_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 fashion 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, Flashing 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?

_Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall, And open it suddenly when I call.

Then seize the villain by the hair, And hold him there, And punish him soundly, once for all.

_Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, We are told, Once caught the Devil by the nose!

_Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, But has no foundation whatsoever.

Quick! for I see his face again Glaring in at the window pane; Now! now! and do not spare your blows.

(FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ SIEBALD. _They beat him._)

_Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me?

_Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me!

_Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy!

_Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, Vim confer amorum Morum verorum, rorun.

Tu plena polorum!

_Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, Stretching out his trembling hand, Just as Abelard used to stand, The flash of his keen, black eyes Forerunning the thunder?

_The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the Abbot!

_Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise!

_Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon From the eyes of the dragon!

_Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, Lest you bring me into disgrace!

_Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse?

Is this a tavern and drinking-house?

Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, To pollute this convent with your revels?

Were Peter Damian still upon earth, To be shocked by such unG.o.dly mirth, He would write your names, with pen of gall, In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all!

Away, you drunkards! to your cells, And pray till you hear the matin-bells; You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul!

And as a penance mark each prayer With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; Nothing atones for such a sin But the blood that follows the discipline.

And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me Alone into the sacristy; You, who should be a guide to your brothers, And are ten times worse than all the others, For you I've a draught that has long been brewing You shall do a penance worth the doing!

Away to your prayers, then, one and all!

I wonder the very, convent wall Does not crumble and crush you in its fall!

THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY.

_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the moonlight._

_Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still, The moon is looking from yonder hill Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; The clouds have pa.s.sed away from her face, Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, Only the tender and quiet grace Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon!