Human fate, or rather the fate of the whole human race, is but as a
web of cloth fixed in the frame of circumstances, with an unseen hand
continually throwing the shuttle. The threads may be infinite, and
some far apart from others; some in the centre, some at the selvage,
but all tied and bound together by filaments that run across and
across, and never ceasing till the piece is finished. When will that
be? Heaven only knows. Certainly not till the end of the world.
We must now, by the reader's permission, leave the thread of Iola, and
take up that of the abbess where we last left it.
As soon as she had closed the door and pushed to the panelling which
concealed it, the abbess reascended to the nun's gallery in the
chapel, and thence proceeded into the great body of the building. She
found, as may be supposed, the utmost confusion and alarm prevailing;
for by this time the noise of the great bell, and of the various
sounds that were rising up around the walls, had roused all the nuns
from their pallets, and, with consternation in their countenances,
they were hurrying hither and thither, seeking something, and not
knowing very well what they sought. Although a good deal alarmed
herself, and unable to foresee what might be the end of all that was
taking place, the abbess, whose heart was naturally merry, could
almost have laughed at the grotesque accidents which fear produced;
but, having more mind and character than the whole convent put
together, she at once proceeded to restore order.
"Go at once to the chapel," she said to every nun she saw; "gather all
the sisterhood there, and see that none be omitted. I will join you
soon."
This order had to be repeated frequently; for at every step she met
some one, and several required it to be reiterated two or three times,
before terror would suffer them to comprehend it.
At length, passing round the end of the chapel, the abbess entered the
great court, and found to her joy and satisfaction a much greater body
of men drawn up for her defence than she expected; for the woodman had
not been idle during the morning, and many more of the peasantry had
been warned to listen for the sound of the bell than the voice of the
porter could summon. Four of the inferior foresters also had somehow
found their way into the building, dressed in leathern coats and iron
caps, and each carried on his shoulder a sort of weapon, which none
within the walls had ever seen before. This was a sort of small
cannon, fastened upon a rudely constructed stock, and fitted to carry
a ball of the weight of two or three ounces. There was no lock, nor
any contrivance even for applying fire to the touch-hole by one
movement; but round the arm of the bearer was twined a coil of match,
which one of the men was as at that moment lighting at the porter's
lantern.[1]
---------------
[Footnote 1: The first mention that I find of the real arquibuse, or
match lock, is in an account of the household of the Duke of Burgundy
in 1474; but small cannons, called in France coulverines á la main,
were used long before. They are represented in the old miniatures, as
resting on the shoulder of one soldier, while another takes the aim
from behind, and the first applies the match at the word of command.]
---------------
"What is that? What is that?" cried the abbess; "it looks like a
little falconet."
"It is a hand-gun, lady," said the forester. "Some of our people
brought them from Burgundy; and Boyd sent in these four. When it is
time to use them, we hoist them over our shoulders; and, while the men
behind take aim, we fire."
The abbess mused, for the invention was quite new to her; and,
strangely clumsy as it was, it seemed to her a wonderful discovery in
the art of war. She even grew very valiant on the strength of it, and
called aloud for the bailiff, to consult with him upon the means of
defence. The bailiff could not be found, however; and the porter
informed her, with a grin, that he had gone to the buttery, thinking
that there must be the principal point of attack.
"Bring him hither directly," said the abbess; "bring him by the ears,
if he will not otherwise come. In the mean time how many men have we
here?"
"Three and thirty, my lady," replied the old porter, while one or two
ran away to bring the bailiff; "three and thirty, besides the gun-men.
I think we can make good the place till morning; and then we shall
have the whole country up to help us. But if you would take my advice,
you would lock that bailiff up in a cell. He cools men's hearts with
his cowardice. I wish he were half as brave as you, my lady."
"Well then you must command, porter," said the abbess. "Let some of
the men take their bows and cross-bows up to the top of the portal,
while others keep watch upon the walls all round, that they may not
raise ladders without our knowing it. Let the four men with the
hand-cannons draw up across the chapel door for the present. They can
there very well fire upon the gates, if the enemy should break them
down."
