In pottingry he wrocht great pyne;
He murdreit mony in medecyne.
DUNBAR.
When, after an entertainment the prolonging of which was like torture to
the wounded knight, the Earl of Crawford at length took horse, to go
to his distant quarters in the Castle of Dupplin, where he resided as
a guest, the Knight of Ramorny retired into his sleeping apartment,
agonized by pains of body and anxiety of mind. Here he found Henbane
Dwining, on whom it was his hard fate to depend for consolation in both
respects. The physician, with his affectation of extreme humility, hoped
he saw his exalted patient merry and happy.
“Merry as a mad dog,” said Ramorny, “and happy as the wretch whom the
cur hath bitten, and who begins to feel the approach of the ravening
madness! That ruthless boy, Crawford, saw my agony, and spared not a
single carouse. I must do him justice, forsooth! If I had done justice
to him and to the world, I had thrown him out of window and cut short
a career which, if he grew up as he has begun, will prove a source of
misery to all Scotland, but especially to Tayside. Take heed as thou
undoest the ligatures, chirurgeon, the touch of a fly’s wing on that raw
glowing stump were like a dagger to me.”
“Fear not, my noble patron,” said the leech, with a chuckling laugh
of enjoyment, which he vainly endeavoured to disguise under a tone of
affected sensibility. “We will apply some fresh balsam, and--he, he,
he!--relieve your knightly honour of the irritation which you sustain so
firmly.”
“Firmly, man!” said Ramorny, grinning with pain; “I sustain it as I
would the scorching flames of purgatory. The bone seems made of red hot
iron; thy greasy ointment will hiss as it drops upon the wound. And yet
it is December’s ice, compared to the fever fit of my mind!”
“We will first use our emollients upon the body, my noble patron,” said
Dwining; “and then, with your knighthood’s permission; your servant will
try his art on the troubled mind; though I fain hope even the mental
pain also may in some degree depend on the irritation of the wound, and
that, abated as I trust the corporeal pangs will soon be, perhaps the
stormy feelings of the mind may subside of themselves.”
“Henbane Dwining,” said the patient, as he felt the pain of his wound
assuaged, “thou art a precious and invaluable leech, but some things
are beyond thy power. Thou canst stupify my bodily cause of this raging
agony, but thou canst not teach me to bear the score of the boy whom I
have brought up--whom I loved, Dwining--for I did love him--dearly love
him! The worst of my ill deeds have been to flatter his vices; and he
grudged me a word of his mouth, when a word would have allayed this
cumber! He smiled, too--I saw him smile--when yon paltry provost,
the companion and patron of wretched burghers, defied me, whom this
heartless prince knew to be unable to bear arms. Ere I forget or forgive
it, thou thyself shalt preach up the pardoning of injuries! And then
the care for tomorrow! Think’st thou, Henbane Dwining, that, in very
reality, the Wounds of the slaughtered corpse will gape and shed tears
of fresh blood at the murderer’s approach?”
“I cannot tell, my lord, save by report,” said Dwining, “which avouches
the fact.”
“The brute Bonthron,” said Ramorny, “is startled at the apprehension of
such a thing, and speaking of being rather willing to stand the combat.
What think’st thou? He is a fellow of steel.”
“It is the armourer’s trade to deal with steel,” replied Dwining.
“Were Bonthron to fall, it would little grieve me,” said Ramorny;
“though I should miss an useful hand.”
“I well believe your lordship will not sorrow as for that you lost in
Curfew Street. Excuse my pleasantry, he, he! But what are the useful
properties of this fellow Bonthron?”
“Those of a bulldog,” answered the knight, “he worries without barking.”
“You have no fear of his confessing?” said the physician.
“Who can tell what the dread of approaching death may do?” replied the
patient. “He has already shown a timorousness entirely alien from his
ordinary sullenness of nature; he, that would scarce wash his hands
after he had slain a man, is now afraid to see a dead body bleed.”
