hour… The man came to you, urging haste, since the
baby was very feeble and likely to die. You did not go with him to give it
Christian baptism, and since your ministration came too late, as I hear, you
denied the infant burial in consecrated ground. Why did you not go at once when
you were called, and with all haste?”
“Because I had but just begun the office. My lord, I
never have broken off my devotions according to my vows, and never will, for
any cause, though it were my own death. Until I had completed the act of
worship I could not go. As soon as it was ended, I did go. I could not know the
child would die so soon. But if I had known, still I could not have cut short
the worship I owe.”
“There are other obligations you owe no less,” said
Radulfus with some asperity. “There are times when it is needful to make a
choice between duties, and yours, I think, is first to the souls of those within
your care. You chose rather the perfection of your own personal worship, and
consigned the child to a grave outside the pale. Was that well done?”
“My lord,” said Ailnoth, unflinching, and with the
high and smouldering gleam of self-justification in his black eyes, “as I hold,
it was. I will not go aside from the least iota of my service where the sacred
office is concerned. My own soul and all others must bow to that.”
“Even the soul of the most innocent, new come into the
world, the most defenceless of God’s creatures?”
“My lord, you know well that the letter of divine law
does not permit the burial of unchristened creatures within the pale. I keep
the rules by which I am bound. I can do no other. God will know where to find
Centwin’s babe, if his mercy extends to him, in holy ground or base.”
After its merciless fashion it was a good answer. The
abbot pondered, eyeing the stony, assured face.
“The letter of the rule is much, I grant you, but the
spirit is more. And you might well have jeopardised your own soul to ensure
that of a newborn child. An office interrupted can be completed without sin, if
the cause be urgent enough. And there is also the matter of the girl Eluned,
who went to her death after—I say after, mark, I do not say because!—you turned
her away from the church. It is a grave thing to refuse confession and penance
even to the greatest sinner.”
“Father Abbot,” said Ailnoth, with the first hot spurt
of passion, immovable in righteousness, “where there is no penitence there can
be neither penance nor absolution. The woman had pleaded penitence and vowed
amendment time after time, and never kept her word. I have heard from others
all her reputation, and it is past amendment. I could not in conscience confess
her, for I could not take her word. If there is no truth in the act of
contrition, there is no merit in confession, and to absolve her would have been
deadly sin. A whore past recovery! I do not repent me, whether she died or no.
I would do again what I did. There is no compromise with the pledges by which I
am bound.”
“There will be no compromise with the answer you must
make for two deaths,” said Radulfus solemnly, “if God should take a view
different from yours. I bid you recall, Father Ailnoth, that you are summoned
to call not the righteous, but sinners to repentance, the weak, the fallible,
those who go in fear and ignorance, and have not your pure advantage. Temper
your demands to their abilities, and be less severe on those who cannot match
your perfection.” He paused there, for it was meant as irony, to bite, but the
proud, impervious face never winced, accepting the accolade. “And be slow to
lay your hand upon the children,” he said, “unless they offend of malicious
intent. To error we are all liable, even you.”
“I study to do right,” said Ailnoth, “as I have
always, and always shall.” And he went away with the same confident step,
vehement and firm, the skirts of his gown
baby was very feeble and likely to die. You did not go with him to give it
Christian baptism, and since your ministration came too late, as I hear, you
denied the infant burial in consecrated ground. Why did you not go at once when
you were called, and with all haste?”
“Because I had but just begun the office. My lord, I
never have broken off my devotions according to my vows, and never will, for
any cause, though it were my own death. Until I had completed the act of
worship I could not go. As soon as it was ended, I did go. I could not know the
child would die so soon. But if I had known, still I could not have cut short
the worship I owe.”
“There are other obligations you owe no less,” said
Radulfus with some asperity. “There are times when it is needful to make a
choice between duties, and yours, I think, is first to the souls of those within
your care. You chose rather the perfection of your own personal worship, and
consigned the child to a grave outside the pale. Was that well done?”
“My lord,” said Ailnoth, unflinching, and with the
high and smouldering gleam of self-justification in his black eyes, “as I hold,
it was. I will not go aside from the least iota of my service where the sacred
office is concerned. My own soul and all others must bow to that.”
“Even the soul of the most innocent, new come into the
world, the most defenceless of God’s creatures?”
“My lord, you know well that the letter of divine law
does not permit the burial of unchristened creatures within the pale. I keep
the rules by which I am bound. I can do no other. God will know where to find
Centwin’s babe, if his mercy extends to him, in holy ground or base.”
After its merciless fashion it was a good answer. The
abbot pondered, eyeing the stony, assured face.
“The letter of the rule is much, I grant you, but the
spirit is more. And you might well have jeopardised your own soul to ensure
that of a newborn child. An office interrupted can be completed without sin, if
the cause be urgent enough. And there is also the matter of the girl Eluned,
who went to her death after—I say after, mark, I do not say because!—you turned
her away from the church. It is a grave thing to refuse confession and penance
even to the greatest sinner.”
“Father Abbot,” said Ailnoth, with the first hot spurt
of passion, immovable in righteousness, “where there is no penitence there can
be neither penance nor absolution. The woman had pleaded penitence and vowed
amendment time after time, and never kept her word. I have heard from others
all her reputation, and it is past amendment. I could not in conscience confess
her, for I could not take her word. If there is no truth in the act of
contrition, there is no merit in confession, and to absolve her would have been
deadly sin. A whore past recovery! I do not repent me, whether she died or no.
I would do again what I did. There is no compromise with the pledges by which I
am bound.”
“There will be no compromise with the answer you must
make for two deaths,” said Radulfus solemnly, “if God should take a view
different from yours. I bid you recall, Father Ailnoth, that you are summoned
to call not the righteous, but sinners to repentance, the weak, the fallible,
those who go in fear and ignorance, and have not your pure advantage. Temper
your demands to their abilities, and be less severe on those who cannot match
your perfection.” He paused there, for it was meant as irony, to bite, but the
proud, impervious face never winced, accepting the accolade. “And be slow to
lay your hand upon the children,” he said, “unless they offend of malicious
intent. To error we are all liable, even you.”
“I study to do right,” said Ailnoth, “as I have
always, and always shall.” And he went away with the same confident step,
vehement and firm, the skirts of his gown
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