The King's Achievement

  CHAPTER IX

  LIFE AT LEWES

  Under the direction of the junior-master who overlooked the young monksfor some years after their profession, Chris continued his work ofillumination, for which he had shown great aptitude during his year ofnoviceship.

  The art was beginning to disappear, since the introduction of printinghad superseded the need of manuscript, but in some Religious Houses itwas still thought a suitable exercise during the hours appointed formanual labour.

  It was soon after the beginning of the new year that Chris was entrustedwith a printed antiphonary that had its borders and initials left white;and he carried the great loose sheets with a great deal of pride to thelittle carrel or wooden stall assigned to him in the northern cloister.

  It was a tiny room, scarcely six feet square, lighted by the window intothe cloister-garth, and was almost entirely filled by the chair, thesloping desk against the wall, and the table where the pigments andbrushes lay ready to the hand. The door opened on to the cloister itselfwhere the professed monks were at liberty to walk, and on the oppositeside stood the broad aumbries that held the library of the house; and itwas from the books here that Chris was allowed to draw ideas for hisdesigns. It was a great step in that life of minute details when now forthe first time he was permitted to follow his own views, instead ofmerely filling in with colour outlines already drawn for him; and hefound his scheme for the decoration a serious temptation to distractionduring the office. As he stood among the professed monks, in his ownstall at last, he found his eyes wandering away to the capitals of theround pillars, the stone foliage and fruit that burst out of the slendershafts, the grim heads that strained forward in mitre and crownoverhead, and even the living faces of his brethren and superiors, clearagainst the dark woodwork. When he bent his eyes resolutely on his bookhe found his mind still intent on his more secular business; he mentallycorrected this awkward curve of the initial, substituted an oak spraywith acorns for that stiff monstrosity, and set my Lord Prior's facegrinning among griffins at the foot of the page where humour was morereadily admitted.

  It was an immense joy when he closed his carrel-door, after his hour'ssiesta in the dormitory, and sat down to his work. He was still warmwith sleep, and the piercing cold of the unwarmed cloister did notaffect him, but he set his feet on the sloping wooden footstool thatrested on the straw for fear they should get cold, and turned smiling tohis side-table.

  There were all the precious things laid out; the crow's quills sharpenedto an almost invisible point for the finer lines, the two sets ofpencils, one of silver-point that left a faint grey line, and the otherof haematite for the burnishing of the gold, the badger and mineverbrushes, the sponge and pumice-stone for erasures; the horns for blackand red ink lay with the scissors and rulers on the little upper shelfof his desk. There were the pigments also there, which he had learnt togrind and prepare, the crushed lapis lazuli first calcined by heataccording to the modern degenerate practice, with the cheap German bluebeside it, and the indigo beyond; the prasinum; the vermilion and redlead ready mixed, and the rubrica beside it; the yellow orpiment, and,most important of all, the white pigments, powdered chalk and eggshells, lying by the biacca. In a separate compartment covered carefullyfrom chance draughts or dust lay the precious gold leaf, and a littlevessel of the inferior fluid gold used for narrow lines.

  * * * * *

  His first business was to rule the thick red lines down the side of thetext, using a special metal pen for it; and then to begin to sketch inhis initials and decorations. For this latter part of the work he haddecided to follow the lines of Foucquet from a Book of the Hours that hehad taken out of its aumbry; a mass of delicate foliage and leaves, withmedallions set in it united by twisted thorn-branches twining upwardsthrough the broad border. These medallions on the first sheet hepurposed to fill with miniatures of the famous relics kept at Lewes, thehanging sleeve of the Blessed Virgin in its crystal case, thedrinking-cup of Cana, the rod of Moses, and the Magdalene's box ofointment. In the later pages which would be less elaborate he wouldintroduce the other relics, and allow his humour free play in designingfor the scrolls at the foot tiny portraits of his brethren; the Priorshould be in a mitre and have the legs and tail of a lion, thenovice-master, with a fox's brush emerging from his flying cowl, shouldbe running from a hound who carried a discipline in his near paw. Butthere was time yet to think of these things; it would be weeks beforethat page could be reached, and meanwhile there was the foliage to bedone, and the rose leaf that lay on his desk to be copied minutely froma hundred angles.

