It is not texts will do it — Church artillery

Are silenced soon by real ordnance,

And canons are but vain opposed to cannon.

Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate down

Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls,

And quaff your long-saved hogsheads — Turn them out

Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall,

And they will venture for’t. —

Old play.

The Abbot received his counsellor with a tremulous eagerness of welcome, which announced to the Sub-Prior an extreme agitation of spirits, and the utmost need of good counsel. There was neither mazer-dish nor standing-cup upon the little table, at the elbow of his huge chair of state; his beads alone lay there, and it seemed as if he had been telling them in his extremity of distress. Beside the beads was placed the mitre of the Abbot, of an antique form, and blazing with precious stones, and the rich and highly-embossed crosier rested against the same table.

The Sacristan and old Father Nicholas had followed the Sub-Prior into the Abbot’s apartment, perhaps with the hope of learning something of the important matter which seemed to be in hand. — They were not mistaken; for, after having ushered in the Sub-Prior, and being themselves in the act of retiring, the Abbot made them a signal to remain.

“My brethren,” he said, “it is well known to you with what painful zeal we have overseen the weighty affairs of this house committed to our unworthy hand — your bread hath been given to you, and your water hath been sure — I have not wasted the revenues of the Convent on vain pleasures, as hunting or hawking, or in change of rich cope or alb, or in feasting idle bards and jesters, saving those who, according to old wont, were received in time of Christmas and Easter. Neither have I enriched either mine own relations nor strange women, at the expense of the Patrimony.”

“There hath not been such a Lord Abbot,” said Father Nicholas, “to my knowledge, since the days of Abbot Ingelram, who ——”

At that portentous word, which always preluded a long story, the Abbot broke in.

“May God have mercy on his soul! — we talk not of him now. — What I would know of ye, my brethren, is, whether I have, in your mind, faithfully discharged the duties of mine office?”

“There has never been subject of complaint,” answered the Sub-Prior.

The Sacristan, more diffuse, enumerated the various acts of indulgence and kindness which the mild government of Abbot Boniface had conferred on the brotherhood of Saint Mary’s — the indulgentiae — the gratias — the biberes-the weekly mess of boiled almonds — the enlarged accommodation of the refectory — the better arrangement of the cellarage — the improvement of the revenue of the Monastery — the diminution of the privations of the brethren.

“You might have added, my brother,” said the Abbot, listening with melancholy acquiescence to the detail of his own merits, “that I caused to be built that curious screen, which secureth the cloisters from the north-east wind. — But all these things avail nothing — As we read in holy Maccabee, Capta est civitas per voluntatem Dei. It hath cost me no little thought, no common toil, to keep these weighty matters in such order as you have seen them — there was both barn and binn to be kept full — Infirmary, dormitory, guest-hall, and refectory, to be looked to — processions to be made, confessions to be heard, strangers to be entertained, veniae to be granted or refused; and I warrant me, when every one of you was asleep in your cell, the Abbot hath lain awake for a full hour by the bell, thinking how these matters might be ordered seemly and suitably.”

“May we ask, reverend my lord,” said the Sub-Prior, “what additional care has now been thrown upon you, since your discourse seems to point that way?”

“Marry, this it is,” said the Abbot. “The talk is not now of biberes,69 or of caritas, or of boiled almonds, but of an English band coming against us from Hexham, commanded by Sir John Foster; nor is it of the screening us from the east wind, but how to escape Lord James Stewart, who cometh to lay waste and destroy with his heretic soldiers.”

“I thought that purpose had been broken by the feud between Semple and the Kennedies,” said the Sub-Prior, hastily.

“They have accorded that matter at the expense of the church as usual,” said the Abbot; “the Earl of Cassilis is to have the teind-sheaves of his lands, which were given to the house of Crossraguel, and he has stricken hands with Stewart, who is now called Murray. — Principes convenerunt unum adversus Dominum. — There are the letters.”

The Sub-Prior took the letters, which had come by an express messenger from the Primate of Scotland, who still laboured to uphold the tottering fabric of the system under which he was at length buried, and, stepping towards the lamp, read them with an air of deep and settled attention — the Sacristan and Father Nicholas looked as helplessly at each other, as the denizens of the poultry-yard when the hawk soars over it. The Abbot seemed bowed down with the extremity of sorrowful apprehension, but kept his eye timorously fixed on the Sub-Prior, as if striving to catch some comfort from the expression of his countenance. When at length he beheld that, after a second intent perusal of the letters, he remained still silent and full of thought, he asked him in an anxious tone, “What is to be done?”