“Well,” said the leech, “I must do something for him if I can, since it
was to further my revenge that he struck yonder downright blow, though
by ill luck it lighted not where it was intended.”
“And whose fault was that, timid villain,” said Ramorny, “save thine
own, who marked a rascal deer for a buck of the first head?”
“Benedicite, noble sir,” replied the mediciner; “would you have me, who
know little save of chamber practice, be as skilful of woodcraft as
your noble self, or tell hart from hind, doe from roe, in a glade at
midnight? I misdoubted me little when I saw the figure run past us to
the smith’s habitation in the wynd, habited like a morrice dancer; and
yet my mind partly misgave me whether it was our man, for methought he
seemed less of stature. But when he came out again, after so much time
as to change his dress, and swaggered onward with buff coat and steel
cap, whistling after the armourer’s wonted fashion, I do own I was
mistaken super totam materiem, and loosed your knighthood’s bulldog upon
him, who did his devoir most duly, though he pulled down the wrong deer.
Therefore, unless the accursed smith kill our poor friend stone dead on
the spot, I am determined, if art may do it, that the ban dog Bonthron
shall not miscarry.”
“It will put thine art to the test, man of medicine,” said Ramorny; “for
know that, having the worst of the combat, if our champion be not killed
stone dead in the lists, he will be drawn forth of them by the heels,
and without further ceremony knitted up to the gallows, as convicted of
the murder; and when he hath swung there like a loose tassel for an
hour or so, I think thou wilt hardly take it in hand to cure his broken
neck.”
“I am of a different opinion, may it please your knighthood,” answered
Dwining, gently. “I will carry him off from the very foot of the gallows
into the land of faery, like King Arthur, or Sir Huon of Bordeaux, or
Ugero the Dane; or I will, if I please, suffer him to dangle on the
gibbet for a certain number of minutes, or hours, and then whisk him
away from the sight of all, with as much ease as the wind wafts away the
withered leaf.”
“This is idle boasting, sir leech,” replied Ramorny. “The whole mob of
Perth will attend him to the gallows, each more eager than another to
see the retainer of a nobleman die, for the slaughter of a cuckoldly
citizen. There will be a thousand of them round the gibbet’s foot.”
“And were there ten thousand,” said Dwining, “shall I, who am a high
clerk, and have studied in Spain, and Araby itself, not be able to
deceive the eyes of this hoggish herd of citizens, when the pettiest
juggler that ever dealt in legerdemain can gull even the sharp
observation of your most intelligent knighthood? I tell you, I will put
the change on them as if I were in possession of Keddie’s ring.”
“If thou speakest truth,” answered the knight, “and I think thou darest
not palter with me on such a theme, thou must have the aid of Satan, and
I will have nought to do with him. I disown and defy him.”
Dwining indulged in his internal chuckling laugh when he heard his
patron testify his defiance of the foul fiend, and saw him second it by
crossing himself. He composed himself, however, upon observing Ramorny’s
aspect become very stern, and said, with tolerable gravity, though a
little interrupted by the effort necessary to suppress his mirthful
mood:
“Confederacy, most devout sir--confederacy is the soul of jugglery.
But--he, he, he!--I have not the honour to be--he, he!--an ally of the
gentleman of whom you speak--in whose existence I am--he, he!--no
very profound believer, though your knightship, doubtless, hath better
opportunities of acquaintance.”
“Proceed, rascal, and without that sneer, which thou mayst otherwise
dearly pay for.”
“I will, most undaunted,” replied Dwining. “Know that I have my
confederate too, else my skill were little worth.”
“And who may that be, pray you?”
“Stephen Smotherwell, if it like your honour, lockman of this Fair City.
I marvel your knighthood knows him not.”
“And I marvel thy knaveship knows him not on professional acquaintance,”
replied Ramorny; “but I see thy nose is unslit, thy ears yet uncropped,
and if thy shoulders are scarred or branded, thou art wise for using a
high collared jerkin.”
