The course of true love never did run smooth.
SHAKSPEARE.
The ominous anxiety of our armourer had not played him false. When the
good glover parted with his intended son in law, after the judicial
combat had been decided, he found what he indeed had expected, that his
fair daughter was in no favourable disposition towards her lover. But
although he perceived that Catharine was cold, restrained, collected,
had cast away the appearance of mortal passion, and listened with a
reserve, implying contempt, to the most splendid description he could
give her of the combat in the Skinners’ Yards, he was determined not
to take the least notice of her altered manner, but to speak of her
marriage with his son Henry as a thing which must of course take place.
At length, when she began, as on a former occasion, to intimate that her
attachment to the armourer did not exceed the bounds of friendship, that
she was resolved never to marry, that the pretended judicial combat
was a mockery of the divine will, and of human laws, the glover not
unnaturally grew angry.
“I cannot read thy thoughts, wench; nor can I pretend to guess under
what wicked delusion it is that you kiss a declared lover, suffer him
to kiss you, run to his house when a report is spread of his death, and
fling yourself into his arms when you find him alone [alive]. All
this shows very well in a girl prepared to obey her parents in a match
sanctioned by her father; but such tokens of intimacy, bestowed on one
whom a young woman cannot esteem, and is determined not to marry, are
uncomely and unmaidenly. You have already been more bounteous of your
favours to Henry Smith than your mother, whom God assoilzie, ever was to
me before I married her. I tell thee, Catharine, this trifling with the
love of an honest man is what I neither can, will, nor ought to endure.
I have given my consent to the match, and I insist it shall take place
without delay, and that you receive Henry Wynd tomorrow, as a man whose
bride you are to be with all despatch.”
“A power more potent than yours, father, will say no,” replied
Catharine.
“I will risk it; my power is a lawful one, that of a father over a
child, and an erring child,” answered her father. “God and man allow of
my influence.”
“Then, may Heaven help us,” said Catharine; “for, if you are obstinate
in your purpose, we are all lost.”
“We can expect no help from Heaven,” said the glover, “when we act
with indiscretion. I am clerk enough myself to know that; and that your
causeless resistance to my will is sinful, every priest will inform
you. Ay, and more than that, you have spoken degradingly of the blessed
appeal to God in the combat of ordeal. Take heed! for the Holy Church
is awakened to watch her sheepfold, and to extirpate heresy by fire and
steel; so much I warn thee of.”
Catharine uttered a suppressed exclamation; and, with difficulty
compelling herself to assume an appearance of composure, promised her
father that, if he would spare her any farther discussion of the subject
till tomorrow morning, she would then meet him, determined to make a
full discovery of her sentiments.
With this promise Simon Glover was obliged to remain contented, though
extremely anxious for the postponed explanation. It could not be levity
or fickleness of character which induced his daughter to act with so
much apparent inconsistency towards the man of his choice, and whom she
had so lately unequivocally owned to be also the man of her own. What
external force there could exist, of a kind powerful enough to change
the resolutions she had so decidedly expressed within twenty-four hours,
was a matter of complete mystery.
“But I will be as obstinate as she can be,” thought the glover, “and she
shall either marry Henry Smith without farther delay or old Simon Glover
will know an excellent reason to the contrary.”
The subject was not renewed during the evening; but early on the next
morning, just at sun rising, Catharine knelt before the bed in which her
parent still slumbered. Her heart sobbed as if it would burst, and her
tears fell thick upon her father’s face. The good old man awoke, looked
up, crossed his child’s forehead, and kissed her affectionately.
“I understand thee, Kate,” he said; “thou art come to confession, and, I
trust, art desirous to escape a heavy penance by being sincere.”
Catharine was silent for an instant.
“I need not ask, my father, if you remember the Carthusian monk,
Clement, and his preachings and lessons; at which indeed you assisted so
often, that you cannot be ignorant men called you one of his converts,
and with greater justice termed me so likewise?”
“I am aware of both,” said the old man, raising himself on his elbow;
“but I defy foul fame to show that I ever owned him in any heretical
proposition, though I loved to hear him talk of the corruptions of the
church, the misgovernment of the nobles, and the wild ignorance of
the poor, proving, as it seemed to me, that the sole virtue of our
commonweal, its strength and its estimation, lay among the burgher
craft of the better class, which I received as comfortable doctrine, and
creditable to the town. And if he preached other than right doctrine,
wherefore did his superiors in the Carthusian convent permit it? If the
shepherds turn a wolf in sheep’s clothing into the flock, they should
not blame the sheep for being worried.”
