemedrather to shrink from the most casual look of a stranger than to courthis admiration. Something there was of a Madonna cast, perhaps theresult of delicate health, and of resi
dence in a family where thedispositions of the inmates were fiercer, more active, and energeticthan her own.
Yet her passiveness of disposition was by no means owing to anindifferent or unfeeling mind. Left to the impulse of her own taste andfeelings, Lucy Ashton was peculiarly accessible to those of a romanticcast. Her secret delight was in the old legendary tales of ardentdevotion and unalterable affection, chequered as they so often are withstrange adventures and supernatural horrors. This was her favouredfairy realm, and here she erected her aerial palaces. But it was onlyin secret that she laboured at this delusive though delightfularchitecture. In her retired chamber, or in the woodland bower whichshe had chosen for her own, and called after her name, she was in fancydistributing the prizes at the tournament, or raining down influencefrom her eyes on the valiant combatants: or she was wandering in thewilderness with Una, under escort of the generous lion or she wasidentifying herself with the simple yet noble-minded Miranda in the isleof wonder and enchantment.
But in her exterior relations to things of this world, Lucy willinglyreceived the ruling impulse from those around her. The alternative was,in general, too indifferent to her to render resistance desirable, andshe willingly found a motive for decision in the opinion of her friendswhich perhaps she might have sought for in vain in her own choice.Every reader must have observed in some family of his acquaintance someindividual of a temper soft and yielding, who, mixed with stronger andmore ardent minds, is borne along by the will of others, with as littlepower of opposition as the flower which is flung into a running stream.It usually happens that such a compliant and easy disposition, whichresigns itself without murmur to the guidance of others, becomes thedarling of those to whose inclinations its own seem to be offered, inungrudging and ready sacrifice. This was eminently the case with LucyAshton. Her politic, wary, and wordly father felt for her an affectionthe strength of which sometimes surprised him into an unusual emotion.Her elder brother, who trode the path of ambition with a haughtier stepthan his father, had also more of human affection. A soldier, and ina dissolute age, he preferred his sister Lucy even to pleasure and tomilitary preferment and distinction. Her younger brother, at an age whentrifles chiefly occupied his mind, made her the confidante of all hispleasures and anxieties, his success in field-sports, and his quarrelswith his tutor and instructors. To these details, however trivial, Lucylent patient and not indifferent attention. They moved and interestedHenry, and that was enough to secure her ear.
Her mother alone did not feel that distinguished and predominatingaffection with which the rest of the family cherished Lucy. She regardedwhat she termed her daughter's want of spirit as a decided mark that themore plebeian blood of her father predominated in Lucy's veins, and usedto call her in derision her Lammermoor Shepherdess. To dislike so gentleand inoffensive a being was impossible; but Lady Ashton preferred hereldest son, on whom had descended a large portion of her own ambitiousand undaunted disposition, to a daughter whose softness of temper seemedallied to feebleness of mind. Her eldest son was the more partiallybeloved by his mother because, contrary to the usual custom of Scottishfamilies of distinction, he had been named after the head of the house.
"My Sholto," she said, "will support the untarnished honour of hismaternal house, and elevate and support that of his father. Poor Lucyis unfit for courts or crowded halls. Some country laird must be herhusband, rich enough to supply her with every comfort, without an efforton her own part, so that she may have nothing to shed a tear for but thetender apprehension lest he may break his neck in a foxchase. It wasnot so, however, that our house was raised, nor is it so that it can befortified and augmented. The Lord Keeper's dignity is yet new; it mustbe borne as if we were used to its weight, worthy of it, and promptto assert and maintain it. Before ancient authorities men bend fromcustomary and hereditary deference; in our presence they will standerect, unless they are compelled to prostrate themselves. A daughterfit for the sheepfold or the cloister is ill qualified to exact respectwhere it is yielded with reluctance; and since Heaven refused us a thirdboy, Lucy should have held a character fit to supply his place. Thehour will be a happy one which disposes her hand in marriage to some onewhose energy is greater than her own, or whose ambition is of as low anorder."