“He, he! your honour is pleasant,” said the mediciner. “It is not by
personal circumstances that I have acquired the intimacy of Stephen
Smotherwell, but on account of a certain traffic betwixt us, in which
an’t please you, I exchange certain sums of silver for the bodies,
heads, and limbs of those who die by aid of friend Stephen.”
“Wretch!” exclaimed the knight with horror, “is it to compose charms and
forward works of witchcraft that you trade for these miserable relics of
mortality?”
“He, he, he! No, an it please your knighthood,” answered the mediciner,
much amused with the ignorance of his patron; “but we, who are knights
of the scalpel, are accustomed to practise careful carving of the limbs
of defunct persons, which we call dissection, whereby we discover, by
examination of a dead member, how to deal with one belonging to a living
man, which hath become diseased through injury or otherwise. Ah! if your
honour saw my poor laboratory, I could show you heads and hands, feet
and lungs, which have been long supposed to be rotting in the mould.
The skull of Wallace, stolen from London Bridge; the head of Sir
Simon Fraser [the famous ancestor of the Lovats, slain at Halidon Hill
(executed in London in 1306)], that never feared man; the lovely skull
of the fair Katie Logie [(should be Margaret Logie), the beautiful
mistress of David II]. Oh, had I but had the fortune to have preserved
the chivalrous hand of mine honoured patron!”
Out upon thee, slave! Thinkest thou to disgust me with thy catalogue of
horrors? Tell me at once where thy discourse drives. How can thy traffic
with the hangdog executioner be of avail to serve me, or to help my
servant Bonthron?”
“Nay, I do not recommend it to your knighthood, save in an extremity,”
replied Dwining. “But we will suppose the battle fought and our cock
beaten. Now we must first possess him with the certainty that, if unable
to gain the day, we will at least save him from the hangman, provided he
confess nothing which can prejudice your knighthood’s honour.”
“Ha! ay, a thought strikes me,” said Ramorny. “We can do more than this,
we can place a word in Bonthron’s mouth that will be troublesome enough
to him whom I am bound to curse for being the cause of my misfortune.
Let us to the ban dog’s kennel, and explain to him what is to be done
in every view of the question. If we can persuade him to stand the bier
ordeal, it may be a mere bugbear, and in that case we are safe. If he
take the combat, he is fierce as a baited bear, and may, perchance,
master his opponent; then we are more than safe, we are avenged. If
Bonthron himself is vanquished, we will put thy device in exercise; and
if thou canst manage it cleanly; we may dictate his confession, take the
advantage of it, as I will show thee on further conference, and make a
giant stride towards satisfaction for my wrongs. Still there remains
one hazard. Suppose our mastiff mortally wounded in the lists, who shall
prevent his growling out some species of confession different from what
we would recommend?”
“Marry, that can his mediciner,” said Dwining. “Let me wait on him, and
have the opportunity to lay but a finger on his wound, and trust me he
shall betray no confidence.”
“Why, there’s a willing fiend, that needs neither pushing nor
prompting!” said Ramorny.
“As I trust I shall need neither in your knighthood’s service.”
“We will go indoctrinate our agent,” continued the knight. “We shall
find him pliant; for, hound as he is, he knows those who feed from those
who browbeat him; and he holds a late royal master of mine in deep hate
for some injurious treatment and base terms which he received at his
hand. I must also farther concert with thee the particulars of
thy practice, for saving the ban dog from the hands of the herd of
citizens.”
We leave this worthy pair of friends to their secret practices, of which
we shall afterwards see the results. They were, although of different
qualities, as well matched for device and execution of criminal projects
as the greyhound is to destroy the game which the slowhound raises, or
the slowhound to track the prey which the gazehound discovers by the
eye. Pride and selfishness were the characteristics of both; but, from
the difference of rank, education, and talents, they had assumed the
most different appearance in the two individuals.
