IV
When the door of his cell had fairly closed behind the captain and the Viscount, the Abbot made a sign that all should gather round him. For eight months he had not been seen in choir, and for many days disease and weakness had imprisoned him in his bed; but, as his spiritual family pressed forward, a measure of strength returned to him. Perhaps it was the excitement; perhaps it was supernatural assistance. He rose slowly to his feet and, leaning on his crozier, began:
"Carissimi, nolite peregrinari in fervore, qui ad tentationem vobis fit, quasi novi aliquid contingat: sed communicantes Christi passionibus gaudete, ut in revelatione gloriae ejus gaudeatis exsultantes."
The Abbot's eye rested upon Brother Cypriano, the least lettered of the lay-monks, and, for Brother Cypriano's benefit, he sought to turn St. Peter's words into the vernacular.
"'Most beloved, do not think strange this fiery trial which comes to try you, as if some new thing were happening to you: but, sharing in the sufferings of Christ, rejoice, so that at the revelation of his glory you may rejoice with great joy.'"
His translation did not wholly satisfy the Abbot, and he sought to mend it. "Nolite peregrinari," he repeated. "Brother Cypriano, a peregrinus is one who comes from a foreign land. If a peregrinus from China should land in Portugal, he would find many of our most familiar customs new and strange. Nolite peregrinari. It is as though Saint Peter would say to us all to-night: 'My beloved, men are smiting you and driving you forth from your only shelter. Why are you surprised? Do not stand like peregrini gaping and staring, as Greeks might gape and stare at Barbarians. This is not a strange thing: it is the old way, the natural way of the world with our Lord and with his own.' If He suffered, shall not we suffer? Non est servus major domino suo: 'A servant is not greater than his Lord.' Yes, Saint Peter, after all, is only echoing our divine Lord's own words. Beati estis cum maledixerint vobis, et persecuti vos fuerint, et dixerint omne malum adversum vos mentientes, propter me: gaudete et exsultate quoniam merces vestra copiosa est in coelis: sic enim persecuti sunt prophetas qui fuerunt ante vos. 'Blessed are ye when they shall revile you and shall persecute you, and shall falsely speak all that is evil against you for My sake: be glad and rejoice, for abundant is your reward in heaven; for so they persecuted the prophets which were before you.'"
The aged man's voice became almost sonorous as he rolled forth the Latin words. He so pronounced the vowels that one thought of bells, some silvern, some of bronze. Most of his hearers had extinguished the lamps and candles which they still held in their hands: but here and there a flame still flickered. Unconsciously they had fallen into such groups and attitudes that the sable monks, with the white and golden Abbot in their midst, might have stepped down from some painted and gilded altar-piece of the fourteenth century. For a brief spell the venerable Abbot continued comforting his children, striving to subdue their worldly anger and to lift their dire trouble to the height of the Cross. He knew the whole of the New Testament by heart, in Latin, and as he had begun his exhortation with words of Saint Peter, he went on quoting from the letters of that apostle only.
"Et quis est qui vobis noceat?" he demanded. "'Who is he that can hurt you?' Humiliamini sub potenti manu Dei, ut vos exaltet in tempore visitationis; omnem sollicitudinem vestram projicientes in eum, quoniam ipsi cura est de vobis. 'Humble yourself under God's mighty hand, that He may exalt you in the time of visitation; casting upon Him all your care, because He careth for you.'"
Growing fatigued at last, he sat down and became fully conscious for the first time of his miter and crozier and cope. Praying Father Isidoro to divest him of this magnificence, he seemed to recover strength again as he faced the fathers clad simply in his habit with a gold cross upon his breast. With the laying aside of his pomps his manner became more intimate and free.
"I have been preparing," he said, "for this blow. The characters of those men who have struck us left me little hope. Dom Pedro's advisers are taking a leaf from the book of the English King Henry the Eighth. They want money so as to carry on a spendthrift government, and they want lands and great houses so as to create a new aristocracy which will maintain them in power. Therefore the monasteries must be besmirched by false accusations and God must be robbed."