“Our duty must be done,” answered the Sub-Prior, “and the rest is in the hands of God.”

“Our duty — our duty?” answered the Abbot, impatiently; “doubtless we are to do our duty; but what is that duty? or how will it serve us? — Will bell, book, and candle, drive back the English heretics? or will Murray care for psalms and antiphonars? or can I fight for the Halidome, like Judas Maccabeus, against those profane Nicanors? or send the Sacristan against this new Holofernes, to bring back his head in a basket?”

“True, my Lord Abbot,” said the Sub-Prior, “we cannot fight with carnal weapons, it is alike contrary to our habit and vow; but we can die for our Convent and for our Order. Besides, we can arm those who will and can fight. The English are but few in number, trusting, as it would seem, that they will be joined by Murray, whose march has been interrupted. If Foster, with his Cumberland and Hexham bandits, ventures to march into Scotland, to pillage and despoil our House, we will levy our vassals, and, I trust, shall be found strong enough to give him battle.”

“In the blessed name of Our Lady,” said the Abbot, “think you that I am Petrus Eremita, to go forth the leader of an host?”

“Nay,” said the Sub-Prior, “let some man skilled in war lead our people — there is Julian Avenel, an approved soldier.”

“But a scoffer, a debauched person, and, in brief, a man of Belial,” quoth the Abbot.

“Still,” said the monk, “we must use his ministry in that to which he has been brought up. We can guerdon him richly, and indeed I already know the price of his service. The English, it is expected, will presently set forth, hoping here to seize upon Piercie Shafton, whose refuge being taken with us, they make the pretext of this unheard-of inroad.”

“Is it even so?” said the Abbot; “I never judged that his body of satin and his brain of feathers boded us much good.”

“Yet we must have his assistance, if possible,” said the Sub-Prior; “he may interest in our behalf the great Piercie, of whose friendship he boasts, and that good and faithful Lord may break Foster’s purpose. I will despatch the jackman after him with all speed. — Chiefly, however, I trust to the military spirit of the land, which will not suffer peace to be easily broken on the frontier. Credit me, my lord, it will bring to our side the hands of many, whose hearts may have gone astray after strange doctrines. The great chiefs and barons will be ashamed to let the vassals of peaceful monks fight unaided against the old enemies of Scotland.”

“It may be,” said the Abbot, “that Foster will wait for Murray, whose purpose hitherward is but delayed for a short space.”

“By the rood, he will not,” said the Sub-Prior; “we know this Sir John Foster — a pestilent heretic, he will long to destroy the church — born a Borderer, he will thirst to plunder her of her wealth — a Border-warden, he will be eager to ride in Scotland. There are too many causes to urge him on. If he joins with Murray, he will have at best but an auxiliary’s share of the spoil — if he comes hither before him, he will reckon on the whole harvest of depredation as his own. Julian Avenel also has, as I have heard, some spite against Sir John Foster; they will fight, when they meet, with double determination. — Sacristan, send for our bailiff. — Where is the roll of fencible men liable to do suit and service to the Halidome? — Send off to the Baron of Meigallot; he can raise threescore horse and better — Say to him the Monastery will compound with him for the customs of his bridge, which have been in controversy, if he will show himself a friend at such a point. — And now, my lord, let us compute our possible numbers, and those of the enemy, that human blood be not spilled in vain — Let us therefore calculate ——”

“My brain is dizzied with the emergency,” said the poor Abbot —“I am not, I think, more a coward than others, so far as my own person is concerned; but speak to me of marching and collecting soldiers, and calculating forces, and you may as well tell of it to the youngest novice of a nunnery. But my resolution is taken. — Brethren,” he said, rising up, and coming forward with that dignity which his comely person enabled him to assume, “hear for the last time the voice of your Abbot Boniface. I have done for you the best that I could; in quieter times I had perhaps done better, for it was for quiet that I sought the cloister, which has been to me a place of turmoil, as much as if I had sate in the receipt of custom, or ridden forth as leader of an armed host. But now matters turn worse and worse, and I, as I grow old, am less able to struggle with them. Also, it becomes me not to hold a place, whereof the duties, through my default or misfortune, may be but imperfectly filled by me. Wherefore I have resolved to demit this mine high office, so that the order of these matters may presently devolve upon Father Eustatius here present, our well-beloved Sub-Prior; and I now rejoice that he hath not been provided according to his merits elsewhere, seeing that I well hope he will succeed to the mitre and staff which it is my present purpose to lay down.”

“In the name of Our Lady, do nothing hastily, my lord!” said Father Nicholas —&............