Nothing could less resemble the high blown ambition of the favourite
courtier, the successful gallant, and the bold warrior than the
submissive, unassuming mediciner, who seemed even to court and delight
in insult; whilst, in his secret soul, he felt himself possessed of a
superiority of knowledge, a power both of science and of mind, which
placed the rude nobles of the day infinitely beneath him. So conscious
was Henbane Dwining of this elevation, that, like a keeper of wild
beasts, he sometimes adventured, for his own amusement, to rouse the
stormy passions of such men as Ramorny, trusting, with his humble
manner, to elude the turmoil he had excited, as an Indian boy will
launch his light canoe, secure from its very fragility, upon a broken
surf, in which the boat of an argosy would be assuredly dashed to
pieces. That the feudal baron should despise the humble practitioner
in medicine was a matter of course; but Ramorny felt not the less the
influence which Dwining exercised over him, and was in the encounter
of their wits often mastered by him, as the most eccentric efforts of
a fiery horse are overcome by a boy of twelve years old, if he has been
bred to the arts of the manege. But the contempt of Dwining for Ramorny
was far less qualified. He regarded the knight, in comparison with
himself, as scarcely rising above the brute creation; capable, indeed,
of working destruction, as the bull with his horns or the wolf with his
fangs, but mastered by mean prejudices, and a slave to priest craft, in
which phrase Dwining included religion of every kind. On the whole, he
considered Ramorny as one whom nature had assigned to him as a serf, to
mine for the gold which he worshipped, and the avaricious love of
which was his greatest failing, though by no means his worst vice. He
vindicated this sordid tendency in his own eyes by persuading himself
that it had its source in the love of power.
“Henbane Dwining,” he said, as he gazed in delight upon the hoards which
he had secretly amassed, and which he visited from time to time, “is no
silly miser that doats on those pieces for their golden lustre: it is
the power with which they endow the possessor which makes him thus adore
them. What is there that these put not within your command? Do you love
beauty, and are mean, deformed, infirm, and old? Here is a lure the
fairest hawk of them all will stoop to. Are you feeble, weak, subject
to the oppression of the powerful? Here is that will arm in your defence
those more mighty than the petty tyrant whom you fear. Are you splendid
in your wishes, and desire the outward show of opulence? This dark chest
contains many a wide range of hill and dale, many a fair forest full
of game, the allegiance of a thousand vassals. Wish you for favour in
courts, temporal or spiritual? The smiles of kings, the pardon of popes
and priests for old crimes, and the indulgence which encourages priest
ridden fools to venture on new ones--all these holy incentives to vice
may be purchased for gold. Revenge itself, which the gods are said to
reserve to themselves, doubtless because they envy humanity so sweet a
morsel--revenge itself is to be bought by it. But it is also to be won
by superior skill, and that is the nobler mode of reaching it. I will
spare, then, my treasure for other uses, and accomplish my revenge
gratis; or rather I will add the luxury of augmented wealth to the
triumph of requited wrongs.”
Thus thought Dwining, as, returned from his visit to Sir John Ramorny,
he added the gold he had received for his various services to the mass
of his treasure; and, having gloated over the whole for a minute or two,
turned the key on his concealed treasure house, and walked forth on his
visits to his patients, yielding the wall to every man whom he met and
bowing and doffing his bonnet to the poorest burgher that owned a petty
booth, nay, to the artificers who gained their precarious bread by the
labour of their welked hands.
“Caitiffs,” was the thought of his heart while he did such
obeisance--“base, sodden witted mechanics! did you know what this
key could disclose, what foul weather from heaven would prevent your
unbonneting? what putrid kennel in your wretched hamlet would be
disgusting enough to make you scruple to fall down and worship the owner
of such wealth? But I will make you feel my power, though it suits my
honour to hide the source of it. I will be an incubus to your city,
since you have rejected me as a magistrate. Like the night mare, I will
hag ride ye, yet remain invisible myself. This miserable Ramorny, too,
he who, in losing his hand, has, like a poor artisan, lost the only
valuable part of his frame, he heaps insulting language on me, as if
anything which he can say had power to chafe a constant mind like mine!
