The Monastery

Chapter 6

The vesper service in the Monastery Church of Saint Mary's was now

over. The Abbot had disrobed himself of his magnificent vestures of

ceremony, and resumed his ordinary habit, which was a black gown, worn

over a white cassock, with a narrow scapulary; a decent and venerable

dress, which was calculated to set off to advantage the portly mien of

Abbot Boniface.

In quiet times no one could have filled the state of a mitred Abbot,

for such was his dignity, more respectably than this worthy prelate.

He had, no doubt, many of those habits of self-indulgence which men

are apt to acquire who live for themselves alone. He was vain,

moreover; and when boldly confronted, had sometimes shown symptoms of

timidity, not very consistent with the high claims which he preferred

as an eminent member of the church, or with the punctual deference

which he exacted from his religious brethren, and all who were placed

under his command. But he was hospitable, charitable, and by no means

of himself disposed to proceed with severity against any one. In

short, he would in other times have slumbered out his term of

preferment with as much credit as any other "purple Abbot," who lived

easily, but at the same time decorously--slept soundly, and did not

disquiet himself with dreams.

But the wide alarm spread through the whole Church of Rome by the

progress of the reformed doctrines, sorely disturbed the repose of

Abbot Boniface, and opened to him a wide field of duties and cares

which he had never so much as dreamed of. There were opinions to be

combated and refuted--practices to be inquired into--heretics to be

detected and punished--the fallen off to be reclaimed--the wavering to

be confirmed--scandal to be removed from the clergy, and the vigour of

discipline to be re-established. Post upon post arrived at the

Monastery of Saint Mary's--horses reeking, and riders exhausted--this

from the Privy Council, that from the Primate of Scotland, and this

other again from the Queen Mother, exhorting, approving, condemning,

requesting advice upon this subject, and requiring information upon

that.

These missives Abbot Boniface received with an important air of

helplessness, or a helpless air of importance,--whichever the reader

may please to term it, evincing at once gratified vanity, and profound

trouble of mind. The sharp-witted Primate of Saint Andrews had

foreseen the deficiencies of the Abbot of St. Mary's, and endeavoured

to provide for them by getting admitted into his Monastery as

Sub-Prior a brother Cistercian, a man of parts and knowledge, devoted

to the service of the Catholic Church, and very capable not only to

advise the Abbot on occasions of difficulty, but to make him sensible

of his duty in case he should, from good-nature or timidity, be

disposed to shrink from it.

Father Eustace played the same part in the Monastery as the old

general who, in foreign armies, is placed at the elbow of the Prince

of the Blood, who nominally commands in chief, on condition of

attempting nothing without the advice of his dry-nurse; and he shared

the fate of all such dry-nurses, being heartily disliked as well as

feared by his principal. Still, however, the Primate's intention was

fully answered. Father Eustace became the constant theme and often the

bugbear of the worthy Abbot, who hardly dared to turn himself in his

bed without, considering what Father Eustace would think of it. In

every case of difficulty, Father Eustace was summoned, and his opinion

asked; and no sooner was the embarrassment removed, than the Abbot's

next thought was how to get rid of his adviser. In every letter which

he wrote to those in power, he recommended Father Eustace to some high

church preferment, a bishopric or an abbey; and as they dropped one

after another, and were otherwise conferred, he began to think, as he

confessed to the Sacristan in the bitterness of his spirit, that the

Monastery of St. Mary's had got a life-rent lease of their Sub-Prior.

Yet more indignant he would have been, had he suspected that Father

Eustace's ambition was fixed upon his own mitre, which, from some

attacks of an apoplectic nature, deemed by the Abbot's friends to be

more serious than by himself, it was supposed might be shortly vacant.

But the confidence which, like other dignitaries, he reposed in his

own health, prevented Abbot Boniface from imagining that it held any

concatenation, with the motions of Father Eustace.

The necessity under which he found himself of consulting with his

grand adviser, in cases of real difficulty, rendered the worthy Abbot

particularly desirous of doing without him in all ordinary cases of

administration, though not without considering what Father Eustace

would have said of the matter. He scorned, therefore, to give a hint

to the Sub-Prior of the bold stroke by which he had dispatched Brother

Philip to Glendearg; but when the vespers came without his

reappearance he became a little uneasy, the more as other matters

weighed upon his mind. The feud with the warder or keeper of the

bridge threatened to be attended with bad consequences, as the man's

quarrel was taken up by the martial baron under whom he served; and

pressing letters of an unpleasant tendency had just arrived from the

Primate. Like a gouty man, who catches hold of his crutch while he

curses the infirmity that induces him to use if, the Abbot, however

reluctant, found himself obliged to require Eustace's presence, after

the service was over, in his house, or rather palace, which was

attached to, and made part of, the Monastery.

