Here Gerard made acquaintance with a monk1, who had constructed the great dial in the prior's garden, and a wheel for drawing water, and a winnowing3 machine for the grain, etc., and had ever some ingenious mechanism4 on hand. He had made several psalteries and two dulcimers, and was now attempting a set of regalles, or little organ for the choir5.
Now Gerard played the humble6 psaltery a little; but the monk touched that instrument divinely, and showed him most agreeably what a novice7 he was in music. He also illuminated8 finely, but could not write so beautifully as Gerard. Comparing their acquirements with the earnestness and simplicity9 of an age in which accomplishments10 implied a true natural bent11, Youth and Age soon became like brothers, and Gerard was pressed hard to stay that night. He consulted Denys, who assented12 with a rueful shrug13.
Gerard told his old new friend whither he was going, and described their late adventures, softening14 down the bolster15.
“Alack!” said the good old man, “I have been a great traveller in my day, but none molested16 me.” He then told him to avoid inns; they were always haunted by rogues17 and roysterers, whence his soul might take harm even did his body escape, and to manage each day's journey so as to lie at some peaceful monastery18; then suddenly breaking off and looking as sharp as a needle at Gerard, he asked him how long since he had been shriven? Gerard coloured up and replied feebly—
“Better than a fortnight.”
“And thou an exorcist! No wonder perils19 have overtaken thee. Come, thou must be assoiled out of hand.”
“Yes, father,” said Gerard, “and with all mine heart;” and was sinking down to his knees, with his hands joined, but the monk stopped him half fretfully—
“Not to me! not to me! not to me! I am as full of the world as thou or any be that lives in't. My whole soul it is in these wooden pipes, and sorry leathern stops, which shall perish—with them whose minds are fixed20 on such like vanities.”
“Dear father,” said Gerard, “they are for the use of the Church, and surely that sanctifies the pains and labour spent on them?”
“That is just what the devil has been whispering in mine ear this while,” said the monk, putting one hand behind his back and shaking his finger half threateningly, half playfully, at Gerard. “He was even so kind and thoughtful as to mind me that Solomon built the Lord a house with rare hangings, and that this in him was counted gracious and no sin. Oh! he can quote Scripture21 rarely. But I am not so simple a monk as you think, my lad,” cried the good father, with sudden defiance22, addressing not Gerard but—Vacancy. “This one toy finished, vigils, fasts, and prayers for me; prayers standing23, prayers lying on the chapel24 floor, and prayers in a right good tub of cold water.” He nudged Gerard and winked25 his eye knowingly. “Nothing he hates and dreads26 like seeing us monks27 at our orisons up to our chins in cold water. For corpus domat aqua. So now go confess thy little trumpery28 sins, pardonable in youth and secularity29, and leave me to mine, sweet to me as honey, and to be expiated30 in proportion.”
Gerard bowed his head, but could not help saying, “Where shall I find a confessor more holy and clement31?”
“In each of these cells,” replied the monk simply (they were now in the corridor) “there, go to Brother Anselm, yonder.”
Gerard followed the monk's direction, and made for a cell; but the doors were pretty close to one another, and it seems he mistook; for just as he was about to tap, he heard his old friend crying to him in an agitated32 whisper, “Nay33! nay! nay!” He turned, and there was the monk at his cell-door, in a strange state of anxiety, going up and down and beating the air double-handed, like a bottom sawyer. Gerard really thought the cell he was at must be inhabited by some dangerous wild beast, if not by that personage whose presence in the convent had been so distinctly proclaimed. He looked back inquiringly and went on to the next door. Then his old friend nodded his head rapidly, bursting in a moment into a comparatively blissful expression of face, and shot back into his den2. He took his hour-glass, turned it, and went to work on his regalles; and often he looked up, and said to himself, “Well-a-day, the sands how swift they run when the man is bent over earthly toys.”
Father Anselm was a venerable monk, with an ample head, and a face all dignity and love. Therefore Gerard in confessing to him, and replying to his gentle though searching questions, could not help thinking, “Here is a head!—Oh dear! oh dear! I wonder whether you will let me draw it when I have done confessing.” And so his own head got confused, and he forgot a crime or two. However, he did not lower the bolstering34 this time, nor was he so uncandid as to detract from the pagan character of the bolstered36.
The penance37 inflicted38 was this: he was to enter the convent church, and prostrating39 himself, kiss the lowest step of the altar three times; then kneeling on the floor, to say three paternosters and a credo: “this done, come back to me on the instant.”
Accordingly, his short mortification40 performed, Gerard returned, and found Father Anselm spreading plaster.
“After the soul the body,” said he; “know that I am the chirurgeon here, for want of a better. This is going on thy leg; to cool it, not to burn it; the saints forbid.”
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