Yet, while he calls me rogue, villain, and slave, he acts as wisely as
if he should amuse himself by pulling hairs out of my head while my hand
had hold of his heart strings. Every insult I can pay back instantly
by a pang of bodily pain or mental agony, and--he, he!--I run no long
accounts with his knighthood, that must be allowed.”
While the mediciner was thus indulging his diabolical musing, and
passing, in his creeping manner, along the street, the cry of females
was heard behind him.
“Ay, there he is, Our Lady be praised!--there is the most helpful man in
Perth,” said one voice.
“They may speak of knights and kings for redressing wrongs, as they
call it; but give me worthy Master Dwining the potter carrier, cummers,”
replied another.
At the same moment, the leech was surrounded and taken hold of by the
speakers, good women of the Fair City.
“How now, what’s the matter?” said Dwining, “whose cow has calved?”
“There is no calving in the case,” said one of the women, “but a poor
fatherless wean dying; so come awa’ wi’ you, for our trust is constant
in you, as Bruce said to Donald of the Isles.”
“Opiferque per orbem dicor,” said Henbane Dwining. “What is the child
dying of?”
“The croup--the croup,” screamed one of the gossips; “the innocent is
rouping like a corbie.”
“Cynanche trachealis--that disease makes brief work. Show me the house
instantly,” continued the mediciner, who was in the habit of exercising
his profession liberally, not withstanding his natural avarice, and
humanely, in spite of his natural malignity. As we can suspect him of no
better principle, his motive most probably may have been vanity and the
love of his art.
He would nevertheless have declined giving his attendance in the present
case had he known whither the kind gossips were conducting him, in time
sufficient to frame an apology. But, ere he guessed where he was going,
the leech was hurried into the house of the late Oliver Proudfute, from
which he heard the chant of the women as they swathed and dressed the
corpse of the umquhile bonnet maker for the ceremony of next morning, of
which chant the following verses may be received as a modern imitation:
Viewless essence, thin and bare,
Well nigh melted into air,
Still with fondness hovering near
The earthly form thou once didst wear,
Pause upon thy pinion’s flight;
Be thy course to left or right,
Be thou doom’d to soar or sink,
Pause upon the awful brink.
To avenge the deed expelling
Thee untimely from thy dwelling,
Mystic force thou shalt retain
O’er the blood and o’er the brain.
When the form thou shalt espy
That darken’d on thy closing eye,
When the footstep thou shalt hear
That thrill’d upon thy dying ear,
Then strange sympathies shall wake,
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake,
The wounds renew their clotter’d flood,
And every drop cry blood for blood!
Hardened as he was, the physician felt reluctance to pass the threshold
of the man to whose death he had been so directly, though, so far as the
individual was concerned, mistakingly, accessory.
“Let me pass on, women,” he said, “my art can only help the living--the
dead are past our power.”
“Nay, but your patient is upstairs--the youngest orphan”--Dwining was
compelled to go into the house. But he was surprised when, the instant
he stepped over the threshold, the gossips, who were busied with the
dead body, stinted suddenly in their song, while one said to the others:
“In God’s name, who entered? That was a large gout of blood.”
“Not so,” said another voice, “it is a drop of the liquid balm.”
“Nay, cummer, it was blood. Again I say, who entered the house even
now?”
One looked out from the apartment into the little entrance, where
Dwining, under pretence of not distinctly seeing the trap ladder by
which he was to ascend into the upper part of this house of lamentation,
was delaying his progress purposely, disconcerted with what had reached
him of the conversation.
“Nay, it is only worthy Master Henbane Dwining,” answered one of the
sibyls.
