*CHAPTER V.*
_*IN ELSTOW ABBEY.*_
Elstow is probably connected in the minds of most people with the nameof John Bunyan only. But long before the time of the Puritan tinkerElstow had a history and a renown of its own. Here Judith, niece of theConqueror and wife of Waltheof, Earl of Northampton and Huntingdon, theSaxon hero and martyr, had founded an abbey of Benedictine nuns,endowing it with many broad acres. The stately abbey church stillremains in part, and is used as the parish church, though much shorn ofits beauty; for the central tower, chancel, and Ladychapel have alldisappeared, and the nave only is left. The Lady de Breaute and herattendant dismounted from their palfreys in the outer yard, beyond whichmen were not allowed to penetrate, and whence the grooms returned toBedford with the horses. The servants of the convent approached, headedby the ancient steward. He recognized the wife of the Robber Baron, butreceived her with a low obeisance; for he knew her to be a dutifulservant of the Church, and one who protested, as far as in her lay,against her husband's outrages on church and monastery. Informing herthat the office had already commenced in the church, and that thearchdeacon would address the congregation when vespers were over, he ledthem into the crowded nave.
It was now late in the afternoon, and already dusk within the depths ofthe severe Norman church. The narrow windows admitted but little light,and there were no lamps burning in the bare, unfurnished nave, which onan occasion like the present was thrown open to the public, who couldlisten to the offices chanted by the nuns within the massive screen,beyond which the _externs_ were not allowed to penetrate. On the westside of the screen a small temporary platform or pulpit had beenerected.
From within the choir, behind the screen, came the solemn sound of thesisters' voices, chanting vespers to Gregorian tones, unaccompanied byany instrumental music, and rolling thrillingly through the echoingchurch. As she knelt in the dim light Margaret felt almost happy. Acalm, a peace, such as she had not known for months, stole over hersomewhat weak and susceptible nature as she listened to the singing inthe gloomy twilight of the grand church, and it fanned the ray of hopewhich her husband's professed penitence had kindled in her weary heart.Nor was Beatrice Mertoun, whose opportunities of worship since she hadbeen at Bedford had been confined to attendance at the tiny chapel atSt. Thomas-at-bridge, unimpressed.
The office over, the Archdeacon of Northampton, Martin de Pateshulle,took his stand on the little platform by the screen and began hissermon. It was addressed, not to the nuns in the choir behind, but tothe lay-folk gathered in the nave before him. His subject--a favouriteone with ecclesiastics of all ages--was the persecution of the Church;his text, so to speak, was the evil-doings of Fulke de Breaute. Ofcourse he was unaware of the presence of the latter's unhappy wife, orhe would not have touched so directly on the personal character of theRobber Baron, nor enlarged so particularly on the destruction of St.Paul's Church and the raid upon the Abbey of St. Alban. Finally, herose to a passion of indignation and stern vengeance in denouncing theperpetrator of these outrages, and concluded in a differentkey--supplicating divine aid for Zion in her bondage, and describing theChurch under forms of scriptural imagery much employed by the preachersof the time.
When the discourse was ended the congregation of _externs_ passed out ofthe nave and into the outer court to the abbey gateway. But the LadyMargaret made her way to the lodgings of the abbess at the south-westcorner of the church.
The foundation of Judith had risen in importance, and was now one of theprincipal religious houses in the neighbourhood. The abbess was ofnoble birth, and the convent was largely composed of ladies belonging tothe county families, if we may believe the chronicle of names which hascome down to us. In later days, just prior to the dissolution, thesereligious ladies waxed somewhat secular in their mode of life, and drewdown upon them the stern reproof of their bishop; but in the thirteenthcentury Elstow Abbey retained most of its proper character and strictdiscipline. In so important a house, owning such wide estates, theabbess had many secular rights, duties, and privileges to occupy herwithout, so a prioress was responsible for the internal arrangement andorder. To the abbess it fell, as the dignified head of the house, toreceive visitors and to exercise hospitality. To the abbess LadyMargaret accordingly presented herself, that she might gain entrance tothe convent, and share, during the archdeacon's special services, in thelife of the nuns, as far as might be permitted to an outsider. Alay-sister, the portress of the abbess's lodgings, conducted LadyMargaret to the parlour or room open to guests. The dignified lady whohad for some years so discreetly ruled at Elstow Abbey had just returnedfrom the evening office, and received her visitor while still clad inher choir habit.
"Black was her garb, her rigid rule Reformed on Benedictine school; Her cheek was pale, her form was spare; Vigils and penitence austere Had early quenched the light of youth."
Above the long black robe and the scapulary, which formed the ordinarymonastic dress of Benedictine nuns, she wore a cowl or hood similar tothat used by the monks of the order and worn by the nuns in church. Inher right hand she carried her pastoral staff, and the third finger ofher left hand was adorned by a massive gold ring--the symbol of herprofession as the spouse of Christ.
The abbess advanced to meet Lady Margaret with much cordiality, for thelatter's sad history was well known to her; and all persons of whateverecclesiastical degree who were acquainted with it felt sympathy and pityfor her who was the wife, against her will, of the Church's deadlyenemy.
"Lady of Bedford Castle," she said, "you are welcome to our abbey ofHelenstowe, and to the protection of Our Lady and the Most HolyTrinity,"--for it was by this latter dedication that the house was thenknown.
As she spoke the nun made a gesture of benediction, and the LadyMargaret a low reverence of respect.
"Reverend mother," she replied, "to enter your sanctified dwelling andto pray in your holy church is indeed a privilege which lessens for methe remembrance of the many burdens which I have already borne and thedread expectation of the many sorrows which are still before me."
