by George Moore
With that he gave up the kingdom and went and joined the hermits that do be in the wilderness, passing his kingdom over to his brother Guaire and giving the nuns a whacking lump of his forests and glebe for the building of a nunnery, they bargaining to be offering up prayers, and good ones, so that he might meet his wife, her body and soul, in heaven.
It wasn’t long after that he began to study the Latin, and as soon as he had enough of the tongue to get through Mass they made a priest out of him, and with his cassock on his back he was the proud man, thinking small, rough potatoes of his brother Guaire, the new king. You have a soft silk shirt on you like I used to wear when I was a king and a sinner, but my cassock scratches my skin, making many a sore place, but every one of these scabs will be lifting me up nearer and nearer to the blessed Etain, and she, if it’s the will of God, a saint among the saints. Whereupon the two brothers went up to where the nuns were building, and MacCalmain put off his cassock and dug into the work of collecting wattles and driving in stakes with a hammer, and Guaire watching him, wishing to do the same, but of course he couldn’t, for that’s no king’s job. But he was proud of the brother all the same, and he thought a lot of the nuns too. Great women were the nuns of old Ireland, content at first with little enough, a church, a refectory, a kitchen, a library, a workshop, a guest-chamber maybe, and to get these built, great labour was needed. My father was apt at telling a story how St Patrick, going the road from Mayo to Ulster, cried like a baby when he saw the blood on the woodmen’s hands, the tears rolling down his cheeks in two great streams. The nuns would never have been able to clear the land of forest if MacCalmain had not asked his brother Guaire to send up help; sure, they couldn’t do it. The nuns, he said, haven’t time to say as much as a prayer, and my poor wife and I are lonely one for the other, she away there in heaven and I where I am in this place. Send these nuns good help the way they’ll get their building finished and be able to say their prayers. The wife may be in purgatory yet for all we know. Send up some good help, Guaire, and we’ll all get a prayer said for us against the time we’ll be in purgatory, for there will all of us be sooner or later, this day or the next, and God knows for how long.
All that I’m telling your honour Marban heard from Eorann, and when his turn came to speak he said: you’ve heard, Sister, that in heaven there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage. We read the same words in the gospels, Eorann answered, but it is the Abbot beyond explains hard things to the laity; and sure it is only just and reasonable that we should be rewarded in the next world for the temptations that we conquer in this one.
To this Marban could only answer: ’tis true for you, Sister. ’Tis true indeed. And he wondered at her blabbing little tongue, her round, childlike eyes, and it was with an uneasy mind and an itchy body that he followed her round the lands of Crith Gaille, asking himself, if he had to lie with every nun in the nunnery, would he be strong enough to resist the lot of them the way he did Mother Abbess, or would he have to give in. Let me out of this place, he said to himself, and I’ll take care not to put one foot of my feet into it again. I would never have come back to the old country if I dreamt that such trials and goings on were in pickle for me. You’re not listening to me, Marban, the little nun was saying. I am, indeed, said he; and to prove it, you’re telling me that when a school is added huts are built round it for the students, and that the Mother Abbess was often of the same family as the founder, the office coming down from father to son. Isn’t that what you said, or isn’t it? And Eorann had to give in that he did know what she was talking about. But what is there on your mind? she asked. For there is something. I’m thinking about the difference there is between the Ireland I left and the one I’ve come back to. What difference can you be seeing, for you were no better than a child when you left Ireland? she answered. And you’ve come back to the same Ireland as always was and always will be, praise be to God for ever and ever.
They hadn’t walked very far before he said: we’ve got out of the way of putting ourselves into temptation, and she answered him: is it how the Mother Abbess made you out to be holier than you are and that you’re afraid of us? It isn’t that, said Marban. It is not that indeed. What else can it be, said Eorann, that would stop a man from winning a high place in heaven and he getting the chance? He might be a humble sort of man, said Marban, and he might be one would be content with a small place. You won’t be talking like that to the sisters whom I see coming towards us, for they will be expecting you to look upon the temptations we are laying out for you as your heavenly fortune.