  * * * * *

  His distractions at mass and office were worse than ever now that thegreat work was begun, and week after week in confession there was thesame tale. The mere process was so absorbing, apart from the joy ofcreation and design. More than once he woke from a sweating nightmare inthe long dormitory, believing that he had laid on gold-leaf withoutfirst painting the surface with the necessary mordant, or had run hisstilus through his most delicate miniature. But he made extraordinaryprogress in the art; and the Prior more than once stepped into hiscarrel and looked over his shoulder, watching the slender fingers withthe bone pen between them polishing the gold till it shone like amirror, or the steady lead pencil moving over the white page infaultless curve. Then he would pat him on the shoulder, and go out inapproving silence.

  * * * * *

  Chris was supremely content that he had done right in asking forprofession. It appeared to him that he had found a life that was aboveall others worthy of an immortal soul. The whole day's routine wasdirected to one end, the performance of the _Opus Dei_, the uttering ofpraises to Him who had made and was sustaining and would receive againall things to Himself.

  They rose at midnight for the night-office that the sleeping world mightnot be wholly dumb to God; went to rest again; rose once more with theworld, and set about a yet sublimer worship. A stream of sacrificepoured up to the Throne through the mellow summer morning, or the coldwinter darkness and gloom, from altar after altar in the great church.Christopher remembered pleasantly a morning soon after the beginning ofhis novitiate when he had been in the church as a set of priests came inand began mass simultaneously; the mystical fancy suggested itself asthe hum of voices began that he was in a garden, warm and bright withgrace, and that bees were about him making honey--that fragrantsweetness of which it had been said long ago that God should eat--and asthe tinkle of the Elevation sounded out here and there, it seemed to himas a signal that the mysterious confection was done, and that everyaltar sprang into perfume from those silver vessels set with jewel andcrystal.

  When the first masses were over, there was a pause in which the _mixtum_was taken--bread and wine or beer--standing in the refectory, after ashort prayer that the Giver of all good gifts might bless the food anddrink of His servants, and was closed again by another prayer saidprivately for all benefactors. Meanwhile the bell was ringing for theLady mass, to remind the monks that the interval was only as it were aparenthetical concession; and after Terce and the Lady Mass followed theChapter, in which faults were confessed and penances inflicted, and theliving instruments of God's work were examined and scoured for use. Themartyrology was read at this time, as well as some morning prayers, tokeep before the monks' minds the remembrance of those great vessels ofGod's household called to so high an employment. It was then, too, thatother business of the house was done, and the seal affixed to anynecessary documents. Christopher had an opportunity once of examiningthis seal when it had been given him to clean, and he looked with awe onthe figures of his four new patrons, St. Peter, St. Pancras, St. Pauland Our Lady, set in niches above a cliff with the running water of theOuse beneath, and read the petition that ran round the circle--

  "_Dulcis agonista tibi convertit domus ista Pancrati memorum precibusmemor esto tuorum._"

  When the chapter was over, and the deaths of any brethren of the orderhad
been announced, and their souls prayed for, there was a pause forrecreation in the cloister and the finishing of further business beforethey assembled again in time to go into church for the high mass, atwhich the work and prayers of the day were gathered up and consecratedin a supreme offering. Even the dinner that followed was a religiousceremony; it began by a salutation of the Christ in glory that was onthe wall over the Prior's table, and then a long grace was sung beforethey took their seats. The reader in the stone-pulpit on the south wallof the refectory began his business on the sounding of a bell; and at asecond stroke there was a hum and clash of dishes from the kitchen end,and the aproned servers entered in line bearing the dishes. Immediatelythe meal was begun the drink destined for the poor at the gate was setaside, and a little later a representative of them was brought into therefectory to receive his portion; at the close again what was left overwas collected for charity; while the community after singing part of thegrace after meat went to finish it in the church.