“They endured his preaching, nay, they encouraged it,” said Catharine,
“while the vices of the laity, the contentions of the nobles, and
the oppression of the poor were the subject of his censure, and they
rejoiced in the crowds who, attracted to the Carthusian church,
forsook those of the other convents. But the hypocrites--for such they
are--joined with the other fraternities in accusing their preacher
Clement, when, passing from censuring the crimes of the state, he
began to display the pride, ignorance, and luxury of the churchmen
themselves--their thirst of power, their usurpation over men’s
consciences, and their desire to augment their worldly wealth.”
“For God’s sake, Catharine,” said her father, “speak within doors: your
voice rises in tone and your speech in bitterness, your eyes sparkle.
It is owing to this zeal in what concerns you no more than others
that malicious persons fix upon you the odious and dangerous name of a
heretic.”
“You know I speak no more than what is truth,” said Catharine, “and
which you yourself have avouched often.”
“By needle and buckskin, no!” answered the glover, hastily. “Wouldst
thou have me avouch what might cost me life and limb, land and goods?
For a full commission hath been granted for taking and trying heretics,
upon whom is laid the cause of all late tumults and miscarriages;
wherefore, few words are best, wench. I am ever of mind with the old
maker:
“Since word is thrall and thought is free, Keep well thy tongue, I
counsel thee.”
“The counsel comes too late, father,” answered Catharine, sinking down
on a chair by her father’s bedside. “The words have been spoken and
heard; and it is indited against Simon Glover, burgess in Perth, that he
hath spoken irreverent discourses of the doctrines of Holy Church.”
“As I live by knife and needle,” interrupted Simon, “it is a lie! I
never was so silly as to speak of what I understood not.”
“And hath slandered the anointed of the church, both regular and
secular,” continued Catharine.
“Nay, I will never deny the truth,” said the glover: “an idle word I may
have spoken at the ale bench, or over a pottle pot of wine, or in right
sure company; but else, my tongue is not one to run my head into peril.”
“So you think, my dearest father; but your slightest language has been
espied, your best meaning phrases have been perverted, and you are in
dittay as a gross railer against church and churchmen, and for holding
discourse against them with loose and profligate persons, such as the
deceased Oliver Proudfute, the smith Henry of the Wynd, and others, set
forth as commending the doctrines of Father Clement, whom they charge
with seven rank heresies, and seek for with staff and spear, to try him
to the death. But that,” said Catharine, kneeling, and looking upwards
with the aspect of one of those beauteous saints whom the Catholics have
given to the fine arts--“that they shall never do. He hath escaped from
the net of the fowler; and, I thank Heaven, it was by my means.”
“Thy means, girl--art thou mad?” said the amazed glover.
“I will not deny what I glory in,” answered Catharine: “it was by my
means that Conachar was led to come hither with a party of men and carry
off the old man, who is now far beyond the Highland line.”
“Thou my rash--my unlucky child!” said the glover, “hast dared to aid
the escape of one accused of heresy, and to invite Highlanders in arms
to interfere with the administration of justice within burgh? Alas!
thou hast offended both against the laws of the church and those of the
realm. What--what would become of us, were this known?”
“It is known, my dear father,” said the maiden, firmly--“known even to
those who will be the most willing avengers of the deed.”
“This must be some idle notion, Catharine, or some trick of those
cogging priests and nuns; it accords not with thy late cheerful
willingness to wed Henry Smith.”
“Alas! dearest father, remember the dismal surprise occasioned by his
reported death, and the joyful amazement at finding him alive; and deem
it not wonder if I permitted myself, under your protection, to say more
than my reflection justified. But then I knew not the worst, and thought
the danger exaggerated. Alas I was yesterday fearfully undeceived, when
the abbess herself came hither, and with her the Dominican. They showed
me the commission, under the broad seal of Scotland, for inquiring into
and punishing heresy; they showed me your name and my own in a list of
suspected persons; and it was with tears--real tears, that the abbess
conjured me to avert a dreadful fate by a speedy retreat into the
cloister, and that the monk pledged his word that you should not be
molested if I complied.”
