CHAPTER IV
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SEAL
The autumn drew in swiftly. The wet south-west wind blew over the downsthat lay between Lewes and the sea, and beat down the loose browningleaves of the trees about the Priory. The grass in the cloister-garthgrew rank and dark with the constant rain that drove and dropped overthe high roofs.
And meanwhile the tidings grew heavier still.
After Michaelmas the King set to work in earnest. He had been checked bythe northern risings, and still paused to see whether the embers hadbeen wholly quenched; and then when it was evident that the North was assubmissive as the South, began again his business of gathering in thewealth that was waiting.
He started first in the North, under show of inflicting punishment forthe encouragement that the Religious had given to the late rebellions;and one by one the great abbeys were tottering. Furness and Sawley hadalready fallen, with Jervaulx and the other houses, and Holme Cultramwas placed under the care of a superior who could be trusted to handover his charge when called upon.
But up to the present not many great houses had actually fallen, exceptthose which were supposed to have taken a share in the revolt; and owingto the pains taken by the Visitors to contradict the report that theKing intended to lay his hands on the whole monastic property ofEngland, it was even hoped by a few sanguine souls that the largehouses might yet survive.
There were hot discussions in the chapter at Lewes from time to timeduring the year. The "Bishops' Book," issued by a committee of divinesand approved by the King, and containing a digest of the new Faith thatwas being promulgated, arrived during the summer and was fiercelydebated; but so high ran the feeling that the Prior dropped the matter,and the book was put away with other papers of the kind on an honourablebut little-used shelf.
The acrimony in domestic affairs began to reach its climax in October,when the prospects of the Priory's own policy came up for discussion.
Some maintained that they were safe, and that quietness and confidencewere their best security, and these had the support of the Prior; othersdeclared that the best hope lay in selling the possessions of the houseat a low price to some trustworthy man who would undertake to sell thenback again at only a small profit to himself when the storm was passed.
The Prior rose in wrath when this suggestion was made.
"Would you have me betray my King?" he cried. "I tell you I will havenone of it. It is not worthy of a monk to have such thoughts."
And he sat down and would hear no more, nor speak.
There were whispered conferences after that among the others, as to whathis words meant. Surely there was nothing dishonourable in the device;they only sought to save what was their own! And how would the King be"betrayed" by such an action?
They had an answer a fortnight later; and it took them wholly bysurprise.
During the second week in November the Prior had held himself morealoof than ever; only three or four of the monks, with the Sub-Prioramong them, were admitted to his cell, and they were there at all hours.Two or three strangers too arrived on horseback, and were entertained bythe Prior in a private parlour. And then on the morning of thefourteenth the explanation came.
When the usual business of the chapter was done, the faults confessedand penances given, and one or two small matters settled, the Prior,instead of rising to give the signal to go, remained in his chair, hishead bent on to his hand.
It was a dark morning, heavy and lowering; and from where Chris sat atthe lower end of the great chamber he could scarcely make out thefeatures of those who sat under the high window at the east; but as soonas the Prior lifted his face and spoke, he knew by that tense strain ofthe voice that something impended.
"There is another matter," said the Prior; and paused again.
For a moment there was complete silence. The Sub-Prior leant a littleforward and was on the point of speaking, when his superior lifted hishead again and straightened himself in his chair.
"It is this," he said, and his voice rang hard and defiant, "it is this.It is useless to think we can save ourselves. We are under suspicion,and worse than suspicion. I have hoped, and prayed, and striven to knowGod's will; and I have talked with my Lord Cromwell not once or twice,but often. And it is useless to resist any further."
His voice cracked with misery; but Chris saw him grip the bosses of hischair-arms in an effort for self-control. His own heart began to sicken;this was not frightened raving such as he had listened to before; it wasthe speech of one who had been driven into decision, as a rat into acorner.
"I have talked with the Sub-Prior, and others; and they think with me inthis. I have kept it back from the rest, that they might serve God inpeace so long as was possible. But now I must tell you all, my sons,that we must leave this place."
There was a hush of terrible tension. The monks had known that they werethreatened; they could not think otherwise with the news that came fromall parts, but they had not known that catastrophe was so imminent. Anold monk opposite Chris began to moan and mutter; but the Prior went onimmediately.
"At least I think that we must leave. It may be otherwise, if God haspity on us; I do not know; but we must be ready to leave, if it be Hiswill, and,--and to say so."
