There was wrath and distress in the House of the Cold Strand by reason of the sin of Brother Gorlois. He was the child of the Holy House, taken into the pious nurture of the brethren, from the dead breast of his murdered mother, a heathen woman, found by Brother Pacificus lying dead in the undergrowth of the great forest nigh the House of the Cold Strand. The pious company of Christian monks, who had built their house of prayer in that land, baptised the babe, and reared him by the precepts of Solomon, by the rule of their House, and by the wisdom which flowed from their hearts. And when the Brother Gorlois was twelve years old he entered his noviciate, and when he was fifteen he took upon him the vows of a monk, namely, the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He had little wit, and was not studious; nor was he called to the way of contemplation, but he was strong, and waxed mighty of muscle. As he grew to manhood the good gift of comeliness was bestowed upon him by the Hand of God, and the thick crisp waves of his curly yellow hair rose up like billows around his head.
He liked to trap and fish for the Holy House, but when the glee of sport was passed he was lazy and loved to sleep. He gave the first occasion for scandal during a fast of twice forty days, wherein the brethren ate no flesh. This Brother Gorlois, stealing forth on the eighth day, slew a coney, and was taken in the wood, having built a fire in order that he might cook and devour it to the gratification of his body, and the peril of his soul; moreover, he lied concerning his sin, scandalously, and indeed foolishly, for it was manifest to the simplest, and denial was vain.
The second scandal was when the Brother Gorlois was found in the refectory drunk with wine; for this offence he did penance, being scourged, and sorely rebuked by the brethren. But the third and most grievous scandal was when he was taken in the forest with the swineherd’s daughter; whereupon the brethren placed him in ward, whilst they debated whether or no a monk who had broken his vows to the shame of his House, should not lie within a narrow cell, the entrance whereof should be securely barred by mortised stones, that soul and body might part slowly in the terrors of a death by hunger and by thirst. Such was the fate adjudged to Brother Gorlois, who was then but a young man of twenty years, and he was brought forth, bound, to hear the same.
The Brother Gorlois was, as aforesaid, young and lusty, comely and of great stature; he looked sullen, but he was less fearful and less ashamed than might have been expected. God had granted to him vigorous youth, health, and a person as goodly to behold as those He had given to the great stags on the moor, and the mighty milk-white bulls which crashed through the forest, leading a drove of their kind; but He in His Wisdom had not yet given to Brother Gorlois the blessing (or curse) of a lively power of imagery, and a sensitive memory.
Still he had been taken, as he knew, in what the brethren denounced as sin, and he knew they were so made that they visited sin by fasting, and by the scourge, to the Brother Gorlois’ great dis-ease; for he loved food, and he esteemed the scourge to be a needless discomfort. Therefore he looked very sulky, and stood gazing upon his feet, and wishing vaguely that his arms were free.
Then he who was Head of the lonely little House of the Cold Strand rose to pronounce the doom of Brother Gorlois, when the aged Brother Pacificus uplifted his voice. It was the Brother Pacificus who had found Brother Gorlois a young babe upon the dead breast of the half-savage heathen woman, his mother.
Brother Pacificus was very old, and a reputed seer; esteemed as a saint was he; twenty years had he travelled over Europe carrying the Gospel of the Christ among heathen people; founding many a Holy House, but never taking the Headship of any; thirty years lived he as a hermit, supplicating God for the world; ten years he had dwelt at the House of the Cold Strand, speaking little and praying much; but during the last year he spoke more frequently and more freely, and the Head of the House of the Cold Strand consulted him reverently as his soul-friend, what though in that House he was his superior in religion.
“It is in my mind, holy father,” said Brother Pacificus, “that we have sinned greatly against our Brother Gorlois, and owe him amends.”
“Speak thy mind, my brother, therefore,” said he who was the Head of the House. “Make plain to us wherein we have sinned, and he shall live.”
“My father,” said the Brother Pacificus, “this, our young brother, so lusty in his youth, is not bound by his vows, seeing that in truth he took them not upon him.”
“Who then took them, venerable brother?”
