*
“Do you think the second recording’ll go ahead?” Beauvoir asked.
Now, finally, he saw a reaction in Frère Antoine. A flash of anger, then suppressed. Like the root vegetables beneath their feet. Buried, but still growing.
“I have no idea. If the prior was alive I’m sure it would have. The abbot was against it, of course. But Frère Mathieu would’ve won.”
There was no uncertainty in the monk’s voice. And Beauvoir finally had his button. It had taken him awhile to find it. He could push and insult and harangue Frère Antoine all day, and he’d remain composed, good-humored even. But mention the abbot?
Kaboom.
“Why do you say, ‘of course’? Why would the abbot be against it?”
As long as he could keep pushing the “abbot button” this monk would be off-balance. And there was a better chance something unexpected would come out of that mouth.
“Because it wasn’t under his control.”
The monk leaned closer to Beauvoir. Jean-Guy felt the force of this monk’s personality. And his physical vitality. Here was a strong man, in every way.
Why are you a monk? was really the question Beauvoir was longing to ask. But didn’t. And he knew, deep down, why not. He too was afraid. Of the answer.
“Look, the abbot decides everything within these walls. In a monastic life the abbot is all-powerful,” said Frère Antoine, his hazel eyes focused on Beauvoir. “But he let something slip through his fingers. The music. In allowing the first recording he let the music out into the world and lost control of it. The chants took on a life of their own. He’s spent the past year trying to undo all that. To contain them again.” A malicious smile appeared on that handsome face. “But he can’t. It’s God’s will. And he hates it. And he hated the prior. We all knew that.”
“Why would he hate the prior? I thought they were friends.”
“Because the prior was everything he isn’t. Brilliant, gifted, passionate. The abbot’s a dry old stick. A decent enough administrator, but no leader. He could quote the bible front and back, in English and French and Latin. But with the Gregorian chants? The center of our life here? Well, some know it and some feel it. The abbot knows the chants. The prior felt them. And that made Frère Mathieu a far more powerful man in the monastery. And the abbot knew it.”
“But it must have always been like that, why would the recording change anything?”
“Because as long as it was just us, they worked it out. Made a good team, in fact. But with the success of the recording, the power shifted. Suddenly the prior was getting recognition from the outside.”
“And with that came influence,” said Beauvoir.
“The abbot felt threatened. Then Frère Mathieu decided we should not only do another recording but go out into the world. Respond to the invitations. He felt strongly that those invitations came as much from God as from the people. It was, in essence, a literal ‘calling.’ Suppose Moses had kept the tablets? Or Jesus had remained a carpenter, privately communing with God? No. These gifts are meant to be shared. The prior wanted to share them. But the abbot didn’t.”
The words tumbled over themselves to leave Frère Antoine’s body. He couldn’t condemn Dom Philippe fast enough.
“The prior wanted the vow of silence lifted, so that we could go into the world.”
“And the abbot refused,” said Beauvoir. “Did he have much support?”
“Some of the brothers were loyal to him, more out of habit than anything. Habit and training. We’re taught to always bend our will to the abbot.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because Dom Philippe would’ve destroyed Saint-Gilbert. Taken it back to the Dark Ages. He wanted nothing to change. But it was too late. The recording changed everything. It was a gift of God. But the abbot refused to see it that way. He said the recording was like the serpent in the garden, trying to lure us away, seduce us with promises of power and money.”
“Maybe he was right,” Beauvoir suggested and was rewarded with a look of fury.
“He’s a frightened old man, clinging to the past.”
Frère Antoine was leaning toward Beauvoir, practically spitting the words. Then he paused, and a perplexed look crossed his face. The monk cocked his head to one side.
Beauvoir also paused to listen.
Something was coming.