THE SAXON DEVIL AND THE WICKED ABBOT.
"When night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."
Milton.
Most humiliating and distressing to us _Saxon_ monks was the state of
lax morality in which these foreign monks lived. One of the worst vices
imported into England by the Normans was that of uncleanness, a vice
practically unknown amongst Saxons, and looked upon by them with great
abhorrence. This was an offence, too, which the hardy Norsemen regarded
with loathing. Fierce and blood-thirsty as they were, seduction,
adultery, and the violation of the sanctity of blood-relationship, they
detested. Amongst the Normans, not only the wild troopers, but the monks
also, lived loose, irregular lives; and the chief and vilest offender,
in this respect, was our new Abbot. Many were the outrages perpetrated
by this man. Night by night, under cover of the darkness, he issued from
the Monastery with lascivious intent, often accompanying his outrages by
crime and bloodshed if he met with opposition. In vain I sought the
assistance of Alice, who entreated the Count, her father; but he was
either powerless, or cynical and indifferent--probably both. Sometimes a
fierce check was given to these scoundrels by a sudden outburst of rage
and revenge on the part of the Saxons; but for the most part, the Saxons
who meekly submitted to serfdom were the most abject of their race,
being often so broken in spirit that they submitted to unfathomable
indignities, rather than face the consequences of opposition. Indeed,
any display of spirit, and any act of retaliation or revenge, was sure
to be followed by the most cruel vindictiveness, and most sweeping
punishment. I stay to note one act of retaliation done to our Abbot by
Badger, on one occasion, when the Abbot was bent on carrying his
unscrupulous violence to the cottage of one of the serfs. I note it
because of its comicality, as well as its effectiveness in punishing the
vicious priest.
Now the Abbot, though it will scarcely be believed, was, in spite of his
turbulent wickedness, a most abjectly superstitious man, as indeed most
ignorant and wicked people are. Of this fact Badger, who was a most
observant and shrewd judge of character, quickly became aware; and,
taking advantage of this weakness, he used it to teach the Abbot a most
valuable and salutary lesson. One of the serfs had frequently made most
doleful complaints to Badger of the violation of the sanctities of his
home by this man. Now Badger most cordially hated the Abbot, as indeed
any one who knew the man could not fail to do; and on the other hand,
his sympathies, either openly or veiled, were always extended to his
countrymen, and he frequently wrought substantial amelioration in their
lot. Badger turned this matter over in his mind, and at last hit upon a
plan which he conceived would have the desired effect if successfully
carried out. So, making use of his old expedient, he decked himself most
fantastically as the Saxon "Zernebock" or devil. He expended much skill
and ingenuity in the manufacture of some wondrously grotesque apparel,
introducing a pair of horns and a tail after the orthodox fashion. In
addition to this, he had also decked out one of the most savage of his
hounds in a most fantastic garb, and, so disguised and ludicrously
tricked out, they sallied forth at eventime, intent on frustrating the
Abbot's vile intentions. Having selected their place of ambush, they
patiently lay in wait for the object of their enterprise, bent both on
terrifying and worrying him into a relinquishment of his devilish
purpose.
The night selected as fitting for Badger's enterprise was moonless and
somewhat dark, especially so within the added shade of the forest.
Having selected a suitable place, Badger lay quietly in wait until he
heard the approaching footsteps of the Abbot; then he strode into the
path with the hound by his side, and together they fronted the object of
their quest. Great was the consternation of the Abbot when he confronted
this awful apparition. His knees smote together, and his teeth chattered
in his head, as the awful voice of the fiend accosted him in angry
tones.
"Abbot, I know thy errand; I am the Saxon devil 'Zernebock,' and this is
my Hel-hound. I have come to kill thee, and my hound will tear thee in
pieces, for thy cup of wickedness is now full; I give thee, therefore,
two minutes in which to prepare for death."
So saying, the fiend uplifted a mighty sword, which seemed to the Abbot
to tower almost to the height of the trees. It was a wooden one, but the
night was too dark for this to be perceived, even if the victim had not
been too terror-stricken to note it.
In a terrible fright he fell on his knees and began to call upon all the
saints to protect him, writhing and groaning piteously.
"Silence!" said the fiend in still more awful tones. "Thou must die! I
have been waiting long for permission to slay thee! The saints will not
protect thee any longer, for thou hast professed to be a holy man, and
thou art bent this night on an errand of wickedness, and I have
permission to kill thee at last. Thy life is now in my hands. Art thou
ready?" again roared the fiend in savage tones, whilst the hound, seeing
the threatening attitude of his master, waxed furious, snarling and
growling savagely, and making many half-executed attempts to fly at the
Abbot, which half a word of encouragement from the fiend would have
completed. "Speak!" said the fiend, "thy time is now expired."
And the uplifted sword began most ominously to sway to and fro, as
though about to fall.
"Have mercy on me, fiend!" screamed the Abbot, "and I will make a vow to
thee that I will repent me of my sins, and I will cease from fleshly
lusts! I will set about mortifying my flesh this very night! I vow to
abstain from meats and strong drink for the space of twelve months if
thou wilt have mercy on me."
"Silence when I bid thee!" again roared the fiend. "I know thee for a
hypocrite, and thou wilt not abide thy vow. Art thou ready? Quick! bow
thy head, so that I cut it off clean."
Quick as thought in this dire strait the Abbot sprang to his feet, and
fled with miraculous energy for one so stout and pursy.
"Hist! hist!" said the fiend to his hound.