He was speaking in abrupt sentences, with pauses between, in which heappeared to summon his resolution to speak again, and force out histale. There was plainly more behind too; and his ill-ease seemed todeepen on him.
"I wish no one to speak now," he said, "Instead of the Lady-massto-morrow we shall sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and afterwards I shallhave more to say to you again. I do not desire any to hold speech withany other, but to look into their own hearts and seek counsel of Godthere."
He still sat a moment silent, then rose and gave the signal.
* * * * *
It was a strange day for Chris. He did not know what to think, but hewas certain that they had not yet been told all. The Prior's silenceshad been as pregnant as his words. There was something very close nowthat would be revealed immediately, and meanwhile he must think out howto meet it.
The atmosphere seemed charged all day; the very buildings wore a strangeair, unfamiliar and menacing. The intimate bond between his soul andthem, knit by associations of prayer and effort, appeared unreal andflimsy. He was tormented by doubtfulness; he could not understand on theone side how it was possible to yield to the King, on the other how itwas possible to resist. No final decision could be made by him until hehad heard the minds of his fellows; and fortunately they would all speakbefore him. He busied himself then with disentangling the strands ofmotive, desire, fear and hope, and waited for the shaking loose of theknot until he knew more.
Mass of the Holy Ghost was sung next morning by the Prior himself in redvestments; and Chris waited with expectant awe, remembering how theCarthusians under like circumstances had been visited by God; but theHost was uplifted and the bell rang; and there was nothing but thecandle-lit gloom of the choir about the altar, and the sigh of the windin the chapels behind.
Then in the chapter-meeting the Prior told them all.
* * * * *
He reminded them how they had prayed that morning for guidance, and thatthey must be fearless now in following it out. It was easy to bereckless and call it faith, but prudence and reasonable common-sensewere attributes of the Christian no less than trust in God. They had notto consider now what they would wish for themselves, but what Godintended for them so far as they could read it in the signs of thetimes.
"For myself," he cried,--and Chris almost thought him sincere as hespoke, so kindled was his face--"for myself I should ask no more thanto live and die in this place, as I had hoped. Every stone here is asdear to me as to you, and I think more dear, for I have been in aspecial sense the lord of it all; but I dare not think of that. We mustbe ready to leave all willingly if God wills. We thought that we hadyielded all to follow Christ when we first set our necks here u
nder Hissweet yoke; but I think He asks of us even more now; and that we shouldgo out from here even as we went out from our homes ten or twenty yearsago. We shall be no further from our God outside this place; and we maybe even nearer if we go out according to His will."
He seemed on fire with zeal and truth. His timid peevish air was gone,and his delicate scholarly face was flushed as he spoke. Chris wasastonished, and more perplexed than ever. Was it then possible thatGod's will might lie in the direction he feared?
"Now this is the matter which we have to consider," went on the Priormore quietly. "His Grace has sent to ask, through a private messengerfrom my Lord Cromwell, whether we will yield up the priory. There is nocompulsion in the matter--" he paused significantly--"and his Gracedesires each to act according to his judgment and conscience, of--of hisown free will."
There was a dead silence.
The news was almost expected by now. Through the months of anxiety eachmonk had faced the probability of such tidings coming to him sooner orlater; and the last few days had brought expectation to its climax. Yetit was hard to see the enemy face to face, and to know that there was nopossibility of resisting him finally.
The Sub-Prior rose to his feet and began to speak, glancing as if forcorroboration to his superior from time to time. His mouth worked alittle at the close of each sentence.
"My Lord Prior has shown us his own mind, and I am with him in thematter. His Grace treats us like his own children; he wishes us to beloving and obedient. But, as a father too, he has authority behind tocompel us to his will if we will not submit. And, as my Lord Prior saidyesterday, we do not know whether or no his Grace will not permit us toremain here after all, if we are docile; or perhaps refound the prioryout of his own bounty. There is talk of the Chertsey monks going to theLondon Charterhouse from Bisham where the King set them last year. Butwe may be sure he will not do so with us if we resist his will now. I onmy part then am in favour of yielding up the house willingly, andtrusting ourselves to his Grace's clemency."
There was again silence as he sat down; and a pause of a minute or twobefore Dom Anthony rose. His ruddy face was troubled and perplexed; buthe spoke resolutely enough.
He said that he could not understand why the matter had not been laidbefore them earlier, that they might have had time to consider it. Thequestion was an extremely difficult one to the consciences of some ofthem. On the one hand there was the peril of acquiescing insacrilege--the Prior twisted in his seat as he heard this--and on theother of wilfully and petulantly throwing away their only opportunity ofsaving their priory. He asked for time.