So meditated a mother to whom the qualities of her children's hearts,as well as the prospect of their domestic happiness, seemed light incomparison to their rank and temporal greatness. But, like many a parentof hot and impatient character, she was mistaken in estimatingthe feelings of her daughter, who, under a semblance of extremeindifference, nourished the germ of those passions which sometimesspring up in one night, like the gourd of the prophet, and astonishthe observer by their unexpected ardour and intensity. In fact, Lucy'ssentiments seemed chill because nothing had occurred to interest orawaken them. Her life had hitherto flowed on in a uniform and gentletenor, and happy for her had not its present smoothness of currentresembled that of the stream as it glides downwards to the waterfall!
"So, Lucy," said her father, entering as her song was ended, "does yourmusical philosopher teach you to contemn the world before you know it?That is surely something premature. Or did you but speak according tothe fashion of fair maidens, who are always to hold the pleasures oflife in contempt till they are pressed upon them by the address of somegentle knight?"
Lucy blushed, disclaimed any inference respecting her own choicebeing drawn from her selection of a song, and readily laid aside herinstrument at her father's request that she would attend him in hiswalk.
A large and well-wooded park, or rather chase, stretched along thehill behind the castle, which, occupying, as we have noticed, a passascending from the plain, seemed built in its very gorge to defendthe forest ground which arose behind it in shaggy majesty. Into thisromantic region the father and daughter proceeded, arm in arm, by anoble avenue overarched by embowering elms, beneath which groups of thefallow-deer were seen to stray in distant perspective. As they pacedslowly on, admiring the different points of view, for which SirWilliam Ashton, notwithstanding the nature of his usual avocations, hadconsiderable taste and feeling, they were overtaken by the forester,or park-keeper, who, intent on silvan sport, was proceeding with hiscrossbow over his arm, and a hound led in leash by his boy, into theinterior of the wood.
"Going to shoot us a piece of venison, Norman?" said his master, as hereturned the woodsman's salutation.
"Saul, your honour, and that I am. Will it please you to see the sport?"
"Oh no," said his lordship, after looking at his daughter, whose colourfled at the idea of seeing the deer shot, although, had her fatherexpressed his wish that they should accompany Norman, it was probableshe would not even have hinted her reluctance.
The forester shrugged his shoulders. "It was a disheartening thing,"he said, "when none of the gentles came down to see the sport. Hehoped Captain Sholto would be soon hame, or he might shut up his shopentirely; for Mr. Harry was kept sae close wi' his Latin nonsense that,though his will was very gude to be in the wood from morning till night,there would be a hopeful lad lost, and no making a man of him. It wasnot so, he had heard, in Lord Ravenswood's time: when a buck was to bekilled, man and mother's son ran to see; and when the deer fell, theknife was always presented to the knight, and he never gave less thana dollar for the compliment. And there was Edgar Ravenswood--Master ofRavenswood that is now--when he goes up to the wood--there hasna been abetter hunter since Tristrem's time--when Sir Edgar hauds out, down goesthe deer, faith. But we hae lost a' sense of woodcraft on this side ofthe hill."
There was much in this harangue highly displeasing to the Lord Keeper'sfeelings; he could not help observing that his menial despised himalmost avowedly for not possessing that taste for sport which in thosetimes was deemed the natural and indispensable attribute of a realgentleman. But the master of the game is, in all country houses, a manof great importance, and entitled to use considerable freedom of speech.Sir William, therefore, only smiled and replied, "He had something elseto think upon
to-day than killing deer"; meantime, taking out his purse,he gave the ranger a dollar for his encouragement. The fellow receivedit as the waiter of a fashionable hotel receives double his proper feefrom the hands of a country gentleman--that is, with a smile, in whichpleasure at the gift is mingled with contempt for the ignorance of thedonor. "Your honour is the bad paymaster," he said, "who pays before itis done. What would you do were I to miss the buck after you have paidme my wood-fee?"
"I suppose," said the Keeper, smiling, "you would hardly guess what Imean were I to tell you of a condictio indebiti?"