There was a fierce growl and a few long, slouching strides, and the
hound grasped the Abbot's nether parts in his powerful jaws; and with a
yell of pain his reverence fell prone upon his face, writhing, groaning,
wriggling, and yelling, as though ten thousand fiends clutched him. But
the hound clung to him like a vice, chawing his struggling prey the more
lustily as he tried to shake him off. At last the fiend called off his
hound; but at the same time he lifted his sword over the prostrate
Abbot.
"It is no use thy attempting to fly; thy doom is come, and I am here to
kill thee. Choose at once whether thou wilt be torn in pieces by my
hound or slain by my fiery sword; there is no escape for thee."
"Have mercy, fiend!" groaned the Abbot piteously; "thy hound hath
well-nigh killed me already. His teeth are red hot, as thou well
knowest. I shall surely die now, after the savage manner he hath torn
me. In mercy leave me the little time left me for repentance. Think of
my poor soul."
"I am the foul fiend, and there is no mercy now for thee. Thy soul is
forfeited and given into my hands; but what of thy body? decide quick!
Shall I kill thee, or wilt thou be devoured by my hound?"
Just at that moment, however, the fiend was interrupted, for footsteps
and voices were heard approaching, and presently a couple of troopers,
attracted by the terrible howling of the Abbot, drew near. As they did
so the fiend and his hound promptly disappeared in the wood.
As these troopers timidly and fearfully advanced to the spot, to their
consternation they beheld the Abbot lying flat along, and bellowing like
any bull of Bashan, and calling upon the saints to come to help him. At
once he was recognised by the pair.
"Ho, your reverence! what is this? What ails you?"
"Now the saints be praised! the foul fiend is fled; the Blessed Virgin
hath sent me help, but too tardily, for I am surely done for. The
mischief is ended, and I shall surely die. Had ye tarried but one minute
more, my poor body would have been devoured also."
"What is it, your reverence! Have you been attacked by wolves?"
"Alas! I have been set upon by the wolf of hell; I have met face to face
in this very spot the foul fiend. 'Twas the Saxon devil Zernebock, for
he spoke Saxon. He and his furious Hel-hound hath set upon me together.
The fiend was about to kill me with his fiery sword when ye drew near so
opportunely; and his hound hath torn me dreadfully. His teeth were red
hot, and he spouted fire out of his fearful mouth. Can ye lift me up?
for I hardly know whether he hath left me any legs to stand upon. Oh!
not there! not there! did I not tell you he had torn me fearfully
behind. Lift me by the shoulder, but do not touch me behind. Steady, ye
maudlin villains! did I not tell ye to be steady?" he roared most
savagely.
"I think your reverence had better let me go for help; my comrade will
stand by ye till I come again," remarked one trooper.
"Stay ye where ye are, villain! Ye do not stir from me, either of ye,
not a yard! If the fiend come again the other one will run also, and I
shall be slain and devoured. Lift me up, ye lazy louts! ye are well
able."
By dint of tugging and lifting, eventually they set the Abbot on his
legs; but he could not bear to walk, neither could he bear to be
carried; and he would not be left for a moment. Slowly he made an effort
to shamble along, but every step was torture to him, and he swore at the
two troopers as roundly as in his extremity he had prayed to the saints.
It was a most painful and protracted home-coming to all of them; for the
Abbot clutched his deliverers most tenaciously, terrified almost into
frenzy if there was a rustle in the bushes, and conjured up visions of
the fiend and his hound in every object that met his gaze; whilst all
the while he vented upon the two his spleen and rage, sometimes for
their clumsiness and want of sympathy, and at other times for their
having been so long in coming to his aid.
With infinite trouble they at last reached the Abbey, and the Abbot was
put to bed; but when there he was obliged to lie upon his stomach, for
the hound had severely mauled him behind. Two of the monks were set
apart to nurse him by night, and two by day. The rest of the monks were
commanded to spend so many hours of each day in prayers and in
invocations, whilst penances and fasting were imposed upon all.
In time, by dint of careful nursing, the Abbot was restored. But he
could not so easily forget the painful lesson he had learnt; and as he
still firmly believed that it was indeed the Saxon devil Zernebock and
his Hel-hound that had set upon him, he never dared venture abroad after
dark until he had banished the fiend from the adjacent woods.
Then ensued the most comical part of the whole affair. A procession of
the monks to the place of adventure was organised. One headed the solemn
procession bearing a crucifix on which our blessed Lord was impaled.
Others followed next in order bearing the sacred relics, most of which
had been brought from Normandy, and consisted of bones of eminent saints
of the order, also a shred of the garment of our Saviour, the identical
one for which the soldiers cast lots. One carried a front tooth of the
apostle Peter, said to have been broken out at the last supper of our
Lord; and another had a small vial containing a portion of the tears
which Peter shed at the denial, when "he went out and wept bitterly";
the last had possession of a pair of straps or leathern thongs, said to
have been used to fasten the sandals of the Apostle John when he dwelt
in the lonely isle of Patmos. But most laughable it was to see Badger
and several of the lay brothers of the monastery following behind, with
large ewers containing holy water, with which the monks plentifully
besprinkled the path and its surroundings; all the while chanting psalms
and repeating prayers for the exorcism of the devil and all evil spirits
that haunted the woods.
One can imagine the uncontrollable delight with which Badger assisted at
this solemn function. And I confess when he told me the whole story I
could not help but laugh most immoderately, though such levity scarcely
became my office, especially when I remembered that our sacred things
had been associated with so ridiculous an exploit. Though I can scarcely
undertake to excuse the deception practised upon this occasion, yet it
had a most salutary effect upon the Abbot, for seldom after that
incident did he venture, under cover of the night, to prosecute his
villainies; though, like most vile and wicked persons, he found other
means of giving rein to his lusts, which were infamous and cruel.