The porter was venturing to remonstrate, pointing out that the gun-men
would be better on the walls, when the unfortunate bailiff was dragged
into the abbess's presence, with a face so pale and eyes so haggard,
that his very look convicted him. He smelt strongly of wine too, so
that it was clear he had been seeking to gain courage from other
sources than his own heart.
"Coward!" cried the abbess, as soon as she saw him, "are you not
ashamed to see women set you an example in defending the rights of the
church, while you are slinking away from your duty? Take him hence,"
she continued, as he attempted to stutter forth some vain excuses.
"Take him hence at once, and lock him up in the first cell on the
left hand. Away with him, for fear his cowardice should become
infectious!--Hark! They are upon the green. There is a trumpet. I will
go up to the window above the gates, and speak with them. Let not the
men shoot till I give the word."
Two or three of the people round besought her to forbear, especially
the priest and the principal chorister; but the abbess not only
persisted in her resolution, but besought them to accompany her, in a
tone which did not admit of refusal; and, walking on with an air of
more dignity than one would have supposed her little plump figure
could display, she ascended the stairs in the left hand tower of the
portal, and presented herself at the grated window just above the
gates. The part of the green nearest to the abbey was now covered with
armed men, principally on horseback, though some had dismounted and
were approaching the gates. A group of six or seven, who were
apparently leaders, were seen at a little distance on the left, and
one of them was at that moment raising his voice to an armed peasant
who had appeared upon the walls. The abbess, however, cut short this
oratory in the commencement, by demanding, in that shrill high key
which makes itself heard so much farther than even a louder voice at a
lower note: "What want ye here, my masters? How come you here in arms
before the abbey of St. Clare? Bid those men keep back from the gates!
Else I will instantly bid the soldiers shoot and the cannon fire."
"Cannons!" cried one of the leaders with a laugh. "By my fay, the
place seems a fortress instead of an abbey."
"You will find it so to your cost, uncivil churl, if you attempt to
plunder here," cried the abbess. "Bid them keep back, I say, or bide
the consequence!"
"Halt, there, keep back!" cried the leader who had before spoken; and
pushing his own horse under the window where the abbess stood, he
looked up, saying, "They were but going to ring the bell. Are you the
lady abbess?"
"What need of six men to ring the bell?" exclaimed the abbess. "If you
need so many hands to do small work, you will require more than you
have brought here to get the gates open. I am the lady abbess, and I
bid you go hence and leave me and my children at peace, upon pain of
anathema, and the greater and the lesser excommunication. I know not
whether ye be the same who came to plunder us some time ago; but, if
ye be, ye will find us better prepared now than we were then, though
it cost you dear, even at that time."
"Listen, listen, good lady," said the horseman; "for, if you do not
hear, you cannot understand, and a woman's tongue is sometimes worse
than a cannon."
"You will find the thunder of the church worse still," cried the lady.
"Of that we are not afraid," answered the other; "for we come not to
plunder, or commit any act of violence, unless we are driven to it."
"Pardieu, this is all chattering and nonsense," cried another man, who
had ridden up from behind. "Break open the gates, Sir John. If you do
not, I will; for they will convey the man away, and by Heaven, if they
do, I will burn the place about their ears!"
"Peace, peace!" cried the other. "They cannot convey him away. Our men
are all round the walls. Listen to me for a moment, lady. We have
certain information that a man took refuge here last night, disguised
as a friar. Him we must have forth; and if you will bring him out and
give him up, we will ride away quietly and leave you. If not, we must
find our way in and take him. We should be sorry to hurt any of your
people, or to do any damage; but, when a place is forced, you know,
soldiers are under no command, and the consequence be upon your own
head. We must have him out."
"Do you not know that this is sanctuary," cried the abbess, "and, even
if he had committed parricide or treason, any man would be safe within
these walls."
"Ay, but he has not committed any offence which makes sanctuary
available," replied the other. "This is a deserter from his right
standard, and we will have him forth, sanctuary or no sanctuary."
"There is no such man within the walls of St. Clare," replied the
abbess. "I only stand up for the privileges of the place, because they
are its privileges; but at the same time, I tell you that there is no
sanctuary man here, of any kind or description whatever."
"Hell and damnation!" exclaimed the more vehement of the leaders.