Several more made speeches, some in favour of the proposal, and someasking, as Dom Anthony had done, for further time for consideration.They had no precedents, they said, on which to decide such a question,for they understood that it was not on account of treason that theywere required to surrender the house and property.
The Prior rose with a white face.
"No, no," he cried. "God forbid! That is over and done with. I--we havemade our peace with my Lord Cromwell in that affair."
"Then why," asked Dom Anthony, "are we required to yield it?"
The Prior glanced helplessly at him.
"I--it is as a sign that the King is temporal lord of the land."
"We do not deny that," said the other.
"Some do," said the Prior feebly.
There was a little more discussion. Dom Anthony remarked that it was nota matter of temporal but spiritual headship that was in question. Tomeddle with the Religious Orders was to meddle with the Vicar of Christunder whose special protection they were; and it seemed to him at leasta probable opinion, so far as he had had time to consider it, that toyield, even in the hopes of saving their property ultimately, was toacquiesce in the repudiation of the authority of Rome.
And so it went on for an hour; and then as it grew late, the Prior roseonce more, and asked if any one had a word to say who had not yetspoken.
Chris had intended to speak, but all that he wished to ask had alreadybeen stated by others; and he sat now silent, staring up at the Prior,and down at the smooth boarded floor at his feet. He had not an ideawhat to do. He was no theologian.
Then the Prior unmasked his last gun.
"As regards the matter of time for consideration, that is now passed. Inspite of what some have said we have had sufficient warning. All heremust have known that the choice would be laid before them, for monthspast; it is now an answer that is required of us."
He paused a moment longer. His lips began to tremble, but he made astrong effort and finished.
"Master Petre will be here to-night, as my lord Cromwell'srepresentative, and will sit in the chapter-house to-morrow to receivethe surrender."
Dom Anthony started to his feet. The Prior made a violent gesture forsilence, and then gave the signal to break up.
* * * * *
Again the bewildering day went past. The very discipline of the housewas a weakness in the defence of the surprised party. It was impossiblefor them to meet and discuss the situation as they wished; and even thesmall times of leisure seemed unusually occupied. Dom Anthony was busyat the guest-house; one of the others who had spoken against theproposal was sent off on a message by the Prior, and another was orderedto assist the sacristan to clean the treasures in view of the Visitor'scoming.
Chris was not able to ask a word of advice from any of those whom hethought to be in sympathy with him.
He sat all day over his antiphonary, in the little carrel off thecloister, and as he worked his mind toiled like a mill.
He had progressed a long way with the work now, and was engaged on thepages that contained the antiphons for Lent. The design was sobererhere; the angels that had rested among the green branches and earlyroses of Septuagesima, thrusting here a trumpet and there a harp amongthe leaves, had taken flight, and grave menacing creatures were in theirplace. A jackal looked from behind the leafless trunk, a lion liftedhis toothed mouth to roar from a thicket of thorns, as they had lurkedand bellowed in the bleak wilderness above the Jordan fifteen hundredyears ago. They were gravely significant now, he thought; and scarcelyknowing what he did he set narrow human eyes in the lion's face (for heknew no better) and broadened the hanging jaws with a delicate line ortwo.
Then with a fierce impulse he crowned him, and surmounted the crown witha cross.
And all the while his mind toiled at the problem. There were threethings open to him on the morrow. Either he might refuse to sign thesurrender, and take whatever consequences might follow; or he might signit; and there were two processes of thought by which he might take thataction. By the first he would simply make an act of faith in hissuperiors, and do what they did because they did it; by the second hewould sign it of his own responsibility because he decided to think thatby doing so he would be taking the best action for securing his ownmonastic life.
He considered these three. To refuse to sign almost inevitably involvedhis ruin, and that not only, and not necessarily, in the worldly sense;about that he sincerely believed he did not care; but it would mean hisexclusion from any concession that the King might afterwards make. Hecertainly would not be allowed under any circumstances, to remain in thehome of his profession; and if the community was shifted he would not beallowed to go with them. As regards the second alternative he wonderedwhether it was possible to shift responsibility in that manner; asregards the third, he knew that he had very little capability in anycase of foreseeing the course that events would take.
