CHAPTER VI
June vanished, July rode in heat, August had golden armour, Septemberwas russet clad and walked through crimson orchards and by winepresses. In Italy, by wine presses!
In the Abbey of Silver Cross more and more did note fall uponEnglefield. He was unaware of that. He had entered upon a stretch ofthe inward way where the landscape was absorbing,--the inner landscapeand the inner encounters. Outwardly he grew more and more conformedto the Abbey idea of fledgling saint, but he hardly held it inconsciousness that he did so. He was rapt to the inner land where hehunted the Word, where he sought for the Grail. But he put his body inthe attitudes that the great adventurers, where they were monks, seemedto have worn. He wished their assurances and blisses, and he imitated.
Not having come to monastery from indolence and softness, he foundin this no especial difficulty. First artisan, then artist, he wellenough knew hard and spare living, vigil, concentered action, swift,deep and still. He had that over many an one who would be saint, butmust first develop muscle. He had will, he had mind, though both wererestive beings, with wings that seemed between Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s.Richard Englefield’s problem was to draw all the Lucifer into Gabriel.As a detail in the achievement he conformed, with what absoluteness waspossible at Silver Cross, to the first hard discipline of the Order.Where for long had been relaxation, his procedure here astonished andhere rebuked, pleased and displeased. He went on, in a preoccupationtoo great to note that watching, hunting the Word. “Blessed amongwomen, help me toward it!”
The great picture was become integral to his life. “Beauty likethat--Beauty with Holiness--I would Beauty and I would Holiness! Iwould Power to make my Beauty and Holiness come true!”
He prayed to the Blessed among women. “Blessed among women, show mehow! Bring me sunshine for my growth!”
He worked in his stone room, with the precious metals that they gavehim. The furnace glowed. His long, strong and skilful fingers movedwith their old skill, as on a lute. But he worked scarce seeing thebeauty of what he made, with the taller man in him gone elsewhere, goneout hunting, gone hawking for pure Wisdom, pure Beauty, pure Power. Heprayed in the church and the monks watched him. When he turned towardthe picture light seemed to pass from it to him.
The Abbot noted him. The sub-prior brought the Abbot refectory talk,talk of the brethren’s common room. He brought comment of BrotherNorbert whose cell was next Brother Richard’s. The Abbot heaved a sigh.“Well, we have need of a saintly monk!”
He was not silent upon the growing saintliness of Brother Richard.Visitors of high degree, pausing at Silver Cross, heard him say, “Evenas Friar Paul of Saint Leofric’s--”Visitors pursuing their road, going,it might well chance, straight to Saint Leofric’s, made mention of thismonk. The vale of Wander spoke of him. The Prior of Westforest saidin chapter house, “Had we one brother like Brother Richard of SilverCross--” Not only to his monks, but he said it to the country around,“Brother Richard of Silver Cross--”
Montjoy said “Brother Richard of Silver Cross,” but he said it verydifferently from the Abbot and the Prior. He said with a kind ofpassionate reverence and hope. He wished there to be true saints; hewished there to arise one out of Silver Cross. He wished a saint, asaint kneeling beside Isabel, kneeling with Isabel beneath the greatpicture, whose form, whose face in which God was dawning, was likeIsabel. Isabel like Her, though maybe in that degree from Her--that wasMorgen Fay from Isabel whom surely, too, she resembled.
Middle Forest had rumour of the monk at Silver Cross.
Prior Hugh spoke of him at Saint Leofric’s but he spoke in scorn anddrew plans for greater and greater guest houses.
Sir Robert Somerville, having need to see Silver Cross as to a bitof debatable ground touching Abbey fields and manor wood, rode intoAbbey close upon a misty, pearly day. He had his talk in the Abbot’smost comfortable parlour, sub-prior at hand to aid memory. The landcertainly leaned to the Abbey side of the wall, or had been broughtskilfully to lean by Abbey lawyers. Somerville saw that it were wisestto leave it debatable, awaiting some more fortunate aspect of manorstars. He slid from the subject, but with a sparkle in his eye. Thatglint always came when he ticketed a grudge and put it somewhere forsafe keeping until it could be paid.
And as he thought it would be unpleasing to the Abbot, he beganpresently to talk of Saint Leofric’s, to whom by now great fame hadcleaved, by whose wall was building a town--
“Friar Paul--his visions--!” exclaimed the Abbot and broke off. Therewas no good, as Montjoy had proved, in casting pebble or boulder ofdiscredit. The people were besotted, joined to their idol, this veryDagon that Hugh had set up! If Contrariousness were not already inpossession then the hermit Gregory’s death in July had set her high onthrone! The Abbot covered his eyes with his hand, then said, “There isa monk here that I hold to be holy as any living Dominican!”
“Hath he vision?”
“Yea,” said the Abbot, then in his heart. “He must have!”
“It is not sufficient!” said Somerville. “Nothing now but revelationsand healings following will even Silver Cross! Greater revelations,greater healings than Saint Leofric. You can’t go down the stair insuch things. You must go up.”
