Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
of potency. Moses, Solomon, Hippocrates, and Aristotle found
wondrous properties in locusts and creeping things; and Ælian, the
Greek, expatiates at great length on those contained in the brains
and tongues of crickets, wasps, and cantharides; and there were
Democritus, Neoptolemus, Philistus, Nicander, Herodius, to say
nothing of Albertus Magnus (whose book, printed at Venice in 1519,
has just been sent to me by the Spanish ambassador), all of whose
writings I have yet to search; and doubt not, lady, that therein I
must discover that which shall complete my elixir, and make my poor
little laboratory, at the hamlet of Silvermills, more famous by a
thousand degrees, than ever was that of Claudius Galenus, the
physician of Pergamus."
And with this flourish, after reiterating his directions concerning
that precious decoction, which he styled metheglin, to be taken with
one karena from the phial, this homœopathist of the sixteenth
century withdrew, leaving the poor little captive stupefied and
stunned by the energy and fustian of his conversation.
CHAPTER XLIII.
DAVID'S TOWER--THE PRIEST.
"There's but one part to play; shame has done here,
But execution must close up the scene;
And for that cause these sprigs are worn by all,
Badges of marriage, now of funeral."
ROWLEY'S _Noble Soldier_, 1634.
As the physician retired, Father St. Bernard, Jane's confessor and
daily visitor, and, of all the hundreds whom she knew, her only
friend, glided softly in, and approached; for such was the terror
excited by the accusations against her, that neither Marion Logan nor
Alison Hume had dared to visit her; though they had sent many a
message, saying, "how they wept and prayed for her," and so forth.
She raised her heavy head, and with an expression almost of joy,
extended her hands towards him; but the ponderous fetters weighed
them down.
The priest lifted the chain, and smiled sadly but kindly upon her.
"_Pax Domine sit semper vobiscum_," said he, making use of his
invariable phrase.
"Good Father St. Bernard!" she exclaimed, "can this be the work of
Heaven or of the fiend?"
"Of the fiend, daughter--canst thou doubt it?"
"I endure agony that is unutterable when thinking of Roland and of my
mother. Oh, that she might hear nothing of all this! I have yet so
much to suffer!----"
The old priest covered his face with the wide sleeve of his cassock,
and wept, for he had still warm and acute feelings, though a long and
ascetic life had somewhat blunted them and estranged him from the
world.
"Can a merciful Heaven afflict me thus, father?"
"Hush, lady; whatever his miserable creatures may do, God is ever
merciful and just. We know not but this visitation, terrible though
it is, may be the means of averting some still greater calamity."
"Can any calamity be greater than death?"
"To the unrepentant? no. But pray, child, pray; for the Christian
gathers hope from his prayers, while the poor heretic dies despairing
and blaspheming."
"Good Father St. Bernard, if I could have been base--if I could have
stooped, and been coward enough to abandon my poor Roland, and wed
this frantic, this furious persecutor, all this misery might not have
happened. It is a frightful alternative--a terrible reflection!"
"My good child, fear nothing and regret nothing. Think of St.
Theckla, and of all she endured for shunning the love of one she
detested; and now let the bright example of her whom St. Isidore of
Pelusium styled the protomartyr of her sex, and the most glorious
ornament of the apostolic age, be as a star and a beacon to thee.
Shall I tell thee her story, as an old monk of Culross told it to me?"
Jane bowed her head, in token of assent.
"She was the pupil of St. Paul," said the prebendary, gathering
energy as he spoke, "and, amid pagans, grew in holiness like a flower
in the desert. Men called her beautiful, but she was good as she was
beautiful, and gentle as she was good. A young noble of Lycaonia
loved her; but the love of God, sayeth St. Gregory of Nyssa, burned
too strongly in her bosom to admit of a human passion. She repelled
his love, and, by the practice of every austerity, overcame all
earthly affections, and subdued her passions in such wise that she
became dead to the world, living upon it, but not in it--as a
beautiful spirit, but one having no kindred feelings to those around
her. The most endearing caresses, the most ardent protestations, the
most brilliant flatteries and gorgeous presents failed to win her
love to this young noble; and lo! from tender persuasions he betook
himself to the most terrible threats; and thereupon, abandoning the
stately house of her father, with its Grecian luxuries, its chambers
of marble, with gilded ceilings and silken carpets, its Tyrian
hangings, precious sculpture, and vessels of fine gold; abandoning
home, friends, country, everything, she retired into the recesses of
a forest to pray for Greece, and to commune with the God of the
Christians amid silence and solitude; for such was the blessed
example of the apostles.
"But there her lover, the young Lycaonian, discovered her; and, full
of wrath and vengeance, accused her of certain heinous crimes before
the magistrates of Isauria, who sentenced her to be torn limb from
limb and devoured by wild beasts, in the public amphitheatre of the
city. The day of doom arrived; and, naked in the vast arena, with no
other covering than her innocence, and her long flowing hair that
almost enveloped her, this tender being was exposed to twice ten
thousand eyes. Undaunted in heart and high in soul, she stood calmly
awaiting her fate from the fangs of those wild animals, whom goads of
steel had urged to frantic madness, and whose deep, hoarse bellowing
filled even the morbid multitude with dismay.