Then he turned it all over again, and considered the arguments for eachcourse. His superiors were set over him by God; it was rash to sethimself against them except in matters of the plainest conscience. Againit was cowardly to shelter himself behind this plea and so avoidresponsibility. Lastly, he was bound to judge for himself.
The arguments twisted and turned as bewilderingly as the twiningbranches of his design; and behind each by which he might climb todecision lurked a beast. He fel
t helpless and dazed by the storm ofconflicting motives.
As he bent over his work he prayed for light, but the question seemedmore tangled than before; the hours were creeping in; by to-morrow hemust decide.
Then the memory of the Prior's advice to him once before came back tohis mind; this was the kind of thing, he told himself, that he mustleave to God, his own judgment was too coarse an instrument; he mustwait for a clear supernatural impulse; and as he thought of it he laidhis pencil down, dropped on to his knees, and commended it all to God,to the Mother of God, St. Pancras, St. Peter and St. Paul. Even as hedid it, the burden lifted and he knew that he would know, when the timecame.
* * * * *
Dr. Petre came that night, but Chris saw no more of him than his back ashe went up the cloister with Dom Anthony to the Prior's chamber. ThePrior was not at supper, and his seat was empty in the dim refectory.
Neither was he at Compline; and it was with the knowledge thatCromwell's man and their own Superior were together in conference, thatthe monks went up the dormitory stairs that night.
But he was in his place at the chapter-mass next morning, though hespoke to no one, and disappeared immediately afterwards.
Then at the appointed time the monks assembled in the chapter-house.
* * * * *
As Chris came in he lifted his eyes, and saw that the room was arrayedmuch as it had been at the visit of Dr. Layton and Ralph. A great table,heaped with books and papers, stood at the upper end immediately belowthe dais, and a couple of secretaries were there, sharp-looking men,seated at either end and busy with documents.
The Prior was in his place in the shadow and was leaning over andtalking to a man who sat beside him. Chris could make out little of thelatter except that he seemed to be a sort of lawyer or clerk, and wasdressed in a dark gown and cap. He was turning over the leaves of a bookas the Prior talked, and nodded his head assentingly from time to time.
When all the monks were seated, there was still a pause. It wasstrangely unlike the scene of a tragedy, there in that dark grave roomwith the quiet faces downcast round the walls, and the hands hidden inthe cowl-sleeves. And even on the deeper plane it all seemed verycorrect and legal. There was the representative of the King, a capablelearned man, with all the indications of law and order round him, andhis two secretaries to endorse or check his actions. There too was theCommunity, gathered to do business in the manner prescribed by the Rule,with the deeds of foundation before their eyes, and the great brassconvent seal on the table. There was not a hint of bullying orcompulsion; these monks were asked merely to sign a paper if they sodesired it. Each was to act for himself; there was to be no over-ridingof individual privileges, or signing away another's conscience.
Nothing could have been arranged more peaceably.
And yet to every man's mind that was present the sedate room was blackwith horror. The majesty and terror of the King's will brooded in theair; nameless dangers looked in at the high windows and into every man'sface; the quiet lawyer-like men were ministers of fearful vengeance; thevery pens, ink and paper that lay there so innocently were sacraments ofdeath or life.
The Prior ceased his whispering presently, glanced round to see if allwere in their places, and then stood up.
His voice was perfectly natural as he told them that this was Dr. Petre,come down from Lord Cromwell to offer them an opportunity of showingtheir trust and love towards their King by surrendering to hisdiscretion the buildings and property that they held. No man was to becompelled to sign; it must be perfectly voluntary on their part; hisGrace wished to force no conscience to do that which it repudiated. Forhis own part, he said, he was going to sign with a glad heart. The Kinghad shown his clemency in a hundred ways, and to that clemency hetrusted.
Then he sat down; and Chris marvelled at his self-control.
Dr. Petre stood up, and looked round for a moment before opening hismouth; then he put his two hands on the table before him, dropped hiseyes and began his speech.
He endorsed first what the Prior had said, and congratulated all thereon possessing such a superior. It was a great happiness, he said, todeal with men who showed themselves so reasonable and so loyal. Some hehad had to do with had not been so--and--and of course theirstubbornness had brought its own penalty. But of that he did not wishto speak. On the other hand those who had shown themselves truesubjects of his Grace had already found their reward. He had greatpleasure in announcing to them that what the Prior had said to them aday or two before was true; and that their brethren in religion ofChertsey Abbey, who had been moved to Bisham last year, were to go tothe London Charterhouse in less than a month. The papers were made out;he had assisted in their drawing up.