"But, my father, we shall resist," broke out Brother Cypriano, clenching his enormous hands.
The Abbot shook his head sadly.
"No," he said, "there can only be one end. We are men of peace, not of blood. In my weakness and sickness our Lord has seemed to open my eyes to the future. Saint Peter's words might be mine: Certus quod velox est deposito tabernaculi mei secundum quod et Dominus noster Jesus Christus significavit mihi. I am 'certain that the laying down of my tabernacle is at hand, as our Lord Jesus Christ also hath signified to me.' Fathers and brethren, to-morrow will see the end of this community. For more than three hundred years Saint Benedict's children have sought to live by his Holy Rule on this spot; but to-morrow ends all. We can do no more than frustrate the sacrilegious greed of this foreign Visconde and save our patrimony for Portugal."
Taken by themselves the Abbot's words would not have stifled discussion, and even the unconditional obedience they owed to him would not have held back the more militant monks from trying to defeat his will. But the unearthly light in the old man's eyes, which had so terrified the Viscount, beamed forth upon these men like a pillar of fire guiding them in God's way. Even the burly and unmystical Cypriano yielded to the spell. Accordingly no one felt that there was anything dictatorial in the Abbot's procedure when he took their assent for granted and passed quietly on to arrange the details of the community's last hours beneath its historic roofs.
After the Prior, the Cellarer, and two other monks had been consulted, it was agreed that the life of the monastery should proceed as if nothing had happened. Conformably to the Holy Rule, Matins were appointed to be sung at about two o'clock, so that Lauds could follow at break of day. In the order of the monks' Low Masses no alteration was made: but, for the High Mass, the Abbot asked all to pray that he might be given strength to pontificate. As for the inventory, it was decided to adhere to the Abbot's demands. Finally, the tiny town of Navares, four leagues away, was chosen as the first night's shelter after the exodus. In Navares the Cellarer had a kinsman, a corn-merchant, in whose house and barns some sort of lodgings could be found.
When the Abbot was lain down at last on his hard and narrow bed, the Prior would have had the throng withdraw: but the Abbot forbade him. He wished to speak, he said, to all the fathers and brothers in turn. One by one the monks knelt down beside the bed and kissed the wasted hand with love and reverence; and to each and every one he spoke some word of affectionate encouragement or counsel, and humbly asked their prayers.
Antonio was the last of the choir-monks to come forward. As he knelt down a hush fell upon all. Amidst the general affliction they had lacked time to think of Antonio's bitter trial: but when the Abbot spoke he put the thoughts of all into words.
"Father Antonio," he said, laying his old white hand on the young monk's curling black hair, "may our Lady of Perpetual Succor comfort you. For the present God does not suffer you to say your first Mass. But remember Saint Ignatius of Loyola, who, of his own will, prepared himself for a year before he presumed to offer the holy sacrifice. Your great day will come; and when it shall dawn, I pray you to offer that first Mass for my poor soul and for all who are standing here."
Antonio, deeply moved, was about to rise: but, as he lifted his head, he felt the Abbot's hand suddenly gripping his arm with superhuman strength. At the same time he saw the benign light which had beamed from the old eyes grow brighter and brighter, till the Abbot's whole face was transfigured and glorified. His brethren saw it too; and, by a common impulse, every one of them knelt down on the stones. At last the Abbot's voice began playing upon the tense silence, like an unseen hand on silver strings.
"My son," said the far-away, clear tones. "My son, rejoice. I was wrong. This is not the end. God clears my eyes. Long years must pass away; but I see our chapel swept and garnished. I see Antonio sitting once more in choir, doing the Work of God in his old place. I see him standing before the high altar. I see him holding up our great chalice. I see him offering the Holy Sacrifice for us all. Rejoice."
He ceased; and while all were still marveling at his prophecy the light quickly faded from the prophet's face. With closed eyes he sank wearily back upon his hard pillow. The Prior made a sign. Father Isidoro and a lay-brother remained to tend the sufferer; and, with full hearts and moving lips, the other monks passed out of the chamber one by one.