"Will you pretend to tell me that a man did not come here this very
evening, habited as a friar, who never went forth again with those who
brought him? On upon the gates there. This is all jugglery!"
"Hold yet a moment, ere it comes to strife," exclaimed the abbess; and
the other leader also exclaimed:
"Hold, hold there! What would you say, lady? for we cannot be dallied
with."
"I say," replied the abbess, "that the damnation you evoke will some
day fall upon your own heads, if you pursue this course. Moreover, I
tell you, that there is no such man here, nor any man at all, but the
tenants and officers of the abbey. A friar certainly did come here
this evening, with a goodly company of guests. He did not depart with
them; but he went away afterwards, and is no longer here--hear me out!
To save bloodshed, I will give you the means of satisfying yourselves,
protesting, at the same time, against the act you commit, and clearly
reserving my right to punish you for it, at an after time, when you
shall not plead my permission as an excuse."
"We will look to that," cried one of the others boldly. "Open your
gates. We shall not want excuses for anything we do."
"Nay!" answered the abbess. "I open not my gates to all your lewd
band. Any six may enter, if they will, and search every corner of the
abbey, from one end to the other. You will then soon see, that I have
means of defence if I choose to exert them. If you accept the terms,
bid all the rest of the men retire to the other side of the green. If
not, I will tell the cross-bow men and cannoniers to fire."
"We must have ten with us, otherwise we shall never get through the
search," said the leader, who had first spoken.
"Well, ten be it then," said the abbess. "We shall only have more in
our hands to hang, if those without attempt to play us any treachery."
"You are merry, lady," said the leader. "Is it so agreed?"
"Yes!" replied the abbess; "bid your men back, quite to the other
side. Then let ten advance, and I will come down and order them to be
admitted."
She waited till she had seen the retreat of the band, to the far part
of the green; and then descending, she gave her orders with great
clearness and rapidity, directing such arrangements to be made as
would display her little force to the greatest advantage, and ordering
her porter as the commander-in-chief, to send two or three stout men
with each party of the searchers, keeping a wary eye at the same time
upon the band without, to insure they did not approach nearer to the
gates.
She then retired into the chapel, where she found the nuns all
gathered round the great altar, like a swarm of bees. Having quieted
and re-assured them, as well as she could, she betook herself to the
window, which gave light to the gallery appropriated to the
sisterhood, and, opening the lattice, looked out into the court. By
this time, the ten men to whom she had promised admittance were
entering, one by one, through the wicket; and she flattered herself
that their faces, seen by the light of the torches, showed some
surprise at the numbers collected for the defence of the place. The
first part of the building, however, which they chose to search, was
the chapel, and hurrying down, she met them at the great altar in the
midst of her nuns. No incivility was committed; for the men without,
with their loaded hand-guns, and some fifteen or sixteen others, with
steel cross-bows in their hands, had imposed a salutary reverence upon
the intruders. The chapel, however, was searched in every part; and
when this was done, the soldiers gone, and the door once more locked,
the abbess again resumed her station at the window, with a heart
which, notwithstanding her bold exterior, beat somewhat anxiously for
the departure of the band.
She saw the buildings on either side of the court examined thoroughly;
and then, dividing into three parties, the searchers proceeded on
their way, disappearing from her sight. She listened for their voices
as they went, and could trace them part of the way round the great
quadrangle; but then all was silent again, and she judged that they
had gone to the most remote parts of the building--perhaps even to the
gardens--to sweep it all the way up, in order to prevent the
possibility of a fugitive escaping.
All was silent for a few minutes, except the low murmurs of the
abbey-men speaking in the court below; but then came some sounds which
startled and alarmed the abbess; for, after a crash, as of a door
forced open, she could distinctly hear a shout of "Here he is, here he
is! We've got him."
A loud murmuring of many tongues succeeded; and in a state of
trembling anxiety, she waited for the result, till, to her great
relief and even amusement, she beheld the whole party of ten
re-appear, dragging along her cowardly bailiff in the midst of them,
while several of the retainers of the abbey followed with a look of
malicious fun upon their faces.
"Upon my life! upon my soul! by all the blessed saints, I tell you
true," cried the unhappy bailiff. "Here, Giles, porter, tell them who
I am, man--He can tell you--he can tell you."