Abbot Boniface was seated in his high-backed chair, the grotesque

carved back of which terminated in a mitre, before a fire where two or

three large logs were reduced to one red glowing mass of charcoal. At

his elbow, on an oaken stand, stood the remains of a roasted capon, on

which his reverence had made his evening meal, flanked by a goodly

stoup of Bordeaux of excellent flavour. He was gazing indolently on

the fire, partly engaged in meditation on his past and present

fortunes, partly occupied by endeavouring to trace towers and steeples

in the red embers.

"Yes," thought the Abbot to himself, "in that red perspective I could

fancy to myself the peaceful towers of Dundrennan, where I passed my

life ere I was called to pomp and to trouble. A quiet brotherhood we

were, regular in our domestic duties; and when the frailties of

humanity prevailed over us, we confessed, and were absolved by each

other, and the most formidable part of the penance was the jest of the

convent on the culprit. I can almost fancy that I see the cloister

garden, and the pear-trees which I grafted with my own hands. And for

what have I changed all this, but to be overwhelmed with business

which concerns me not, to be called My Lord Abbot, and to be tutored

by Father Eustace? I would these towers were the Abbey of

Aberbrothwick, and Father Eustace the Abbot,--or I would he were in

the fire on any terms, so I were rid of him! The Primate says our Holy

Father, the Pope hath an adviser--I am sure he could not live a week

with such a one as mine. Then there is no learning what Father Eustace

thinks till you confess your own difficulties--No hint will bring

forth his opinion--he is like a miser, who will not unbuckle his purse

to bestow a farthing, until the wretch who needs it has owned his

excess of poverty, and wrung out the boon by importunity. And thus I

am dishonoured in the eyes of my religious brethren, who behold me

treated like a child which hath no sense of its own--I will bear it no

longer!--Brother Bennet,"--(a lay brother answered to his call)--"

tell Father Eustace that I need not his presence."

"I came to say to your reverence, that the holy father is entering

even now from the cloisters."

"Be it so," said the Abbot, "he is welcome,--remove these things--or

rather, place a trencher, the holy father may be a little hungry--yet,

no--remove them, for there is no good fellowship in him--Let the stoup

of wine remain, however, and place another cup."

The lay brother obeyed these contradictory commands in the way he

judged most seemly--he removed the carcass of the half-sacked capon,

and placed two goblets beside the stoup of Bourdeaux. At the same

instant entered Father Eustace.

He was a thin, sharp-faced, slight-made little man, whose keen grey

eyes seemed almost to look through the person to whom he addressed

himself. His body was emaciated not only with the fasts which he

observed with rigid punctuality, but also by the active and unwearied

exercise of his sharp and piercing intellect;--

A fiery soul, which working out its way,

Fretted the puny body to decay,

And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.

He turned with conventual reverence to the Lord Abbot; and as they

stood together, it was scarce possible to see a more complete

difference of form and expression. The good-natured rosy face and

laughing eye of the Abbot, which even his present anxiety could not

greatly ruffle, was a wonderful contrast to the thin pallid cheek and

quick penetrating glance of the monk, in which an eager and keen

spirit glanced through eyes to which it seemed to give supernatural

lustre.

The Abbot opened the conversation by motioning to his monk to take a

stool, and inviting to a cup of wine. The courtesy was declined with

respect, yet not without a remark, that the vesper service was past.

"For the stomach's sake, brother," said the Abbot, colouring a

little--"You know the text."

"It is a dangerous one," answered the monk, "to handle alone, or at

late hours. Out off from human society, the juice of the grape becomes

a perilous companion of solitude, and therefore I ever shun it."

Abbot Boniface had poured himself out a goblet which might hold about

half an English pint; but, either struck with the truth of the

observation, or ashamed to act in direct opposition to it, he suffered

it to remain untasted before him, and immediately changed the subject.

"The Primate hath written to us," said he, "to make strict search

within our bounds after the heretical persons denounced in this list,

who have withdrawn themselves from the justice which their opinions

deserve. It is deemed probable that they will attempt to retire to

England by our Borders, and the Primate requireth me to watch with

vigilance, and what not."

"Assuredly," said the monk, "the magistrate should not bear the sword

in vain--those be they that turn the world upside down--and doubtless

your reverend wisdom will with due diligence second the exertions of

the Right Reverend Father in God, being in the peremptory defence of

the Holy Church."