“The foul fiend take them both for weeping crocodiles!” said the glover.
“Alas!” replied Catharine, “complaint or anger will little help us; but
you see I have had real cause for this present alarm.”
“Alarm! call it utter ruin. Alas! my reckless child, where was your
prudence when you ran headlong into such a snare?”
“Hear me, father,” said Catharine; “there is still one mode of safety
held out: it is one which I have often proposed, and for which I have in
vain supplicated your permission.”
“I understand you--the convent,” said her father. “But, Catharine, what
abbess or prioress would dare--”
“That I will explain to you, father, and it will also show the
circumstances which have made me seem unsteady of resolution to a
degree which has brought censure upon me from yourself and others. Our
confessor, old Father Francis, whom I chose from the Dominican convent
at your command--”
“Ay, truly,” interrupted the glover; “and I so counselled and commanded
thee, in order to take off the report that thy conscience was altogether
under the direction of Father Clement.”
“Well, this Father Francis has at different times urged and provoked me
to converse on such matters as he judged I was likely to learn something
of from the Carthusian preacher. Heaven forgive me my blindness! I fell
into the snare, spoke freely, and, as he argued gently, as one who would
fain be convinced, I even spoke warmly in defence of what I believed
devoutly. The confessor assumed not his real aspect and betrayed not his
secret purpose until he had learned all that I had to tell him. It was
then that he threatened me with temporal punishment and with eternal
condemnation. Had his threats reached me alone, I could have stood firm;
for their cruelty on earth I could have endured, and their power beyond
this life I have no belief in.”
“For Heaven’s sake!” said the glover, who was well nigh beside himself
at perceiving at every new word the increasing extremity of his
daughter’s danger, “beware of blaspheming the Holy Church, whose arms
are as prompt to strike as her ears are sharp to hear.”
“To me,” said the Maid of Perth, again looking up, “the terrors of the
threatened denunciations would have been of little avail; but when they
spoke of involving thee, my father, in the charge against me, I own
I trembled, and desired to compromise. The Abbess Martha, of Elcho
nunnery, being my mother’s kinswoman, I told her my distresses, and
obtained her promise that she would receive me, if, renouncing worldly
love and thoughts of wedlock, I would take the veil in her sisterhood.
She had conversation on the topic, I doubt not, with the Dominican
Francis, and both joined in singing the same song.
“‘Remain in the world,’ said they, ‘and thy father and thou shall be
brought to trial as heretics; assume the veil, and the errors of both
shall be forgiven and cancelled.’ They spoke not even of recantation
of errors of doctrine: all should be peace if I would but enter the
convent.”
“I doubt not--I doubt not,” said Simon: “the old glover is thought rich,
and his wealth would follow his daughter to the convent of Elcho, unless
what the Dominicans might claim as their own share. So this was thy call
to the veil, these thy objections to Henry Wynd?”
“Indeed, father, the course was urged on all hands, nor did my own
mind recoil from it. Sir John Ramorny threatened me with the powerful
vengeance of the young Prince, if I continued to repel his wicked suit;
and as for poor Henry, it is but of late that I have discovered, to
my own surprise--that--that I love his virtues more than I dislike his
faults. Alas! the discovery has only been made to render my quitting the
world more difficult than when I thought I had thee only to regret.”
She rested her head on her hand and wept bitterly.
“All this is folly,” said the glover. “Never was there an extremity so
pinching, but what a wise man might find counsel if he was daring enough
to act upon it. This has never been the land or the people over whom
priests could rule in the name of Rome, without their usurpation being
controlled. If they are to punish each honest burgher who says the
monks love gold, and that the lives of some of them cry shame upon the
doctrines they teach, why, truly, Stephen Smotherwell will not lack
employment; and if all foolish maidens are to be secluded from the world
because they follow the erring doctrines of a popular preaching friar,
they must enlarge the nunneries and receive their inmates on slighter
composition. Our privileges have been often defended against the Pope
himself by our good monarchs of yore, and when he pretended to interfere
with the temporal government of the kingdom, there wanted not a Scottish
Parliament who told him his duty in a letter that should have been
written in letters of gold. I have seen the epistle myself, and though
I could not read it, the very sight of the seals of the right reverend
prelates and noble and true barons which hung at it made my heart leap
for joy. Thou shouldst not have kept this secret, my child--but it is no
time to tax thee with thy fault. Go down, get me some food. I will mount
instantly, and go to our Lord Provost and have his advice, and, as I
trust, his protection and that of other true hearted Scottish nobles,
who will not see a true man trodden down for an idle word.”
