The History of Richard Raynal, Solitary

  How Master Richard fared: how he heard Mass in Saint Pancras' Church:how he came to Westminster: and of his colloquy with the Ankret

  _Abyssus abyssum invocat: in voce cataractarum tuarum_.

  Deep calleth on deep: at the noise of Thy flood-gates.--_Ps. xli. 8._

  III

  The tale of his journey and of his coming to London he told me when Isaw him again at the end. He spoke to me for over an hour, and I thinkthat I have remembered near every word, but I cannot write down thelaughter and the tears that were in his voice as he told me.

  As he went along the road beneath the trees and the stars, carrying hiskirtle, with his books and other things in his burse, and his hat on hisshoulders, he was both happy and sorry.

  There are two kinds of happiness for mortal men: there is that which iscarnal and imperfect and hangs on circumstances and the health of thebody and such like things; and there is that which is spiritual andperfect, which hangs on nothing else than the doing of the will of GodAlmighty so far as it is known, so that a man may have both at once, oreither without the other. Master Richard had the one without the other.

  At first he could not bear to think of what he had left behind him--hislittle quiet house and meadow and the stream where he washed, and thebeasts and men that loved him; and he threw himself upon the otherhappiness for strength. By the time that he had arrived at the ford hewas so much penetrated by this better joy that he was able to lookback, and tell himself, as he had told me, that he bore with him alwayswherever he went all that he had left behind him. It was ever hisdoctrine that we lose nothing of what is good and sweet in the past, andthat we suck out of all things a kind of essence that abides with usalways, and that every soul that loves is a treasure-house of all thatshe has ever loved. It is only the souls that do not love that go emptyin this world and _in saecula saeculorum_. He thought much of this onhis road, and by the time that he had come so far that he thought itbest to sleep by the wayside, the warmth had come back that had left himfor four days.

  He went aside then out of the road to find a hazel thicket, and by thespecial guidance of God found one with a may-tree beside it. There hegroped together the dead leaves, took off his burse and his hat and hisgirdle and his brown habit, and laid the habit upon the leaves,unpinning the five wounds, and fastening them again upon his whitekirtle. Then he knelt down by the may-tree, and said his prayers,beginning as he always did:

  _"Totiens glorior, quotiens nominis tui, JESU, recordor."_ ["I glory, sooften as I remember Thy Name, JESU."]

  Then he repeated the Name an hundred times, and his heart grew so hotand the sweetness in his month so piercing that he could scarce go on.Then he committed himself to the tuition of the glorious Mother ofChrist, and to that of saint Christopher, saint Anthony, hermit, andsaint Agnes, virgin, and lastly to that of saint Giles and saint Denis,remembering me. Then he said compline with _paternoster, avemaria_, and_credo_, signed himself with the cross, and lay down on hiskirtle--_specialissimus_, darling of God--and drew the second kirtleover his body for fear of the dews and the night vapours; and so went tosleep, striving not to think of where he had slept last night. (He toldme all this, as I have told you.)

  He awoke at dawn in an extraordinary sweetness within and without, andas he walked in his white habit beneath the solemn beech-trees, his soulopened wide to salute the light that rose little by little, pouring downon him through the green roof. The air was like clear water, he said,running over stories, brightening without concealing their colours; andhe drank it like wine. He had that morning in his contemplation whatcame to him very seldom, and I do not know if I can describe it, but hesaid it was the sense that the air he breathed was the essence of God,that ran shivering through his veins, and dropped like sweet myrrh fromhis fingers. There was the savour of it on his lips, piercing anddelicate, and in his nostrils.

  He set out a little later after he had washed, following the road, andcame to a timber chapel standing by itself. I do not know which it is,but I think it must have been the church of saint Pancras that wasburned down six years after. The door was locked, but he sat to wait,and after an hour came a priest in his gown to say mass. The priestlooked at him, but answered nothing to his good-day (there be so many ofthese idle solitaries about that feign to serve God, but their heart isin the belly). I do not blame the priest; it may be he had been deceivedoften before.

  There was a fellow who answered the mass, and Master Richard knelt byhimself at the end of the church.

  When mass was over the two others went out without a word, leaving himthere. He said _ad sextam_ then, and was setting out once more when thepriest came back with a jug of ale and a piece of meat and bread whichhe offered him, telling him he would have given him nothing if he hadbegged.

  Master Richard refused the meat and the ale, and took the bread.

  The priest asked him his business, and he said he was for London to seethe King.

