to resist
the damp, was the pigeon-house--a veritable feudal tower, a veritable
feudal plaisance of birds, which the common people dared not so much as
ruffle. About a thousand of them were housed there, each in its little
chamber, encouraged to grow plump, and to breed, in perfect
self-content. From perch to perch of the great axle-tree in the
centre, monastic feet might climb, gentle monastic hands pass round to
every tiny compartment in turn. The arms of the monastery were carved
on the keystone of the doorway, and the tower finished in a conical
roof, with becoming aerial gaillardise, with pretty dormer-windows for
the inmates to pass in and out, little balconies for brooding in the
sun, little awnings to protect them from rough breezes, and a great
weather-vane, on which the birds crowded for the chance of a ride. If
the peasants of that day, whose small fields they plundered, noting all
this, perhaps [160] envied the birds dumbly, for the brethren, on the
other hand, it was a constant delight to watch the feathered
brotherhood, which supplied likewise their daintiest fare. Who then,
what hawk, or wild-cat, or other savage beast, had ravaged it so
wantonly, so very cruelly destroyed the bright creatures in a single
night--broken backs, rent away limbs, pierced the wings? And what was
that object there below? The silver harp surely, lying broken likewise
on the sanded floor, soaking in the pale milky blood and torn plumage.
Apollyon sobbed and wept audibly as he went about his ordinary doings
next day, for once fully, though very sadly, awake in it; and towards
evening, when the villagers came to the Prior to confess themselves,
the Feast of the Nativity being now at hand, he too came along with
them in his place meekly, like any other penitent, touched the lustral
water devoutly, knew all the ways, seemed to desire absolution from
some guilt of blood heavier than the slaughter of beast or bird. The
Prior and his attendant, on their side, are reminded that by this time
they have wellnigh forgotten the monastic duties still incumbent upon
them, especially in that matter of the "Offices." On the vigil of the
feast, however, Brother Apollyon himself summoned the devout to
Midnight Mass with the great bell, which had hung silent for a
generation, wedged in immoveably by a beam of [161] the cradle fallen
out of its place. With an immense effort of strength he relieved it,
hitched the bell back upon its wheel;
|