"Faith, you are mistaken there, if you call me porter," said the man
he addressed. "I know nothing about you. You are mistaken in me, good
sir. I am the bailiff of the abbey."
"There, there," said one of the leaders of the soldiery. "It is all in
vain, my good lord, so come along--there, take him out."
The abbess could not refrain from laughing, although she felt a strong
inclination to interfere, and claim the poor bailiff as the especial
property of the convent. Before she could make up her mind, however,
the man was past the gates; but still, while one party of the
searchers remained in the court, another turned back and pursued the
examination, till not a hole or corner of the abbey was left
unexplored.
In the meanwhile, however, a great deal of loud cursing and swearing
was heard from the green; words of command were given, orders shouted
forth; and at length, the porter hurriedly closed the wicket,
exclaiming--
"Up to the walls! Bend your cross-bows! What are they about now?--You
gunners, stand here below!--You pass not, sir, you pass not, till we
know what all this is," he continued, addressing the leader who had
first spoken to the abbess, and who, with three companions, now
hurried into the court from the more secluded part of the building.
"I know not what it is any more than you do, my good man," replied the
other; "but if you let me out, I will soon see."
"They are coming forward towards the gates, sir!" exclaimed the
porter. "Shoot at them if they come too close, my men!--You are a
knight, sir, it seems; and we will keep you as a hostage for the
safety of the abbey."
"Nay, I cannot be answerable for that unless you let me forth,"
replied the other; "but if you do, I pledge my knightly word, as a
gentleman and a Christian, that all the troops shall be drawn off, and
the abbey left unmolested."
He spoke eagerly and hastily, evidently under some alarm but the old
porter was not satisfied, and he replied--
"Here, put it down and your name to it. Here are pen and ink, and the
visitor's book in the lodge." The officer hurried in, and did as was
required at once; for the four unpleasant-looking hand culverins were
pointed at him and his companions, and a lighted match in each man's
hand ready to discharge them. "There it is," he said, when he had
written, "Now let me pass."
The porter looked over the writing. Whether he could read or not, I
cannot tell; but when he had satisfied himself as far as he was able,
he cautiously opened the wicket, and let the intruders pass out one by
one.
The commander led the way, hurrying on with a quick step; and he
certainly did not arrive as soon as he could have wished.
"What is the matter?" he exclaimed; "what is the matter?"
"Mort Dieu!" cried the second in command, "we have been cheated, Sir
John. This man is not the bishop after all. Here is one of our own
people who knows him, and says he is really the bailiff."
"I am indeed," cried the miserable coward; "and if you would have let
me, I would have told you all long ago."
"He Says, the friar was there not an hour ago," vociferated the second
in command, "and that they must have got him out, either into these
houses, or into the wood, as we were coming up the valley."
"Search the houses," said the commander; "and send a troop up the road
to the wood."
"It is done, it is done," cried the other. "The men are furious; for
they will lose all share of the reward. By Satan and all his imps," he
added, "I believe they have set fire to the houses."
"This will come to a serious reckoning," said the commander gravely.
"Try and stop the fire there. Call off the men;" and, as promptly as
might be, he did all that was possible to remedy the evil that had
been done. As every one who has had the command of rude men must know,
however, there are times when they become perfectly ungovernable. Such
was the case at present. They were an irregular and ruthless body who
now surrounded the abbey; and without attending to the orders they
received, to the remonstrances or even to the threats of their
commander, they set fire to every building on the right hand side of
the green. Nor would the others have escaped the same fate, nor the
abbey itself have been left unassailed, had not the officer, as a last
resource, commanded the trumpets to sound, and ordered all who could
be gathered together to march up the road, for the purpose of
searching the forest.
The stragglers followed, as soon as they found that the principal part
of the troop had left them; and the whole force, except three or four,
who remained to complete the pillage of the priest's house, marched
slowly up, till a halt was sounded under the first trees of the wood.
There, however, the officer in command selected some twenty men from
his band, and rode back to the abbey green. The rest of the men halted
where they stood, inquiring of each other what could be the meaning of
this proceeding.
He gave no explanation even when he returned; but the next morning, at
daybreak, three bodies were found hanging by the neck from poles stuck
into the thatch of one of the unconsumed cottages.