"Ay, but how is this to be done?" answered the Abbot; "Saint Mary aid

us! The Primate writes to me as if I were a temporal baron--a man

under command, having soldiers under him! He says, send forth--scour

the country--guard the passes--Truly these men do not travel as those

who would give their lives for nothing--the last who went south passed

the dry-march at the Riding-burn with an escort of thirty spears, as

our reverend brother the Abbot of Kelso did write unto us. How are

cowls and scapularies to stop the way?"

"Your bailiff is accounted a good man at arms, holy father," said

Eustace; "your vassals are obliged to rise for the defence of the Holy

Kirk--it is the tenure on which they hold their lands--if they will

not come forth for the Church which gives them bread, let their

possessions be given to others."

"We shall not be wanting," said the Abbot, collecting himself with

importance, "to do whatever may advantage Holy Kirk--thyself shall

hear the charge to our Bailiff and our officials--but here again is

our controversy with the warden of the bridge and the Baron of

Meigallot--Saint Mary! vexations do so multiply upon the House, and

upon the generation, that a man wots not where to turn to! Thou didst

say, Father Eustace, thou wouldst look into our evidents touching this

free passage for the pilgrims?"

"I have looked into the Chartulary of the House, holy father," said

Eustace, "and therein I find a written and formal grant of all duties

and customs payable at the drawbridge of Brigton, not only by

ecclesiastics of this foundation, but by every pilgrim truly designed

to accomplish his vows at this House, to the Abbot Allford, and the

monks of the House of Saint Mary in Kennaquhair, from that time and

for ever. The deed is dated on Saint Bridget's Even, in the year of

Redemption, 1137, and bears the sign and seal of the granter, Charles

of Meigallot, great-great-grandfather of this baron, and purports to

be granted for the safety of his own soul, and for the weal of the

souls of his father and mother, and of all his predecessors and

successors, being Barons of Meigallot."

"But he alleges," said the Abbot, "that the bridge-wards have been in

possession of these dues, and have rendered them available for more

than fifty years--and the baron threatens violence--meanwhile, the

journey of the pilgrims is interrupted, to the prejudice of their own

souls and the diminution of the revenues of Saint Mary. The Sacristan

advised us to put on a boat; but the warden, whom thou knowest to be a

godless man, has sworn the devil tear him, but that if they put on a

boat on the laird's stream, he will rive her board from board--and

then some say we should compound the claim for a small sum in silver."

Here the Abbot paused a moment for a reply, but receiving none, he

added, "But what thinkest thou, Father Eustace? why art thou silent?"

"Because I am surprised at the question which the Lord Abbot of Saint

Mary's asks at the youngest of his brethren."

"Youngest in time of your abode with us, Brother Eustace," said the

Abbot, "not youngest in years, or I think in experience. Sub-Prior

also of this convent."

"I am astonished," continued Eustace, "that the Abbot of this

venerable house should ask of any one whether he can alienate the

patrimony of our holy and divine patroness, or give up to an

unconscientious, and perhaps, a heretic baron, the rights conferred on

this church by his devout progenitor. Popes and councils alike

prohibit it--the honour of the living, and the weal of departed souls,

alike forbid it--it may not be. To force, if he dare use it, we must

surrender; but never by our consent should we see the goods of the

church plundered, with as little scruple as he would drive off a herd

of English beeves. Rouse yourself, Reverend father, and doubt nothing

but that the good cause shall prevail. Whet the spiritual sword, and

direct it against the wicked who would usurp our holy rights. Whet the

temporal sword, if it be necessary, and stir up the courage and zeal

of your loyal vassals."

The Abbot sighed deeply. "All this," he said, "is soon spoken by him

who hath to act it not; but--" He was interrupted by the entrance of

Bennet rather hastily. "The mule on which the Sacristan had set out in

the morning had returned," he said, "to the convent stable all over

wet, and with the saddle turned round beneath her belly."

"Sancta Maria!" said the Abbot, "our dear brother hath perished by the

way!"

"It may not be," said Eustace, hastily--"let the bell be tolled--cause

the brethren to get torches--alarm the village--hurry down to the

river--I myself will be the foremost."

The real Abbot stood astonished and agape, when at once he beheld his

office filled, and saw all which he ought to have ordered, going

forward at the dictates of the youngest monk in the convent. But ere

the orders of Eustace, which nobody dreamed of disputing, were carried

into execution, the necessity was prevented by the sudden apparition

of the Sacristan, whose supposed danger excited all the alarm.