“Verily, that did we,” said Brother Pacificus; “for we knew their meaning, our Brother Gorlois did not so. He, obeying babe-like those who nurtured him, uttered words of which his heart knew not the meaning. For it is written that once a man of God made a religious house in the wilderness and bound by vows Brother Fox, binding him to a religious life, and to eat no flesh; the which vow he broke, adding to this offence the sin of theft, for so mightily desired he to eat flesh that he ate the leathern shoe-straps of his superior in religion, namely, the holy saint; whereupon the holy man rebuked him for conduct unbefitting a monk, when it was revealed to him that no vow can make a religious of a beast of the field; the blame is his who bindeth a little brother by a harsh rule against which the nature which God hath given constraineth him. Wherefore let our Brother Gorlois abide with us in peace, doing such tasks as his youth and great thews and sinews make very fitting for him; but do not bind him to eat no flesh, nor drink wine, nor even forbid him to seek the love of a maid, for to these things the youth’s nature mightily constraineth him; nor doth he perceive in any measure the beauty of holiness, nor desireth he to enter into the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven. Behold! he is no monk; though his lips spake vow on vow, God would not register them in Heaven as we foolish men do on earth; this Brother Gorlois is but a lad, and in his heart a heathen, like the woman who bore him. Nevertheless he is the child of our House. His hour is not yet. Spare him, my father, and let us not—we who follow Him who bade the woman go unhurt and sin no more—give our child to a cruel death. For we took him in God’s name, and in the Power of that Name shall he dwell amongst us unhurt and forgiven.”
Now no other voice in the Holy House would have been heard on behalf of Brother Gorlois save only that of Brother Pacificus. But to his voice the brethren listened with heed, and now his counsel prevailed, and they spared the Brother Gorlois, and absolved him from his vows, bidding him remain in the House of the Cold Strand, doing such work as his youth and strength rendered fitting for him. Thus then Brother Gorlois was pardoned by the holy father who ruled the brethren. This holy father was a man of great zeal, and jealous for the fair repute of the House, and often he mourned to Brother Pacificus because the soul of the House was barren, and he knew not by what means the brethren could make thereof a mightier power in the Hand of the Lord. But Brother Pacificus said:
“The soul of a Holy House, my father, is like unto the Kingdom of God; it cometh not with observation. It is from the beginning, and to hold this diligently in our minds in all that is possible for us to do in this matter. Let us then act as our nature constraineth us, under the guidance of the Lord, remembering all natures are rooted in Him, and it may ofttimes be our duty to suffer gladly, as His servant, one who sorely opposes us; now this is hard for the natural man, but the Lord from Heaven useth the one and the other for His service according to the measure of their gifts, asking not wit from him who lacketh, nor clerkly lore from the simple, nor the power of the spirit from him who is yet a babe in Christ. Nor can we expect to know the subtle workings of our brethren’s souls, and though it be our duty to dwell in sympathy with them when we may, yet ofttimes it is our duty sweetly to resign ourselves to dwell in ignorance of them. But the soul of a House of Prayer is born from above, not from below, and this, meseemeth, is the meaning of that Scripture which saith a man by taking thought can add not a cubit to his stature.”
It was summer time when the sin of Brother Gorlois was judged by the brethren; the following winter was very cold, and the Brother Pacificus grew feebler. When the spring came he was very infirm; he slept little, and it grew a custom that a brother should watch beside him to minister to him in the night. On a moonlit night of May Brother Gorlois was bidden to keep vigil by the old man’s side. Brother Pacificus slept lightly during the first watch of the night. Brother Gorlois rose up gently and looked from the little unglazed casement upon the forest. It was a warm night, the glamour of the moon lay on the great silent glades. Brother Gorlois felt restless, and upon him was a desire to rove the forest. The oaks were in leaf, the smell of bluebells filled the air, the fierce life of night and springtide was pulsing apace through the dim sweet land; it was a night when all the beasts of the forest did roam, seeking their bread from God.
Brother Gorlois leaned out, and smelled the night air and the earth; then he drew back and sat by the old monk.
Something flew through the casement and hit Brother Gorlois on his broad chest; it was a bunch of bluebells. Brother Gorlois looked out once more. Below the window was the swineherd’s daughter; the night was sultry, and her smock was open by reason of the heat; her skirt was made of the stitched skins of beasts; about her neck was a garland of blue flowers of the wood, swaying rope-like about her throat. When she saw Brother Gorlois she laughed loudly and fled, but as she fled she looked back. Then Brother Gorlois leaped from the window. When she heard the beat of his feet behind her she ran faster; nevertheless, as she ran she dragged the bluebells from about her throat and flung them earth-wards to mark the way by which she went. Soon the thicket hid her, and Brother Gorlois, flying in pursuit, was hidden too.
A little while after the flight of Brother Gorlois, the Brother Pacificus stirred.
“My son,” he said faintly, “give me to drink, I pray thee.”
No one answered, and the old man murmured:
“He is young, he sleeps.”
He sighed, for his mouth was very parched and dry. After a while he said again:
“My son, sleepest thou? Wake, I pray thee.”
But no one answered, and he said:
“My voice is weak, and the sleep of youth is heavy. O Lord, Thy chosen slept in the hour of Thy agony; how didst Thou thirst, O Master, and there was none to succour Thee, save with the bitter vinegar and gall!”