"Ah, my daughter," exclaimed the abbess, "you have already been in thechurch and joined in the holy office? Alas that it has been so, andthat on your ears have fallen the words of our venerable Father Martin!He knew not of your presence, or he would have chosen another theme."
The words of the preacher had reached the nuns in the choir on thefarther side of the screen, and they had heard that denunciation ofFulke de Breaute by Martin de Pateshulle which had thrilled all who hadlistened to it.
"It is indeed true, venerable abbess," replied the lady; "but no oneknows better than your unworthy servant that the deeds of my lord haveindeed deserved the just vengeance of Heaven. But I have come toentreat the prayers of yourself and of your holy sisters that the firstsigns of a repentance tardily begun may bear fruit."
The unhappy lady proceeded to recount to the abbess Fulke's dream of thepreceding night, and the nun gave her comfort and encouragement.
"Reverend mother," said Margaret, "your peaceful words fall like balm ona weary heart. Suffer me, I pray, to remain awhile under this holyroof, that I may share in the ministration of Father Martin, and alsofor a time become, as it were, a dweller in this holy house."
"My daughter," replied the abbess, "right gladly do I accede to yourrequest. Holy Church has ever been a consoler to those who labour andare heavy laden, and I doubt not but much peace shall come to you fromthe venerable father's exhortations. And indeed, that you may enjoy morefrequent opportunities of converse with him in the intervals between theoffices, I will arrange for you to be my guest in my lodgings, insteadof sharing that portion of the abbey buildings which has been set asidefor the _extern_ women; for you know full well that Father Martin lodgesin the priest's chamber in these lodgings, as no priest may enterfurther into the abbey except when engaged in the sacred office."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears at
the abbess's kind words.
"Mother," she said, "I am all too unworthy of your goodness andhospitality. Who am I, alas! that you should treat me thus?"
"My daughter, you are sorrowful; that is enough. To all who are inmisery does Holy Church hold out her arms. Enter in and find peace,"she added, with a sign of benediction.
The Lady Margaret shared the abbess's supper later in the evening. Thearchdeacon himself and the abbess's chaplain--that is to say, one of thesisters specially selected as her companion or secretary, and who borethat title of office--were the only other guests.
After the meal the Lady Margaret had an opportunity of unburdening hermind to Martin de Pateshulle, and of relating her story. The goodpriest was able to add further cheering suggestions to those alreadymade by the abbess. Comforted and thankful, at the conclusion of theconversation the lady rose, and said,--
"Venerable father and reverend mother, thanks to your kind words I feelless heart-sick than I have been for many a long day. I pray you now topermit me to retire into the church, and there pray and meditate inthankfulness ere begins the hour of compline."
The abbess acceded, volunteering herself to accompany her. The twowomen passed out into the dark and silent cloisters, which ran along thesouth side of the nave of the church. Up and down the pavement, insilent meditation, paced here and there in the gloom a
Pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypress lawn."
The abbess led her companion along the northern side, or _walk_ as itwas called, and entered the church by the door into the south transept;for no opening was allowed to exist in the close screen shutting off thenave, which was occasionally open to the public. Into the chancel andthe transepts were permitted to enter none but the officiating clergyand the sisters themselves, or women introduced by authority.
Leaving the transept, they paused for a moment beneath the centraltower, and the abbess drew her monastic cowl over her head. Save forthe faint glow of a few lamps before the images of the saints, thechurch was almost dark. At the extreme end of the chancel, before thehigh altar, above which the blessed sacrament was deposited forveneration in a closed tabernacle or shrine, burned one solitary lamp.
The abbess had happened to stop close to the massive Norman pier whichsupported the south-eastern angle of the great tower above them. Infront of this pier stood a more than life-size figure of St. Paul. Butthe uplifted right hand was empty, and the sword it should have graspedwas carefully laid at its feet.
"See, mother," cried Lady Margaret, "the sword has fallen from the handof the blessed apostle!"
"Nay," replied the abbess, "I removed it with my own hand. On that evilday when we heard that Sir Fulke de Breaute had destroyed the fairchurch of St. Paul at Bedford, I vowed to the saints that his statue inour church should not bear the sword again till vengeance had been takenupon the destroyer."
The unhappy wife covered her face with her hands with a low moan.
"May it be the vengeance of a true repentance!" she ejaculated.
The abbess laid her hand soothingly on her head.
"Pardon me, my daughter," she said, "I should not have told you of thevow."
They passed on through the choir of the nuns, whose stalls occupied thecentral crossing under the tower and a portion of the chancel, andapproached the high altar. At the foot of the steps a black-robedfigure knelt motionless in prayer.
"See," whispered Lady Margaret, "one of the sisters is here already!"
"Nay," replied the abbess; "she is not one of our sisters. She is ayoung damsel of the neighbourhood who has come to our retreat and hascraved permission to wear for the time the habit of our novices. Poorchild, she is in sore distress! It is sad to see one so young and fairthus cast down. Her talk is all of embracing the religious life. But avocation is not given to all damsels of lovely face and form. God hasfor each woman her work and her duty. Some must perchance be wives andmothers."
The abbess paused. A faint smile flickered over her still handsome faceas her thoughts wandered for a brief moment, even in the precincts ofher abbey church, back to bygone days when she, too, had been a youngand high-born beauty.
"The damsel," she continued, returning to the present, "is evidently insore perplexity. She has had much talk with her uncle, the reveredarchdeacon. Perchance you know her. Her name is--"
At this moment the kneeling girl, aroused by the sound of whisperingbehind her, looked round, and perceiving the abbess, rose and approachedto make an obeisance. The sad face, marble-like in its pallor, whichappeared above the black robes of a novice, was that of Aliva dePateshulle.
The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle Page 5