He spoke with fine malice. Abbot Mark glanced at him and said smoothly,“Very true, my son! but Heaven does not ask our will nor way in suchmatters! If it smiles, it smiles. Nor can it be limited to one handful.It may be that in this England we have touched a harvest week, as itwere, and that many a sheaf will be thrown down.”
He rose. “Come! I will show you Brother Richard.”
He whom they sought was standing at the table in the room where heworked. Between his hands was a bowl of silver whereon he had wroughtvine leaves and grapes. He put down his work and kneeled beforethe Abbot, then stood with crossed hands and lowered eyes. He wasbrown-blond, tall and still, with a face of dimmed power, dimmed beauty.
When they had gone away, said Somerville, “Lord Abbot, Friar Paul istwice as thin and pale as yonder monk, and hath eyes that burn likecoals! He would never see within him nor bring forth, vine leavesaround a silver bowl! He sees but saints and martyrs filling his celland speaking to him out of glories!” He nodded as he finished.
The staccato of his voice drummed like a rude heel upon the Abbot’s nowfevered desire. Said the Abbot’s will, deep down, “He shall see allthat is necessary. Oh, Hugh. I will oust you yet!”
Somerville rode away. Halfway to his house, up the Wander, his mindperceived something that made him laugh. “I am not prophet, yet will Iprophesy! Before spring there will be miracles at Silver Cross!”
It was a foggy day, a grey pearl, with shadows that were trees.
“Aha and Aho! Mankind and its woe, Children at their playing, Straying, straying! Little marsh fire That the sun is, Thou art a liar, Little marsh fire!”
Somerville often made poems as he rode. Now he made this one.
The next day was foggy still, and the Abbot was not wont to ride abroadin fog. Yet he called for his white mule and for two Brothers to attendhim, and rode, booted and wrapped warm, to Westforest.
There may be imagined a chessboard, and Prior Matthew, with Abbot Markfor backer, sitting studying, mouth covered by hand. He must playagainst Prior Hugh, invisible there, or perhaps against mere cosmicinsensibility to advantages accruing from full streams of profit andglory, fuller than the Wander, flowing down Wander vale. Chess takestime and thought. If there come inspirational gleams take them asevidence that Nature begins to lean with you--but continue your study,mentally advancing now this piece and now that, going slow, goingsure, making your combinations with more than grey spider’s skill! SoPrior Matthew played. Abbot Mark was more impatient and would havethings without working for them, which is to say without deservingthem. In the mysterious cave of this world where all players must play,failure always impended. If it did not fall, that was because you werea good player. The Prior’s hollow cheek grew more hollow, his intent
,small, deep-set eyes more intent.
On this day, folded as in wool, in the parlour that was warmed byblazing logs on stone hearth, that gave upon the autumn garden, muchto-day like a ghost-garden, Prior indicated to Abbot move and then moveand then move again.
“God pardon us!” breathed the Abbot. “That’s a bold thing!”
“Bolder than Hugh? I think not so. Or if it is we need to be bolderthan he. Boldness hurts not, but the lack of skill in boldness.Attain the miracles, and Silver Cross arises re-gilt. Streams ofpilgrims--nay, you may tap and dry up _his_ stream of pilgrims! Abbeybuilt and magnified for ages. Attain them not, and all is vain, for ourlifetime at least! We may go sleep, fogged and obscured forever, in thevale of Wander! Both houses and in us the Order.”
“I know that we need to be bolder than Hugh.”
“We need more living colour to draw, and a louder drum.”
The Abbot took for his own, saying of Somerville’s, “You cannot go downthe stair in such things. You must go up the stair. There’s too muchrisk.”
“Oh, yes, plenteous! So had Hugh risk. But when the fish had oncebitten no mortal man could get hook from its mouth!”
“Meaning by the fish the people? Yes. But if Hugh and me and you,Matthew, be all three taken in mortal sin?”
“Has he hurt Saint Leofric? Or Saint Dominic his Order? Or the folkwhose bodies are healed? Does not glory go up to heaven like incense?”
“It is true. If it be venial sin, then Our Lady, an altar of puresilver to thee!”
“That will be well! It will still more beautify the church. But cease,”said Matthew, “to have this monk work at thy gold and silver! It goesnot with kneeling and fasting all day and vigil at night, with greatand sole visions and voices, and favour from the Saints!”
“Very good. I will put him to his book and solitude.”
The Prior took quill and drew upon a leaf of paper a plot of cells andpassageways. “You will empty these five cells.”
“Aye. They shall go back to dormitory.”
“Door is to be here and door there. To get it done, while masons areupon it--and for other reasons as well--give your monk penance for somefault, sending him out of Silver Cross to Westforest. Let me have himfor a month, no less.”
“What will you do with him?”
“I will indoctrinate him with expectancy.”
“Do you know,” said Mark doubtfully, “he is one that might one daybecome true saint.”
“Think you so? Well, I wish him innocent and believing--even as I holdFriar Paul across river may be innocent and believing!”
“‘Innocent!’” The Abbot groaned. “But you and I and Hugh will not beinnocent!”
“No. We shall be wise and bold for the glory of our heritage.Choose--and choose now--which you will have!”
The Abbot chose. The chess game went on. Outside the day folded in,fold on fold of white wool and grey wool, fog coming up from the sea.