He spoke in a quiet restrained voice, and with an appearance of greatdeference; there was not the shadow of a bluster even when he referredto the penalties of stubbornness; it was very unlike the hot bullyingarrogance of Dr. Layton. Then he ended--
"And so, reverend fathers, the choice is in your hands. His Grace willuse no compulsion. You will hear presently that the terms of surrenderare explicit in that point. He will not force one man to sign who is notconvinced that he can best serve his King and himself by doing so. Itwould go sorely against his heart if he thought that he had been themeans of making the lowest of his subjects to act contrary to theconscience that God has given him. My Lord Prior, I will beg of you toread the terms of surrender."
The paper was read, and it was as it had been described. Again and againit was repeated in various phrases that the property was yielded offree-will. It was impossible to find in it even the hint of a threat.The properties in question were enumerated in the minutest manner, andthe list included all the rights of the priory over the Cluniac cell ofCastleacre.
The Prior laid the paper down, and looked at Dr. Petre.
The Commissioner rose from his seat, taking the paper as he did so, andso stood a moment.
"You see, reverend fathers, that it is as I told you. I understand thatyou have already considered the matter, so that there is no more to besaid."
He stepped down from the dais and passed round to the further side ofthe table. One of the secretaries pushed an ink-horn and a couple ofquills across to him.
"My Lord Prior," said Dr. Petre, with a slight bow. "If you are willingto sign this, I will beg of you to do so; and after that to call up yoursubjects."
He laid the paper down. The Prior stepped briskly out of his seat, andpassed round the table.
Chris watched his back, the thin lawyer beside him indicating the placefor the name; and listened as in a dream to the scratching of the pen.He himself still did not know what he would do. If all signed--?
The Prior stepped back, and Chris caught a glimpse of a white face thatsmiled terribly.
The Sub-Prior stepped down at a sign from his Superior; and then one byone the monks came out.
Chris's heart sickened as he watched; and then stood still on a suddenin desperate hope, for opposite to him Dom Anthony sat steady, his headon his hand, and made no movement when it was his turn to come out.Chris saw the Prior look at the monk, and a spasm of emotion went overhis face.
"Dom Anthony," he said.
The monk lifted his face, and it was smiling too.
"I cannot sign, My Lord Prior."
Then the veils fell, and decision flashed on Chris' soul.
He heard the pulse drumming in his ears, and his wet hands slipped onein the other as he gripped them together, but he made no sign till allthe others had gone up. Then he looked up at the Prior.
It seemed an eternity before the Prior looked at him and nodded; and hecould make no answering sign.
Then he heard his name called, and with a great effort he answered; hisvoice seemed not his own in his ears. He repeated Dom Anthony's words.
"I cannot sign, My Lord Prior."
Then he sat back with closed eyes and waited.
He heard movements about hi
m, steps, the crackle of parchment, and atlast Dr. Petre's voice; but he scarcely understood what was said. Therewas but one thought dinning in his brain, and that was that he hadrefused, and thrown his defiance down before the King--that terrible manwhom he had seen in his barge on the river, with the narrow eyes, thepursed mouth and the great jowl, as he sat by the woman he called hiswife--that woman who now--
Chris shivered, opened his eyes, and sense came back.
Dr. Petre was just ending his speech. He was congratulating theCommunity on their reasonableness and loyalty. By an overwhelmingmajority they had decided to trust the King, and they would not find hisgrace unmindful of that. As for those who had not signed he could saynothing but that they had used the liberty that his Grace had giventhem. Whether they had used it rightly was no business of his.
Then he turned to the Prior.
"The seal then, My Lord Prior. I think that is the next matter."
The Prior rose and lifted it from the table. Chris caught the gleam ofthe brass and silver of the ponderous precious thing in his hand--thesymbol of their corporate existence--engraved, as he knew, with the fourpatrons of the house, the cliff, the running water of the Ouse, and therhyming prayer to St. Pancras.
The Prior handed it to the Commissioner, who took it, and stood there amoment weighing it in his hand.
"A hammer," he said.
One of the secretaries rose, and drew from beneath the table a sheet ofmetal and a sharp hammer; he handed both to Dr. Petre.
Chris watched, fascinated with something very like terror, his throatcontracted in a sudden spasm, as he saw the Commissioner place the metalin the solid table before him, and then, holding the seal sideways, liftthe hammer in his right hand.
Then blow after blow began to echo in the rafters overhead.
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