  Chris learned to love the quiet religious graciousness of the refectory.The taking of food here was a consecrated action; it seemed asacramental thing. He loved the restraint and preciseness of it, ensuredby the solemn crucifix over the door with its pathetic inscription"SITIO," the polished oak tables, solid and narrow, the shining pewterdishes, the folded napkins, the cleanly-served plentiful food, to eachman his portion, the indescribable dignity of the prior's little table,the bowing of the servers before it, the mellow grace ringing out in itsmonotone that broke into minor thirds and octaves of melody, like agrave line of woodwork on the panelling bursting into a stiff leaf ortwo at its ends. There was a strange and wonderful romance it about onearly autumn evenings as the light died out behind the stained windowsand the reader's face glowed homely and strong between his two candleson the pulpit. And surely these tales of saints, the extract from theRule, these portions of Scripture sung with long pauses and on amonotone for fear that the reader's personality should obscure themessage of what he read--surely this was a better accompaniment to thetaking of food, in itself so gross a thing, than the feverish chatter ofa secular hall and the bustling and officiousness of paid servants.

  After a general washing of hands the monks dispersed to their work, andthe novices to bowls or other games; the Prior first distributing thegarden instruments, and then beginning the labour with a commendation ofit to God; and after finishing the manual work and a short time ofstudy, they re-assembled in the cloister to go to Vespers. This, likethe high mass, was performed with the ceremonial proper to the day, andwas followed by supper, at which the same kind of ceremonies wereobserved as at dinner. When this was over, after a further shortinterval the evening reading or Collation took place in thechapter-house, after which the monks were at liberty to go and warmthemselves at the one great fire kept up for the purpose in thecalefactory; and then compline was sung, followed by Our Lady's Anthem.

  This for Chris was one of the climaxes of the day's emotions. He wasalways tired out by now with the day's work, and longing for bed, andthis approach to the great Mother of Monks soothed and quieted him. Itwas sung in almost complete darkness, except for a light or two in thelong nave where a dark figure or two would be kneeling, and the pleasantfamiliar melody, accompanied softly by the organ overhead after the baresinging of Compline, seemed like a kind of good-night kiss. Theinfinite pathos of the words never failed to touch him, the cry of thebanished children of Eve, weeping and mourning in this vale of tears toMary whose obedience had restored what Eve's self-will had ruined, andthe last threefold sob of endearment to the "kindly, loving, sweet,Virgin Mary." After the high agonisings and aspirations of the day'sprayer, the awfulness of the holy Sacrifice, the tramping monotony ofthe Psalter, the sting of the discipline, the aches and sweats of themanual labour, the intent strain of the illuminating, this song to Marywas a running into Mother's arms and finding compensation there for alltoils and burdens.

  Finally in complete silence the monks passed along the dark cloister,sprinkled with holy water as they left the church, up to the dormitorywhich ran over the whole length of the chapter house, the bridges andother offices, to sleep till midnight.

  * * * * *

  The effect of this life, unbroken by external distractions, was to makeChris's soul alert and perceptive to the inner world, and careless oreven contemptuous of the ordinary world of men. This spiritual realmbegan for the first time to disclose its details to him, and to showitself to some extent a replica of nature. It too had its varyingclimate, its long summer of warmth and light, its winter of darkdiscontent, its strange and bewildering sunrises of Christ upon thesoul, when He rose and went about His garden with perfume and music, orstayed and greeted His creature with the message of His eyes. Chrisbegan to learn that these spiritual changes were in a sense independentof him, that they were not in his soul, but rather that his soul was inthem. He could be happy and content when the winds of God were cold andHis light darkened, or sad and comfortless when the flowers of gracewere apparent and the river of life bright and shining.

  And meanwhile the ordinary world went on, but far away and dimly heardand seen; as when one looks down from a castle-garden on to hummingstreets five hundred feet below; and the old life at Overfield, andRalph's doings in London seemed unreal and fantastic activities,purposeless and empty.

  Little by little, however, as the point of view shifted, Chris began tofind that the external world could not be banished, and that theannoyances from the clash of characters discordant with his own were aspositive as those which had distressed him before. Dom Anselm Bowden'sway of walking and the patch of grease at the shoulder of his cowl,never removed, and visible as he went before him into the church was asdistractingly irritating as Ralph's contempt; the buzz in the voice of acantor who seemed always to sing on great days was as distressing as hisown dog's perversity at Overfield, or the snapping of a bow-string.