You never could be sure with Eorann that she wasn’t making fun of you, for there was a sting at the back of whatever she said, and Marban felt that he didn’t like her. As she went off, he said to himself: well, it won’t be that one will give me a fall. And he threw an eye over the others that were now round him, talking to him, each one trying to get him to herself, for they all wanted to hear about the monastery in the Pyrenees, and what sort of men the foreign monks were, and if he liked speaking the French better than he did the Irish; and they wanted to know if the prayers and the fastings were long beyond there in the Pyrenees, and what penances they got, and if the Abbot called up every monk in turn to receive many stripes on the hand. We get two hundred, one said to Marban, in the days before Lent, to remind us that we are at the beginning of the year’s penance. But, said he, your prayers here don’t seem to me to be out of the way long. You had matins at midnight the same as there is in every convent, and I said Mass for myself at seven. The monks at Bregen, said he, don’t seem to be coming down to fetch their hounds. We didn’t send them word, Blathnat answered. And we won’t send them word yet a while, Muirgil rapped out, for we want to have you here to ourselves so that you may be getting great glory for us.
Now Marban didn’t give her an answer, for he was brooding on the dangers that Crith Gaille held for him, and wondering how soon he’d be out of the place, and wondering if he could hit on a plan to trick the nuns and make off. So he kept turning and twisting the ways of escape over in his mind, but nothing came of it until he thought of the dogs. Wouldn’t you like, said he, to have a look at my fine hounds? So they went round together to the outhouse where the dogs were tied, and when he called out Cathba, a great baying and scratching answered him. Crede’s welcome was an impatient whimper, and Marban bade the nuns hearken. The finest tongue of all is Duban’s, he said. And when the doors were opened the three great hounds rose up on their hind legs, straining at their chains, and the nuns cried out and ran and hid themselves behind the doors; but Marban said: you could trust a child with them, ’tis only the smell of a wolf rises up their bristles. So eagerly did the hounds strain against their collars that Marban could hardly loosen them from their chains, but once they were free it was a fine sight to see them at play, jumping over each other and over the nuns, up on the shoulders of everybody, licking their faces and away again, smelling round the tree-trunks, and relieving themselves; going down on their haunches and then scattering the earth and leaves in a great tumult, jumping, barking, and galloping ahead of Marban, who was chewing away at the idea of how, in the name of this and that, he was ever to get away from Crith Gaille. It would be a fine thing, he was saying to himself, if I up and told these fine ladies: my dogs are on the trail of a wolf; I must after them. And that’s the very thing he would have done if he’d any luck. But a wolf that was lying in a thicket was startled out of it, and the three dogs overtook him at the end of the glade. A good fight it was, for the wolf was in his prime, and had there been but two dogs at him instead of three he might have overcome them and got away. But he couldn’t fight his way past three. He broke Crede’s paw in a snap, and took a lump out of Cathba’s throat, but while he was doing them deeds, Duban got him by the windpipe, and the wolf gave in. Terrible animals wolves; and the Irish wolf was as bad and worse than the Pyrenean fellow.
I never saw a wolf fight like that one, said Marban. But what ailed the beast to be lying out in that cop
se? he said to himself, for he has knocked my plans upside down.