After a while the old monk’s thirst grew grievous, and he strove, slowly and tremulously, to raise his aged limbs.
“It is but a little way to yonder jug,” he murmured, “I am a selfish old man; the lad is tired with toil. I will seek the water for myself.”
He rose slowly, groped a pace or two, stumbled, and fell to the floor of his cell. He lay there, moaning a little now and then, and shivering. Thus did he lie during two hours of the night; and thus Brother Gorlois found him when he slunk back, just as day broke. In great terror he called the brethren, praying God that the old man had not known his absence, or at least would be speechless till the end. But Brother Pacificus, though all might see his death was near, recovered speech and clearness of mind, and received the last rites of the Church. Then said he:
“My brethren, ye are weary. Leave me to await the coming of my Lord and Master. I shall die this night when midnight strikes. Wherefore at that hour go ye to the chapel, and speed my soul with songs of holy joy; and leave with me, I pray you, Brother Gorlois.”
Then they obeyed, weeping; but the Head said:
“Dare we trust thee, beloved brother, with this youth?” and sternly he said to Brother Gorlois:
“Slept ye not, nor had left our holy brother when this sickness increased upon him?”
Then Brother Gorlois lied; and Brother Pacificus smiled very tenderly upon him and said:
“Nay, ye shall leave me, my father, with the babe I found.”
When the brethren were gone, Brother Pacificus said:
“Come near to me, my child, and lift me in thy arms, for I breathe hardly.”
Brother Gorlois obeyed, and Brother Pacificus said:
“Wherefore left ye me, my son and little brother? The pain was sore as I lay yonder; and that ye might have spared me. But in truth I sinned in lack of patience; nevertheless, the thirst which was upon me was great when I strove to fetch the water, that I might drink a little to cool my tongue.”
The old man spoke very feebly, a word or two and then a long pause; but when he had spoken Brother Gorlois knew Brother Pacificus had perceived his absence. He said no word, but hung his head. He perceived there was no fear that Brother Pacificus would betray him. And yet he hung his head; there grew up about his heart a feeling new and strange, and he felt very wroth with the swineherd’s brown daughter.
“See thy penance, child,” said Brother Pacificus. “Hold me in thy arms; thus I breathe more freely.”
Brother Gorlois said nothing, not even when the cramp in his arms grew great.
The old man fell into a stupor; but sometimes he wandered a little. He would moan and say:
“My son—Gorlois—my son—where are thou?”
Sometimes he would say:
“I thirst—alone—Thou, Lord, wast left——”
And Brother Gorlois, albeit dull of wit, saw he was living through the pain and loneliness of the past night. Brother Gorlois did not ask the old monk’s pardon; he did not know he wanted him to forgive; he knew his heart felt heavy; he began to wish the Head might find out what he had done, and have him flogged; and he felt more and more wroth with the swineherd’s daughter, who was the cause of his discomfort.
In the chapel the brethren began to sing, Brother Pacificus could not hear them. The hour of midnight was near.
Brother Pacificus waxed heavier in the strong arms of his “little brother;” his breathing grew slower, and more slow.
Brother Pacificus shuddered once with a great shudder, and his breathing ceased; then he breathed once more, opened his eyes, and smiled.
“Jhesu!” he said, “Jhesu! Jhesu! Jhesu!” Then he laughed softly and gladly, as a lover at the sight of his beloved, or as an exile when he sees again the land he loves.
The hour was midnight; a light like moonlight flickering upon blue steel flashed through the room, and Brother Pacificus died.
Then as Brother Gorlois laid him down, and slowly rubbed his cramped arms, there flew through the casement a bunch of blue flowers; they smote him on the chest, and dropped upon the dead man’s breast.
Brother Gorlois gave a cry that was like unto a human sob of pain, but liker still to the cry of an angry beast that has been hurt. He leaped through the unglazed casement; in the silent wood below there was the shriek of a woman in a swiftly stilled anguish of bodily fear.
From the chapel, when the day broke, the weeping brethren came. They found Brother Pacificus dead, and on his breast a bunch of blue sweet-smelling flowers; under the window on the dew-drenched forest turf, there lay a half-clad girl; a bunch of blossoms like those on the dead saint’s breast was in her stiffened hand; there was a wound in her throat that an arm nerved by savage rage had given; in the tangle of her rough hair was the knife that had killed her. It was the Brother Gorlois’ hunting knife; but he had fled, and the House of the Cold Strand knew him no more from the hour when the Son of Man was born in him, in the throes of a first “conviction of sin,” the passing anguish of a first remorse.