  When _accidie_ fell upon Chris it seemed as if this particular house wasentirely ruined by such incidents; the Prior was finickin, thejunior-master tyrannical, the paints for illumination inferior inquality, the straw of his bed peculiarly sharp, the chapter-houseunnecessarily draughty. And until he learnt from his confessor that thisspiritual ailment was a perfectly familiar one, and that its symptomsand effects had been diagnosed centuries before, and had taken him athis word and practised the remedies he enjoined, Chris sufferedconsiderably from discontent and despair alternately. At times otherswere intolerable, at times he was intolerable to himself, reproachinghimself for having attempted so high a life, criticising his fellowsfor so lowering it to a poor standard.

  * * * * *

  The first time that he was accused in chapter of a fault against theRule was a very great and shocking humiliation.

  He had accused himself as usual on his knees of his own remissions, ofmaking an unnecessarily loud noise in drinking, of intoning a wrongantiphon as cantor, of spilling crumbs in the refectory; and then leanedback on his heels well content with the insignificance of his list, tolisten with a discreet complacency to old Dom Adrian, who had overslepthimself once, spilled his beer twice, criticised his superior, andtalked aloud to himself four times during the Greater Silence, and whonow mumbled out his crimes hastily and unconcernedly.

  When the self-accusations were done, the others began, and to his horrorChris heard his own name spoken.

  "I accuse Dom Christopher Torridon of not keeping the guard of the eyesat Terce this morning."

  It was perfectly true; Chris had been so much absorbed in noticing aneffect of shade thrown by a corbel, and in plans for incorporating itinto his illumination that he had let a verse pass as far as the starthat marked the pause. He felt his heart leap with resentment. Then aflash of retort came to him, and he waited his turn.

  "I accuse Dom Bernard Parr of not keeping the guard of the eyes at Tercethis morning. He was observing me."

  Just the faintest ripple passed round the line; and then the Pr
ior spokewith a tinge of sharpness, inflicting the penances, and giving Chris aheavy sentence of twenty strokes with the discipline.

  When Chris's turn came he threw back his habit petulantly, andadministered his own punishment as the custom was, with angry fervour.

  As he was going out the Prior made him a sign, and took him through intohis own cell.

  "Counter-accusations are contrary to the Rule," he said. "It must nothappen again," and dismissed him sternly.

  And then Chris for a couple of days had a fierce struggle againstuncharitableness, asking himself whether he had not eyed Dom Bernardwith resentment, and then eyeing him again. It seemed too as if a fiendsuggested bitter sentences of reproach, that he rehearsed to himself,and then repented. But on the third morning there came one of thosestrange breezes of grace that he was beginning to experience more andmore frequently, and his sore soul grew warm and peaceful again.

  * * * * *

  It was in those kinds of temptation now that he found his warfare tolie; internal assaults so fierce that it was terribly difficult to knowwhether he had yielded or not, sudden images of pride and anger and lustthat presented themselves so vividly and attractively that it seemed hemust have willed them; it was not often that he was tempted to sin inword or deed--such, when they came, rushed on him suddenly; but in therealm of thought and imagination and motive he would often find himself,as it were, entering a swarm of such things, that hovered round him,impeding his prayer, blinding his insight, and seeking to sting the veryheart of his spiritual life. Then once more he would fight himself freeby despising and rejecting them, or would emerge without conscious willof his own into clearness and serenity.

  But as he looked back he regretted nothing. It was true that thewarfare was more subtle and internal, but it was more honourable too;for to conquer a motive or tame an imagination was at once more arduousand more far-reaching in its effects than a victory in merely outwardmatters, and he seldom failed to thank God half-a-dozen times a day forhaving given him the vocation of a monk.

  There was one danger, however, that he did not realise, and hisconfessor failed to point it out to him; and that was the danger of thewrong kind of detachment. As has been already seen the theory of theReligious Life was that men sought it not merely for the salvation oftheir own souls, but for that of the world. A monastery was a placewhere in a special sense the spiritual commerce of the world was carriedon: as a workman's shed is the place deputed and used by the world forthe manufacture of certain articles. It was the manufactory of gracewhere skilled persons were at work, busy at a task of prayer andsacrament which was to be at other men's service. If the father of afamily had a piece of spiritual work to be done, he went to themonastery and arranged for it, and paid a fee for the sustenance ofthose he employed, as he might go to a merchant's to order a cargo andsettle for its delivery.