“Alas! my father,” said Catharine, “it was even this impetuosity which I
dreaded. I knew if I made my plaint to you there would soon be fire and
feud, as if religion, though sent to us by the Father of peace, were fit
only to be the mother of discord; and hence I could now--even now--give
up the world, and retire with my sorrow among the sisters of Elcho,
would you but let me be the sacrifice. Only, father--comfort poor Henry
when we are parted for ever; and do not--do not let him think of me too
harshly. Say Catharine will never vex him more by her remonstrances, but
that she will never forget him in her prayers.”
“The girl hath a tongue that would make a Saracen weep,” said her
father, his own eyes sympathising with those of his daughter. “But I
will not yield way to this combination between the nun and the priest to
rob me of my only child. Away with you, girl, and let me don my clothes;
and prepare yourself to obey me in what I may have to recommend for your
safety. Get a few clothes together, and what valuables thou hast; also,
take the keys of my iron box, which poor Henry Smith gave me, and divide
what gold you find into two portions; put the one into a purse for
thyself, and the other into the quilted girdle which I made on purpose
to wear on journeys. Thus both shall be provided, in case fate should
sunder us; in which event, God send the whirlwind may take the withered
leaf and spare the green one! Let them make ready my horse instantly,
and the white jennet that I bought for thee but a day since, hoping to
see thee ride to St. John’s Kirk with maids and matrons, as blythe a
bride as ever crossed the holy threshold. But it skills not talking.
Away, and remember that the saints help those who are willing to help
themselves. Not a word in answer; begone, I say--no wilfullness now. The
pilot in calm weather will let a sea boy trifle with the rudder; but, by
my soul, when winds howl and waves arise, he stands by the helm himself.
Away--no reply.”
Catharine left the room to execute, as well as she might, the commands
of her father, who, gentle in disposition and devotedly attached to his
child, suffered her often, as it seemed, to guide and rule both herself
and him; yet who, as she knew, was wont to claim filial obedience and
exercise parental authority with sufficient strictness when the occasion
seemed to require an enforcement of domestic discipline.
While the fair Catharine was engaged in executing her father’s behests,
and the good old glover was hastily attiring himself, as one who was
about to take a journey, a horse’s tramp was heard in the narrow street.
The horseman was wrapped in his riding cloak, having the cape of it
drawn up, as if to hide the under part of his face, while his bonnet was
pulled over his brows, and a broad plume obscured his upper features.
He sprung from the saddle, and Dorothy had scarce time to reply to
his inquiries that the glover was in his bedroom, ere the stranger had
ascended the stair and entered the sleeping apartment. Simon, astonished
and alarmed, and disposed to see in this early visitant an apparitor or
sumner come to attach him and his daughter, was much relieved when, as
the stranger doffed the bonnet and threw the skirt of the mantle from
his face, he recognised the knightly provost of the Fair City, a visit
from whom at any time was a favour of no ordinary degree, but, being
made at such an hour, had something marvellous, and, connected with the
circumstances of the times, even alarming.
“Sir Patrick Charteris!” said the glover. “This high honour done to your
poor beadsman--”
“Hush!” said the knight, “there is no time for idle civilities. I came
hither because a man is, in trying occasions, his own safest page, and
I can remain no longer than to bid thee fly, good glover, since warrants
are to be granted this day in council for the arrest of thy daughter and
thee, under charge of heresy; and delay will cost you both your liberty
for certain, and perhaps your lives.”
“I have heard something of such a matter,” said the glover, “and was
this instant setting forth to Kinfauns to plead my innocence of this
scandalous charge, to ask your lordship’s counsel, and to implore your
protection.”