"Not I, on my saul. I guess it is some law phrase; but sue a beggar,and--your honour knows what follows. Well, but I will be just withyou, and if bow and brach fail not, you shall have a piece of game twofingers fat on the brisket."
As he was about to go off, his master again called him, and asked, asif by accident, whether the Master of Ravenswood was actually so brave aman and so good a shooter as the world spoke him.
"Brave!--brave enough, I warrant you," answered Norman. "I was in thewood at Tyninghame when there was a sort of gallants hunting with mylord; on my saul, there was a buck turned to bay made us all standback--a stout old Trojan of the first head, ten-tyned branches, and abrow as broad as e'er a bullock's. Egad, he dashed at the old lord, andthere would have been inlake among the perrage, if the Master had notwhipt roundly in, and hamstrung him with his cutlass. He was but sixteenthen, bless his heart!"
"And is he as ready with the gun as with the couteau?" said Sir William.
"He'll strike this silver dollar out from between my finger and thumb atfourscore yards, and I'll hold it out for a gold merk; what more wouldye have of eye, hand, lead, and gunpowder?" "Oh, no more to be wished,certainly," said the Lord Keeper; "but we keep you from your sport,Norman. Good morrow, good Norman."
And, humming his rustic roundelay, the yeoman went on his road, thesound of his rough voice gradually dying away as the distance betwixtthem increased:
"The monk must arise when the matins ring, The abbot may sleep to their chime; But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing 'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time.
There's bucks and raes on Bilhope braes, There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw; But a lily-white doe in the garden goes, She's fairly worth them a'."
"Has this fellow," said the Lord Keeper, when the yeoman's song had diedon the wind, "ever served the Ravenswood people, that he seems so muchinterested in them? I suppose you know, Lucy, for you make it a pointof conscience to record the special history of every boor about thecastle."
"I am not quite so faithful a chronicler, my dear father; but Ibelieve that Norman once served here while a boy, and before he went toLedington, whence you hired him. But if you want to know anything of theformer family, Old Alice is the best authority."
"And what should I have to do with them, pray, Lucy," said her father,"or with their history or accomplishments?"
"Nay, I do not know, sir; only that you were asking questions of Normanabout young Ravenswood."
"Pshaw, child!" replied her father, yet immediately added: "And who isOld Alice? I think you know all the old women in the country."
"To be sure I do, or how could I help the old creatures when they arein hard times? And as to Old Alice, she is the very empress of old womenand queen of gossips, so far as legendary lore is concerned. She isblind, poor old soul, but when she speaks to you, you would think shehas some way of looking into your very heart. I am sure I often covermy face, or turn it away, for it seems as if she saw one change colour,though she has been blind these twenty years. She is worth visiting,were it but to say you have seen a blind and paralytic old woman have somuch acuteness of perception and dignity of manners. I assure you, shemight be a countess from her language and behaviour. Come, you must goto see Alice; we are not a quarter of a mile from her cottage."
"All this, my dear," said the Lord Keeper, "is no answer to myquestion, who this woman is, and what is her connexion with the formerproprietor's family?"
"Oh, it was somethign of a nouriceship, I believe; and she remainedhere, because her two grandsons were engaged in your service. But itwas against her will, I fancy; for the poor old creature is alwaysregretting the change of times and of property."
"I am much obliged to her," answered the Lord Keeper. "She and her folkeat my bread and drink my cup, and are lamenting all the while thatthey are not still under a family which never could do good, either tothemselves or any one else!"
"Indeed," replied Lucy, "I am certain you do Old Alice injustice.She has nothing mercenary about her, and would not accept a pennyin charity, if it were to save her from being starved. She is onlytalkative, like all old folk when you put them upon stories of theiryouth; and she speaks about the Ravenswood people, because she livedunder them so many years. But I am sure she is grateful to you, sir,for your protection, and that she would rather speak to you than toany other person in the whole world beside. Do, sir, come and see OldAlice."
And with the freedom of an indulged daughter she dragged the Lord Keeperin the direction she desired.