“Only Master Dwining,” replied the one who had first spoken, in a tone
of acquiescence--“our best helper in need! Then it must have been balm
sure enough.”
“Nay,” said the other, “it may have been blood nevertheless; for
the leech, look you, when the body was found, was commanded by the
magistrates to probe the wound with his instruments, and how could the
poor dead corpse know that that was done with good purpose?”
“Ay, truly, cummer; and as poor Oliver often mistook friends for enemies
while he was in life, his judgment cannot be thought to have mended
now.”
Dwining heard no more, being now forced upstairs into a species of
garret, where Magdalen sat on her widowed bed, clasping to her bosom
her infant, which, already black in the face and uttering the gasping,
crowing sound which gives the popular name to the complaint, seemed on
the point of rendering up its brief existence. A Dominican monk sat near
the bed, holding the other child in his arms, and seeming from time to
time to speak a word or two of spiritual consolation, or intermingle
some observation on the child’s disorder.
The mediciner cast upon the good father a single glance, filled
With that ineffable disdain which men of science entertain against
interlopers. His own aid was instant and efficacious: he snatched the
child from the despairing mother, stripped its throat, and opened
a vein, which, as it bled freely, relieved the little patient
instantaneously. In a brief space every dangerous symptom disappeared,
and Dwining, having bound up the vein, replaced the infant in the arms
of the half distracted mother.
The poor woman’s distress for her husband’s loss, which had been
suspended during the extremity of the child’s danger, now returned on
Magdalen with the force of an augmented torrent, which has borne down
the dam dike that for a while interrupted its waves.
“Oh, learned sir,” she said, “you see a poor woman of her that you once
knew a richer. But the hands that restored this bairn to my arms must
not leave this house empty. Generous, kind Master Dwining, accept of
his beads; they are made of ebony and silver. He aye liked to have his
things as handsome as any gentleman, and liker he was in all his ways to
a gentleman than any one of his standing, and even so came of it.”
With these words, in a mute passion of grief she pressed to her breast
and to her lips the chaplet of her deceased husband, and proceeded to
thrust it into Dwining’s hands.
“Take it,” she said, “for the love of one who loved you well. Ah, he
used ever to say, if ever man could be brought back from the brink of
the grave, it must be by Master Dwining’s guidance. And his ain bairn
is brought back this blessed day, and he is lying there stark and stiff,
and kens naething of its health and sickness! Oh, woe is me, and walawa!
But take the beads, and think on his puir soul, as you put them through
your fingers, he will be freed from purgatory the sooner that good
people pray to assoilzie him.”
“Take back your beads, cummer; I know no legerdemain, can do no
conjuring tricks,” said the mediciner, who, more moved than perhaps his
rugged nature had anticipated, endeavoured to avoid receiving the ill
omened gift. But his last words gave offence to the churchman, whose
presence he had not recollected when he uttered them.
“How now, sir leech!” said the Dominican, “do you call prayers for the
dead juggling tricks? I know that Chaucer, the English maker, says of
you mediciners, that your study is but little on the Bible. Our mother,
the church, hath nodded of late, but her eyes are now opened to discern
friends from foes; and be well assured--”
“Nay, reverend father,” said Dwining, “you take me at too great
advantage. I said I could do no miracles, and was about to add that,
as the church certainly could work such conclusions, those rich beads
should be deposited in your hands, to be applied as they may best
benefit the soul of the deceased.”
He dropped the beads into the Dominican’s hand, and escaped from the
house of mourning.
“This was a strangely timed visit,” he said to himself, when he got safe
out of doors. “I hold such things cheap as any can; yet, though it is
but a silly fancy, I am glad I saved the squalling child’s life. But
I must to my friend Smotherwell, whom I have no doubt to bring to my
purpose in the matter of Bonthron; and thus on this occasion I shall
save two lives, and have destroyed only one.”