The rest of the day went doctoring Crede’s broken paw and Cathba’s wound. So busy was he attending the dogs he forgot night was coming on, and he had no more eaten his supper when the door opened and Blathnat came in, and she in her night-shirt. We go to bed early in this convent, she said. Does it be like that with you away in the Pyrenees? Marban was hard set to answer her, so dry was his throat, and his heart misgave him, for Blathnat’s voice was winning, and he liked the pale brown hair showing under the coif she was taking off her head. Seeing that the monk was beginning to shiver and shake she stopped undressing to reprove him, saying, in a quiet, even voice, that he must smother that look of fear on his face, and that he could count on her to see him through the worst of the temptation. Do you be putting your trust in me, she said, and leave shivering and shaking, for while I’m here there’s nothing can harm you. But before we lie down tell me what happened last night between yourself and herself, Brother Marban. He told her the truth, only leaving out that perhaps it was the fatigue of his journey had made him able to lie alongside the Mother Abbess’s side without a kick in him. I understand you well, Sister Blathnat said. After forty no woman is what she used to be, though for her age there isn’t a finer woman in Ireland than herself, and there was a day when she would raise up temptation in the stones. Sister Blathnat, the young man answered, from one year’s end to the other, we don’t see a woman in the cells beyond, and we think it well enough to live without sin. Now if there is no temptation there’s no merit, not a scrap, she said, and he replied to her that he had talked that question over the night before. This is what I want to ask you now, said he. Is it true that none of the monks from Bregen have fallen into sin? Tell me that now, said he, and the question seemed to fall so innocently from his lips that it startled Sister Blathnat so much that she said: if that be the way you’re going to talk, perhaps another nun had better lie with you, and she was making her way towards the door when Brother Marban said:
Oh, Sister Blathnat, if it must be that I lie with any, let it be with you, for you’ve a kind face and you’ll keep the devil out of my mind. And she said: the same words prove you to have a good disposition anyway. Maybe I made a mistake, so I’ll lie with you without tempting you much. But before lying down together we will say a little prayer, and Marban prayed for his life, being sore afraid both of her and of the monks up at Bregen.
I hope, the nun said, I’ve not kept you too long on your knees. You have not, said he; not so long as herself last night. She always was a long one at her prayers, said Blathnat. We’ll strip now, said she, and on these words he put off the cloak and unloosened his tunic. Look at me, said Sister Blathnat. Tell me now if I’m not nicer than dear mother about the bosom? And the monk, turning round, thought that he never saw two breasts prettier or whiter than Sister Blathnat’s. Like two white birds they are, he said, being a bit of a poet. And as innocent, she added. Now kiss the crucifix about your neck, and then kiss me, and pray that the temptation that will rise up in you shall be overcome. I will pray indeed, he said. I’ll pray for all I’m worth. Faith and troth, you are a holy man, she said, after a while, for you’re lying as quiet and easy by my side as a man would lie by the side of his brother. I’ve met them that were more restless than you, and they advanced in years. Great will be your reward. And creeping in closer, she began telling him that he might seek her shape behind and in front, wherever he pleased; now you feel me, she said, and you not tempted at all. I am tempted, indeed, said Brother Marban, and what I see in front of me is three years and half a year and me eating dry bread and drinking water at every one of my meals.
Starved I’ll be, God help me. Then have recourse to your crucifix, she replied, and you’ll win out. Get the best of the devil, said she, and keep your grip on me. That’s right. Now lie quietly and doze a little. But there was no doze upon him that night, and if he had not the bread and water and three years of it to think about, there’s no knowing what would have happened. After a while she took him in her arms and kissed him, saying: Brother Marban, I’ll be leaving you now, the devil has been worsted this time for good and all, though one moment I did think I’d got a sniff of him from under the door. Marban agreed to that, and said that he too had smelt the old boy, and that it was well for both of them the windows and doors to be barred the way they were.
And then they fell to talking of the crevices the old man could get through if he were so minded, till Sister Blathnat said: take your hands from my breasts. You’ve been tempted enough, Brother, and God would not wish a person to be tried beyond his strength. Sleep well, now, like I will myself, and good-night to you, she said, looking at him from the door before closing it. It’s just as well that he didn’t, she said to herself, as she stood on the stairs; it’s always better in the end. For what is the value of the poor life we’re living? And it isn’t I that would be bringing disgrace upon it, God help me, and on myself, and on our own convent. She said this for she couldn’t get it out of her head that Marban was a fresh young lad, and it wasn’t more than half-an-hour after getting into her bed before she woke up with a scream out of her, and starting out of her bed with one leap she got to the middle of the floor, the other nuns coming to her, saying: what is it, Blathnat? Tell us what it is now. But all she could do at first was to stare at them, her senses coming back to her slowly, saying: it was only a dream, thank God. That was no more than a dream. And they, guessing that she had been dreaming of the young man, got round the bed, and she told them all she had done, the way she had put herself up against him telling him that he must take her in his arms, and to be sure and say a prayer lest the devil should be getting the better of him. You weren’t tempted yourself at all, Sister? said one of them, with a look. I was, faith, said she, and who knows what would have become of me, for there was a swimming behind my eyes? But I gave a Hail Mary and got rid of it, glory be.