“Thy innocence, friend Simon, will avail thee but little before
prejudiced judges; my advice is, in one word, to fly, and wait for
happier times. As for my protection, we must tarry till the tide turns
ere it will in any sort avail thee. But if thou canst lie concealed for
a few days or weeks, I have little doubt that the churchmen, who, by
siding with the Duke of Albany in court intrigue, and by alleging
the decay of the purity of Catholic doctrine as the sole cause of the
present national misfortunes, have, at least for the present hour, an
irresistible authority over the King, will receive a check. In the mean
while, however, know that King Robert hath not only given way to this
general warrant for inquisition after heresy, but hath confirmed the
Pope’s nomination of Henry Wardlaw to be Archbishop of St. Andrews and
Primate of Scotland; thus yielding to Rome those freedoms and immunities
of the Scottish Church which his ancestors, from the time of Malcolm
Canmore, have so boldly defended. His brave fathers would have rather
subscribed a covenant with the devil than yielded in such a matter to
the pretensions of Rome.”
“Alas, and what remedy?”
“None, old man, save in some sudden court change,” said Sir Patrick.
“The King is but like a mirror, which, having no light itself, reflects
back with equal readiness any which is placed near to it for the
time. Now, although the Douglas is banded with Albany, yet the Earl is
unfavourable to the high claims of those domineering priests, having
quarrelled with them about the exactions which his retinue hath raised
on the Abbot of Arbroath. He will come back again with a high hand, for
report says the Earl of March hath fled before him. When he returns
we shall have a changed world, for his presence will control Albany;
especially as many nobles, and I myself, as I tell you in confidence,
are resolved to league with him to defend the general right. Thy exile,
therefore, will end with his return to our court. Thou hast but to seek
thee some temporary hiding place.”
“For that, my lord,” said the glover, “I can be at no loss, since I
have just title to the protection of the high Highland chief, Gilchrist
MacIan, chief of the Clan Quhele.”
“Nay, if thou canst take hold of his mantle thou needs no help of any
one else: neither Lowland churchman nor layman finds a free course of
justice beyond the Highland frontier.”
“But then my child, noble sir--my Catharine?” said the glover.
“Let her go with thee, man. The graddan cake will keep her white teeth
in order, the goat’s whey will make the blood spring to her cheek again,
which these alarms have banished and even the Fair Maiden of Perth may
sleep soft enough on a bed of Highland breckan.”
“It is not from such idle respects, my lord, that I hesitate,” said the
glover. “Catharine is the daughter of a plain burgher, and knows not
nicety of food or lodging. But the son of MacIan hath been for many
years a guest in my house, and I am obliged to say that I have observed
him looking at my daughter, who is as good as a betrothed bride, in a
manner that, though I cared not for it in this lodging in Curfew Street,
would give me some fear of consequences in a Highland glen, where I have
no friend and Conachar many.”
The knightly provost replied by a long whistle. “Whew! whew! Nay, in
that case, I advise thee to send her to the nunnery at Elcho, where the
abbess, if I forget not, is some relation of yours. Indeed, she said so
herself, adding, that she loved her kinswoman well, together with all
that belongs to thee, Simon.”
“Truly, my lord, I do believe that the abbess hath so much regard for
me, that she would willingly receive the trust of my daughter, and
my whole goods and gear, into her sisterhood. Marry, her affection is
something of a tenacious character, and would be loth to unloose its
hold, either upon the wench or her tocher.”
“Whew--whew!” again whistled the Knight of Kinfauns; “by the Thane’s
Cross, man, but this is an ill favoured pirn to wind: Yet it shall never
be said the fairest maid in the Fair City was cooped up in a convent,
like a kain hen in a cavey, and she about to be married to the bold
burgess Henry Wynd. That tale shall not be told while I wear belt and
spurs, and am called Provost of Perth.”
“But what remede, my lord?” asked the glover.
“We must all take our share of the risk. Come, get you and your daughter
presently to horse. You shall ride with me, and we’ll see who dare
gloom at you. The summons is not yet served on thee, and if they send
an apparitor to Kinfauns without a warrant under the King’s own hand,
I make mine avow, by the Red Rover’s soul! that he shall eat his
writ, both wax and wether skin. To horse--to horse! and,” addressing
Catharine, as she entered at the moment, “you too, my pretty maid--
“To horse, and fear not for your quarters; They thrive in law that trust
in Charters.”
In a minute or two the father and daughter were on horseback, both
keeping an arrow’s flight before the provost, by his direction, that
they might not seem to be of the same company. They passed the eastern
gate in some haste, and rode forward roundly until they were out of
sight. Sir Patrick followed leisurely; but, when he was lost to the view
of the warders, he spurred his mettled horse, and soon came up with the
glover and Catharine, when a conversation ensued which throws light upon
some previous passages of this history.