"The iron gates were withdrawn, and the mighty assemblage were awed
and frozen into silence, when three enormous lions and three gigantic
panthers, with manes erect and eyes of fire, bounded into the wide
arena, where the helpless virgin stood in all her purity and
resignation. With a simultaneous howl they rushed upon her; but lo!
the mighty hand of Heaven was there! The lions forgot their
ferocity, and the panthers the rage of their hunger; and gentle as
lambs they crouched before St. Theckla, and grovelled in the dust to
lick her snow-white feet.
"The vast multitude, their cruel magistrates, and the more cruel
Lycaonian lord, were overcome at the sight of this wondrous miracle,
and permitted her to depart in peace; and she died, at an extreme old
age, in Seleucia, where, above her grave, may yet be seen the church
of the first Christian emperors."
Jane listened attentively, and with the utmost good faith, to this
legend. It was one of the many miraculous tales which then formed
the staple subjects for the discourses of the old clergy on Sundays
and festival days.
"I thank you for this bright example," said she, "but I am altogether
unlike St. Theckla, for I am not above an earthly passion; and none
know how dearly and how truly I love him to whom I am betrothed.
Just Heaven! I have all that last frightful day yet vivid in my
memory. The court, so calm, so orderly, so formal, so satisfied with
themselves, and so full of morbid curiosity; the spectators'
countless eyes; the judges, so serious and so solemn; their ten sworn
advocates, so silent and so dreamy; and those cold-eyed clerks of
court who gazed at me from time to time so stolidly, and with a
self-satisfied air--at me, a poor helpless creature, abandoned to
them, overwhelmed with desperation, and blind with fear and sorrow."
"Would that I could die for thee, Lady Jane. I am but a poor old
prebendary; the years of my life are many, though the days of my joy
have been few--few indeed. I would leave no one to weep for, and
have none that would weep for me. I have long been sick of the
world; I have nothing in it now to regret, and, save thyself, know
none that would regret old Father St. Bernard, unless I add a few
aged alms-people, my poor penitents. My time in it cannot be long
now, and willingly would I give my life for thine, if such a thing
might be. Oh, my child, thou so nobly born, so carefully nurtured,
so innocent and so gentle, the most guileless and most docile of my
penitents! Oh, this vile man, this Redhall, is a fiend! a monster!"
exclaimed the priest, suddenly giving way to unwonted passion; "may
the heaviest curses of God fall upon him! May he inherit the leprosy
of Gehazi, and the despair of Judas! May the earth swallow him up,
like Dathan and Abiram! May he sorrow like Cain, and may the wrath
of God ever be upon him for the misery his unbridled passions, his
blind vengeance and savage hate, hath caused unto thee!"
"Alas! good Father St. Bernard," said the gentle being, terrified by
the old man's energy, "ought we not rather to pray for him?"
"Thou art right, my daughter, and thy resignation shames me!" replied
the priest, whose indignation had, for the moment, borne away his
better feelings. "Right, right--we are commanded to pray for those
who persecute and despitefully use us. Thou good soul!" he added,
signing the cross upon her brow, "may the angel of all purity watch
over thee, for thou, in thy goodness of heart, art more like unto the
angels than mortals."
"But, oh! that mode of death--by fire--by fire! It is so frightful!"
"The good should fear nothing. The hand which tempers the wind to
the shorn lamb, may temper the flames to thee."
She covered her face in her hands, and began to weep. Her tears
relieved her.
"And I must really die--so young! Oh, Roland, Roland."
"Child, thou thinkest more of him than of the will of Heaven. There
is a sin in this."
"Heaven's will be done, father. I am not a heroine.'
"Its ways are inscrutable," replied the priest, looking upward.
"Hast thou not even once seen Roland, father?"
"Roland, again!"
"Pardon me, but I cannot help it. I fear his name will be the last
on my lips--his image the last in my heart. Oh, forgive me this; but
I cannot help it."
"They have accused him of treason."
"But there is hope of mercy for him, surely?"
"The proud are ever ungrateful; and say, who can count on the
gratitude of kings? They may forget; but God never forgets."
"Another day has come and gone--a bright one it has been to all the
world but poor Roland and me; the air so soft, so bright, so balmy;
the leaves so green, the water so blue, the flowers so fresh and
smiling. Can all my griefs be possible? Another day, and
another--and where shall I be then?"
"This is the very selfishness of grief. Dost think thai thou and
Roland Vipont are the only two unhappy persons in the world?"
The night was far advanced before Father St. Bernard left her; and
before that time, his conversation had proved so soothing, that in
less than an hour after he was gone, she committed her aching head to
the pillow of the hard palliasse, which we have before described as
being in a stone recess of the apartment, and sank into a deep, but
quiet slumber.
CHAPTER XLIV.
DAVID'S TOWER--THE LOVER.
"I kist with ane sigh the ringlet fair,
That I shred frae my Marie's golden hair,
And I thought that I never would see her mair.
And when I try it to rest on my bed,
The visions of night surrounded my head.
But had I the wings of a dove to flee,
They had nae parted my Marie and me."
HENRY SCOUGALL, 1674.
In another chamber of that vast bastille-house, and at the north-west
corner thereof, which overhung the hollow where the church of St.
Cuthbert lay, and the marsh that bounded the western end of the loch,
sat Roland Vipont.