CHAPTER 20.
WELL, THERE THEY were, sitting round Sister Blathnat’s bed just as I’m telling you, and they settling which of them was to give the poor lad his share of trouble on the next night. The monks will be here on Saturday, so you three can lie with him, Sister Eorann, Muirgil and Brigit, one after the other; as soon as one comes out the other goes in, and if he lies quiet while you’re with him, there’s no doubt but they’ve sent us a great saint and one that will do honour to Ireland. He’s a holy man, indeed. He’s a very holy man; you couldn’t stir him up with a stick, said the Abbess. These were her very words as they have come down to us in the old stories.
But which of us shall be the first one to He with him? the nuns asked, and the Mother Abbess answered: you’ll draw lots, and on this she got three straws and put them in a box. Whoever draws the smallest one will be the first to lie with him. And the first, your honour, was Brigit, and the second Muirgil. And the third Eorann. That was the way of it. And Brigit, as I told your honour, was a thin girl, with red hair ringletting down her rosy cheeks, who if she hadn’t been a nun she might have been as wicked as the old woman of Blair, she that lay with more kings than any other woman in Ireland till she got old and couldn’t manage anything. But we mustn’t be getting into another story, Alec said. Well, Marban had all he wanted in the way of trouble from that one. She was a great torment, indeed, turning all his senses reeling, and setting his soul fluttering in him, but he stood his ground, for the grace of God was on him that night. And when the Abbess gave a ring of the bell, Brigit said: ’tis time for me to be off; you’re a great man and a holy man, for you’ve lain very quietly by me considering everything. I tried you deeply, Brother, but I wouldn’t have done it only they were bragging about the piety that is in you, and in you it surely is.
The door opened, and as Sister Brigit went out Sister Muirgil went in, saying, as she passed the other one: I can see by your face, Brother Marban, I can see that you’ve been greatly tried by Sister Brigit, who is famous all over Ireland for the tests and the trials she puts on the m
en. While saying these words she slipped off the gown; and she stood up, one of them round figures, with plenty of shape despite the flesh that God has put upon them, and with one shape in her that struck the saint’s eyes: she did not go in at the knees, her thighs sloping down into her ankles, and from that out into her feet. And when his hand passed over the limbs and between them, anything might have befallen him if she hadn’t been a kind-hearted woman. But seeing the trouble he was in, she folded him in her arms just as his mother used to when he was a gossoon, and said: we’ll say Our Father together. A Hail Mary might bring me more relief, he answered. Muirgil laughed at that, and tossed her hair from her little round forehead, and for the rest of the time she told him stories about the monks at Bregen, and how anxious they all were to be tempted by her and to resist the temptations, for all thought of this earth, said she, was gone clean out of their minds, only of heaven do they be thinking, and that’s what puts the great strength in them. And she told him she got into the same way of thinking herself, but there were times when she could only get a grip on the things of this world. And then the things of the other world didn’t seem worth a lot, which put a great fright into the monk’s mind that while she was with him she might be thinking too much of the things of this world and not enough of heaven; but it was all to the differ, for after a bit she quieted down. Now I must be leaving you, she said, for Sister Eorann will be here in a moment or two, rousing you up again and doing her best against you. But you will be a match for her, won’t you, now? You don’t fear her. Do you now? Ah! It’s a shame, so it is, for you’re only a boy, and she’s educated. You’re not afraid, are you? said she, and she gave him another kiss.
