Part I Chapter 7 Doctor Dolittle's Garden by Hugh Lofting
THE MONASTERY
Quetch's story had now been going on for some hours. And the attention of the audience lot slackened in the least. For my part, while my fingers felt a bit stiff from writer's cramp (for you must remember I was taking down all these stories in short-hand, to be put into the book, Tales of the Home for Crossbred Dogs), I was still too deeply absorbed in the history of this strange little terrier to bother about the time. Neither had it occurred to the Doctor to look at his watch. And it is quite likely that we would all have sat on there listening till the cocks crowed if Dab-Dab had not suddenly appeared and told us that it was long after midnight and high time that the Doctor was abed.
So the rest of the Story of the Dog Who Set Out to Seek His Fortune was put off till the following night.
But when the next evening came I could see by the eager way the crowd got ready to listen that the delay had only made them that much keener to hear the remainder of it.
"The next chapter in my story," Quetch continued, "was rather odd—peaceful but odd. The colder weather was coming on—for it was late in the year. When I felt that I was well beyond the reach of pursuit of the angry old gentleman and the townsfolk, I began to keep an eye open for a decent place to sleep. The best I could find was a haystack, into which I burrowed a sort of hole and curled myself up inside. I was just about to drop off when a biting cold wind sprang up in the East and began blowing right into my little den. I soon realized that I had got to make a move. I tried the other side of the stack but it wasn't much better. So I decided to go on down the road and find another place.
"I hadn't gone very far when I heard a bell tolling. I peered into the darkness off to the side of the road and saw a large stone building. At one end there was a sort of chapel with stained glass windows, dimly lighted. It was the only habitation in the neighbourhood, standing in the midst of its own grounds apparently. I went up closer and saw that there were men dressed in robes solemnly gathering in the little chapel. It was evidently a monastery. I knew, because there had been one near our home farm. These monks would be going into vespers, the evening service.
"Well, I was never what you would call a religious dog. On the other hand, no one could call me bigoted or intolerant. Among my friends upon the Scotch farm I had had Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Methodist and Baptist dogs. One of my closest chums had been an Airedale who belonged to a Jewish rabbi. The little chapel looked warm and inviting compared to the cold night outside. The doors would soon close. I joined the procession and went in to vespers.
"Well, it seemed that some of the monks were not as broad-minded about matters of religion as I myself. They objected to my coming in. I suppose they thought I wasn't a Roman Catholic dog and hadn't any business there. Anyway, I had no sooner found an empty pew, free from draughts and curled myself up to listen to the service in comfort, than I was grabbed by one of the lay brothers, carried to the door and put out.
"I was greatly shocked by this. I had always understood that monasteries were famous for their hospitality. What sort was this, when a gentleman of the road, taking shelter from a windy night within their walls, was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and shoved out into the cold? While I was wondering what I would do next the organ started playing and the monks began singing psalms. Such voices, my gracious! I could do better myself. I would show them. I leant against the chapel door and joined in the chorus. Of course I couldn't sing the words. But I had no difficulty in following the general lines of the tune quite as musically as they were doing.
"To my surprise, my joining the choir seemed to stop the organ. Next I heard whisperings behind the closed door of the chapel.
"'Perhaps it is the Devil, Brother Francis,' I heard one monk say, 'trying to disturb us at our devotions. Do not open the door on any account.'
"This wasn't very flattering, nor in the least helpful. But presently the Abbot, that is the head of the monks, came down to the door of the chapel to see what all the disturbance was about. The Abbot was a very fine man. He became, afterwards, a great friend of mine. Devil or no devil, the Abbot believed in facing the problems of life. He ordered the door to be opened at once. He smiled when he saw me sitting on the step outside.
"'Come in, stranger,' said he, 'and take shelter from the wind and cold.'
"I didn't wait for any second invitation but trotted in at once and made myself comfortable in one of the pews. Several of the monks looked kind of shocked and scandalized. But as it was their own abbot who had let me in there wasn't anything they could do about it. Then they went on with the service.
"After it was over they all started to troop out again. They were very solemn and serious. I joined the procession, sticking close to the Abbot, who was, I realized, a good person to keep in with. From the door of the chapel, two by two, with our eyes on the ground, we trapsed along a stone-paved cloister and entered another door. Beyond this, I was delighted to discover, lay the dining-room, or refectory, as it is always called in monasteries. Good cooking smells greeted our nostrils. With the cold nippy wind I already had a great appetite again.
"Well, I followed the monastic life for several months. It wasn't half bad. The monks were a very nice lot of men when you got to know them. And as soon as I was accepted into the order I was allowed to go everywhere and do pretty much as I pleased. In that respect it was one of the freest, most agreeable chapters in my whole career. The old Abbot was lots of fun. Naturally of a very cheerful disposition, he often had, I could see, very hard work keeping up the solemn dignity which seemed to be expected of his position as head of the monastery. I am sure that he found in his friendship for me a chance to let off steam and be natural. Many was the jolly run we had together, down in a hollow of the monastery meadows where no one could see us, in pursuit of an otter or a hare.
"Of course it was quiet, there's no denying that. Prayers, digging in the garden, farm and house work, were all we did; and day followed day in peaceful sameness. But for my part I managed to get a good deal of fun out of it. In return for my board and lodging I kept the monastery and the farm-buildings free from rats. That gave me plenty to do. And it was about this time that I first became a collector. The Abbot was a geologist and he used to collect stones and pieces of rock. I helped him in digging for them.
"Yes, I had a very peaceful life while I was a Monk Dog. I would probably have stayed with it much longer if it had not been for my desire to see more of the world. This finally led me to bid farewell to the monastery and its nice abbot and set forth once more upon my wanderings."