  The priest asked him whether he would speak with the King, and he toldhim Yes if our Lord willed.

  "And what have you to say to him?" asked the priest.

  "I do not know," said Master Richard.

  The priest looked at him, and said something about a pair of fools, butMaster Richard did not understand him then, for he had not heard yet thetale that the King was mad or near it.

  So he kissed the priest's skirt, and asked his blessing; then he wentdown the steps to the little holy well (which makes me think it to besaint Pancras's church) and drank a little water after signing himselfwith it and commending himself to the saint, and went on his way. Thesun was now high and hot, but he told me that when he looked back at theturn of the path the priest was at the gate in the full sun staringafter him.

  Of his journey that day there is not much to relate. He went byunfrequented ways, walking sedately as his manner was, with devotion inhis heart. An hour before noon a woman gave him dinner as she came backfrom taking it to her husband who burned charcoal in the forest, andasked him a kiss for payment when he had done his meal, sitting on atree, with her standing by and looking upon him all the while. But hetold her that he was a solitary, and that he had kissed no woman but hismother, who had died ten years before, so she appeared content, thoughshe still looked upon him. Then as he stood up, thanking her for thedinner, she caught his hand and kissed that, and he reproved her gentlyand went on his way again.

  For many miles after that it was the same; he saw no man, but only thebeasts now and then, walking beneath the high branches in the sylvantwilight, over the dead leaves and the fern, and seeing now and again,as he expressly told me, for it seemed he had some lesson from it, thehot light that danced in the open spaces to right and left.

  He saw one strange sight, which I should not have believed if he hadnot told me, and that was a ring of bulls in a clearing that tossedsomething this way and that, one to the other: he drove them off, andfound that it was a hare, not yet dead, but it died in his hands. Hetold me that this verse came to his mind as he laid the poor beast downunder a tree; _Circumdederunt me vituli multi: tauri pingues obsederuntme_, ["Many calves have surrounded me: fat bulls have besieged me"(Ps. xxi. 13)] and there is no wonder in that, for it is from a psalm ofthe passion, and it was what befell him afterwards, as you shall hear.

  Soon after that he bathed himself in a pool, for he was hot withwalking, and desired to be at his ease when he saw folk again; and hedipped his sandals, too, to cool them.

  Then he went in his white kirtle a little, until his hair was dried, andwhen the heat of the day began to turn he was aware that he was comingnear to a village, for there was a herd of pigs that looked on himwithout fear.

  The village was a very little one, but it stood upon a road, and herehe had his first sight of the town-folks, for as he rested by a gate acompany of fellows went by from the wars. I suppose that they werelately come from France (maybe from Arfleet [that is, Harfleur]), forhe told me that there were pavissors among them--the men with the greatshields called pavices which are use
d only in sieges from the woodencastles that they push against the walls of the town. They were stainedwith travel, too, and were very silent and peevish. There were allsorts there besides the pavissors--the men-at-arms in their plateand mail-shirts, the archers in their body-armour and aprons, andthe glaivemen [Glaives were a kind of pike, but with long carvedcutting-blades. Bills had straight blades.] with the rest. He said thatone company that rode in front had the sign of the Ragged Staff upontheir breasts, by which he learned afterwards that they were my lordWarwick's men. [The Ragged Staff was the emblem of Lord Warwick.]

  One cried out to him to know how far was it to London, but he shook hishead and said that he was a stranger. The fellow jeered and named himbumpkin, but the rest said nothing, and looked on him as they passed,and two at the end doffed their caps. They were about two hundred, andone rode in front with a banner borne before him; but it was a still hotday, and Master Richard could not see the device, for the folds hungabout the staff.

  He saw other folks after that here and there, although he avoided thevillages where he could; but he got no supper, and an hour before sunsethe came to the ferry over against Westminster. The wherries were drawnup on the beach, and he came down to these past Lambeth House, wonderinghow he was to get over.

  He besought one man for the love of Jesu to take him over, but he wouldnot; and another for the love of Mary, and a third for the sake of theRood of Bromholm, [a famous relic of the True Cross.] and a fourth forthe love of saint Anthony. And at that they laughed at him, coming roundhim and looking on him curiously, and crying that they would have all thesaints out of him before _Avemaria_, and asking to know his business.When he told them in his simplicity that he was to see the King, theylaughed the more, and said that the King was gone to be a monk at saintEdmond's, and that he had best look for him there.