  Since this was so then, it was necessary that the spiritual workmenshould be in a certain touch with those for whom they worked. It wastrue that they must be out of the world, undominated by its principlesand out of love with its spirit; but in another sense they must live inits heart. To use another analogy they were as windmills, lifted up fromthe earth into the high airs of grace, but their base must be on theground or their labour would be ill-spent. They must be mystically onewith the world that they had resigned.

  Chris forgot this; and laboured, and to a large extent succeeded, indetaching himself wholly; and symptoms of this mistake showed themselvesin such things as tending to despise secular life, feeling impatientwith the poor to whom he had to minister, in sneering in his heart atleast at anxious fussy men who came to arrange for masses, attroublesome women who haunted the sacristy door in a passion ofelaborateness, and at comfortable families who stamped into high massand filled a seat and a half, but who had yet their spiritual burdensand their claims to honour.

  But he was to be brought rudely down to facts again. He was beginning toforget that England was about him and stirring in her agony; and he wasreminded of it with some force in the winter after his profession.

  * * * * *

  He was going out to the gate-house one day on an errand from thejunior-master when he became aware of an unusual stir in the court.There were a couple of palfreys there, and half-a-dozen mules behind,whilst three or four strange monks with a servant or two stood at theirbridles.

  Chris stopped to consider, for he had no business with guests; and as hehesitated the door of the guest-house opened, and two prelates came outwith Dom Anthony behind them--tall, stately men in monks' habits withfurred cloaks and crosses. Chris slipped back at once into the cloisterfrom which he had just come out, and watched them go past to the Prior'slodging.

  They appeared at Vespers that afternoon again, sitting in the firstreturned stalls near the Prior, and Chris recognised one of them as thegreat Abbot of Colchester. He looked at him now and again during Vesperswith a reverential awe, for the Abbot was a great man, a spiritual peerof immense influence and reputation, and watched that fatherly face,his dignified bows and stately movements, and the great sapphire thatshone on his hand as he turned the leaves of his illuminated book.

  The two prelates were at supper, sitting on either side of the Prior onthe dais; and afterwards the monks were called earlier than usual fromrecreation into the chapter-house.

  The Prior made them a little speech saying that the Abbot had somethingto say to them, and then sat down; his troubled eyes ran over the facesof his subjects, and his fingers twitched and fidgetted on his knees.

  The Abbot did not make them a long discourse; but told them briefly thatthere was trouble coming; he spoke in veiled terms of the Act ofSupremacy, and the serious prayer that was needed; he said that a timeof testing was close at hand, and that every man must scrutinise his ownconscience and examine his motives; and that the unlearned had betterfollow the advice and example of their superiors.

  It was all very vague and unsatisfactory; but Chris became aware ofthree things. First, that the world was very much alive and could not bedismissed by a pious aspiration or two; second, that the world was aboutto make some demand that would have to be seriously dealt with, andthird, that there was nothing really to fear so long as their souls wereclean and courageous. The Abbot was a melting speaker, full at once of afatherly tenderness and vehemence, and as Chris looked at him he feltthat indeed there was nothing to fear so long as monks had suchrepresentatives and protectors as these, and that the world had betterlook to itself for fear it should dash itself to ruin against such rocksof faith and holiness.

  But as the spring drew on, an air of suspense and anxiety made itselfevident in the house. News came down that More and Fisher were still inprison, that the oath was being administered right and left, that theKing had thrown aside all restraints, and that the civil breach withRome seemed in no prospect of healing. As for the spiritual breach themonks did not seriously consider it yet; they regarded themselves asstill in union with the Holy See whatever their rulers might say or do,and only prayed for the time when things might be as before and thereshould be no longer any doubt or hesitation in the minds of weakbrethren.

  But the Prior's face grew more white and troubled, and his temperuncertain.

  Now and again he would make them speeches assuring them fiercely thatall was well, and that all they had to do was to be quiet and obedient;and now he would give way to a kind of angry despair, tell them that allwas lost, that every man would have to save himself; and then for daysafter such an exhibition he would be silent and morose, rapping hisfingers softly as he sat at his little raised table in the refectory,walking with downcast eyes up and down the cloister muttering andstaring.

  Towards the end of April he sent abruptly for Chris, told him that hehad news from London that made his presence there necessary, and orderedhim to be ready to ride with him in a week or two.