Part 18 (1/2)

_Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name?

_Lucifer._ Abelard!

_Monks._ Did he drink hard?

_Lucifer._ O, no! Not he!

He was a dry old fellow, Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow.

There he stood, Lowering at us in sullen mood, As if he had come into Brittany Just to reform our brotherhood!

(_A roar of laughter_.)

But you see It never would do!

For some of us knew a thing or two, In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys!

For instance, the great ado With old Fulbert's niece, The young and lovely Heloise!

_Friar John._ Stop there, if you please, Till we drink to the fair Heloise.

_All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise!

(_The Chapel-bell tolls_.)

_Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such a.s.ses As to keep up the fas.h.i.+on of midnight ma.s.ses?

_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, Who is gifted with most miraculous powers Of getting up at all sorts of hours, And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, Of creeping silently out of his cell To take a pull at that hideous bell; So that all the monks who are lying awake May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, And adapted to his peculiar weakness!

_Friar John._ From frailty and fall--

_All._ Good Lord, deliver us all!

_Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, Flas.h.i.+ng it into our sleepy eyes, Merely to say it is time to arise.

But enough of that. Go on, if you please, With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys.

_Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pa.s.s That, half in fun and half in malice, One Sunday at Ma.s.s We put some poison into the chalice.

But, either by accident or design, Peter Abelard kept away From the chapel that day, And a poor, young friar, who in his stead Drank the sacramental wine, Fell on the steps of the altar, dead!

But look! do you see at the window there That face, with a look of grief and despair, That ghastly face, as of one in pain?

_Monks._ Who? where?

_Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again.

_Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious Siebald the Refectorarius.

That fellow is always playing the scout, Creeping and peeping and prowling about; And then he regales The Abbot with Scandalous tales.

_Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers Telling scandalous tales of the others?

Out upon him, the lazy loon!

I would put a stop to that pretty soon, In a way he should rue it.

_Monks_. How shall we do it?