  Then he asked yet another, a great fellow with a hairy face and chest,to take him over for the love of saint Denis and saint Giles, and thefellow swore a great oath, elbowed his way out of the press that wereall staring and laughing, and bade him follow.

  So he got into the boat and sat there while the man carried down theoars, and all the rest crowded to look and question and mock. He told methat he supposed at the time that all the folks looked at him for thatthey were not used to see solitaries, but I do not think it was that. Itell you that one who looked a little on Master Richard would look long,and that one who looked long must either laugh or weep, so surprisingwas his beauty and his simplicity.

  * * * * *

  When they were half-way over the fellow told him which was the abbeychurch, and Master Richard said that he knew it, for that he had seen itfour years before when he came under our Lord's hand from Cambridge, andthat he would ask shelter from the monks.

  "And there is an ankret [an ankret was a solitary, confined to one cellwith episcopal ceremonies.], is there not?" asked Master Richard.

  The man told him Yes, looking upon him curiously, and he told him, too,where was his cell. Then he put him on shore without a word, save askingfor his prayers.

  I cannot tell you how Master Richard came to the ankret's cell, for Iwas only at Westminster once when Master Richard went to his reward,but he found his way there, marvelling at the filth of the ways, andlooked in through the little window, drawing himself up to it by thestrength of his arms.

  It was all dark within, he told me, and a stench as of a kennel came upfrom the darkness.

  He called out to the holy man, holding his nostrils with one hand, andwith the other gripping the bars and sitting sideways on the sill of thewindow. He got no answer at first, and cried again.

  Then there came an answer.

  There rose out of the darkness a face hung all over with hair and nearas black as the hair, with red-rimmed eyes that oozed salt rheum. Theholy man asked him what he wished, and why did he hold his nostrils.

  "I wish to speak with your reverence," said Master Richard, "of highthings. I hold my nostrils for that I cannot abide a stench."

  The red eyes winked at that.

  "I find no stench," said the holy man.

  "For that you are the origin of its propagation," said Master Richard,"and dwell in the midst of it."

  It was foolish, I think, of the sweet lad to speak like that, but he wasan-angered that a man should live so. But the holy solitary was notan-angered.

  "And in God's Majesty is the origin of my propagation," he said."_Ergo_."

  Master Richard could think of no seemly answer to that, and he desired,too, to speak of high matters; so he let it alone, and told the holy manhis business, and where he lived.

  "Tell me, my father," he said, "what is the message that I bear to theKing. It may be that our Lord has revealed it to you: He has not yetrevealed it to me."

  "Are you willing to go dumb before the King?"

  "I am willing if God will," said Master Richard.

  "Are you willing that the King should be deaf and dumb to yourmessage?"

  "If God will," said Master Richard again.

  "What is that which you bear on your breast?"

  "It is the five wounds, my father."

  "Tell me of your life. Are you yet in the way of perfection?"

  Then the two solitaries talked together a long while; I could notunderstand all that Master Richard told to me; and I think there wasmuch that he did not tell me, but it was of matters that I am scarceworthy to name, of open visions and desolations, and the darkness of thefourth Word of our Saviour on the rood; and again of scents and soundsand melodies such as those of which Master Rolle has written; and aboveall of charity and its degrees, for without charity all the rest iscounted as dung.

  _Avemaria_ rang at sunset, but they did not hear it, and at the end theholy man within crept nearer and raised himself.

  "I must see your face, brother," he said. "It may be then that I shallknow the message that your soul bears to the King."

  Master Richard came out of his heavenly swoon then, and saw the faceclose to his own, and what he said of it to me I dare not tell you, buthe bitterly reproached himself that he had ever doubted whether thiswere a man of God or no.

  As he turned his own face this way and that, that the failing lightmight fall upon it, he said that beneath him in the little street therewas a crowd assembled, all silent and watching the heavenly colloquy.

  When he looked again, questioning, at the holy old man, he saw that theother's face was puckered with thought and that his lips pouted throughthe long-falling hair. Then it disappeared, and a grunting voice cameout of the dark, but the sound of it was as if the old man wept.

  "I do not know the message, brother. Our Lord has not shewed it to me,but He has shewed me this--that soon you will not need to wear Hiswounds. That I have to say. _Oremus pro invicem._" ["Let us pray for oneanother."]

  * * * * *

  The crowd pressed close upon Master Richard as he came down from thewindow, and, going in the midst of them in silence, he came to saintPeter's gate where the black monks dwell, and was admitted by theporter.