CHAPTER III
THE ARRIVAL AT LEWES
Ralph relented as the month drew on, and was among those who wishedChris good-bye on the afternoon of the July day on which he was topresent himself at Lewes. The servants were all drawn up at the back ofthe terrace against the hall, watching Ralph, even more than hisdeparting brother, with the fascinated interest that the discreet anddignified friend of Cromwell always commanded. Ralph was at his best onsuch occasions, genial and natural, and showed a pleasing interest inthe girths of the two horses, and the exact strapping of the couple ofbags that Chris was to take with him. His own man, too, Mr. Morris, whohad been with him ever since he had come to London, was to ride withChris, at his master's express wish; stay with him in the guest-housethat night, and return with the two horses and a precise report the nextmorning.
"You have the hares for my Lord Prior," he said impressively, looking atthe game that was hanging head downwards from the servant's saddle."Tell him that they were killed on Tuesday."
Sir James and his younger son were walking together a few yards away indeep talk; and Lady Torridon had caused a chair to be set for her at thetop of the terrace steps where she could at once do her duty as amother, and be moderately comfortable at the same time. She hardly spokeat all, but looked gravely with her enigmatic black eyes at the horses'legs and the luggage, and once held up her hand to silence a small dogthat had begun to yelp with excitement.
"They must be going," said Ralph, when all was ready; and at the samemoment Chris and his father came up, Sir James's arm thrown over hisson's shoulders.
The farewells were very short; it was impossible to indulge in sentimentin the genial business-atmosphere generated by Ralph, and a minute laterChris was mounted. Sir James said no more, but stood a little apartlooking at his son. Lady Torridon smiled rather pleasantly and noddedher head two or three times, and Ralph, with Mr. Carleton, stood on thegravel below, his hand on Chris's crupper, smiling up at him.
"Good-bye, Chris," he said, and added with an unusual piety, "God keepyou!"
As the two horses passed through the gatehouse, Chris turned once againwith swimming eyes, and saw the group a little re-arranged. Sir Jamesand Ralph were standing together, Ralph's arm thrust through hisfather's; Mr. Carleton was still on the gravel, and Lady Torridon waswalking very deliberately back to the house.
* * * * *
The distance to Lewes was about fourteen miles, and it was not untilthey had travelled some two of them, and had struck off towards BurgessHill that Chris turned his head for Mr. Morris to come up.
It was very strange to him to ride through that familiar country, wherehe had ridden hundreds of times before, and to know that this wasprobably the last time that he would pass along those lanes, at leastunder the same circumstances. It had the same effect on him, as a deathin the house would have; the familiar things were the same, but theywore a new and strange significance. The few men and children he passedsaluted him deferentially as usual, and then turned fifty yards furtheron and stared at the young gentleman who, as they knew, was riding offon such an errand, and with such grave looks.
Mr. Morris came up with an eager respectfulness at Chris's sign, keepinga yard or two away lest the swinging luggage on his own horse shoulddiscompose the master, and answered a formal question or two about theroads and the bags, which Chris put to him as a gambit of conversation.The servant was clever and well trained, and knew how to modulate hisattitude to the precise degree of deference due to his master and hismaster's relations; he had entered Ralph's service from Cromwell's owneight years before. He liked nothing better than to talk of London andhis experiences there, and selected with considerable skill the topicsthat he knew would please in each case. Now he was soon deep on thesubject of Wolsey, pausing respectfully now and again for corroboration,or to ask a question the answer to which he knew a good deal better thanChris himself.
"I understand, sir, that the Lord Cardinal had a wonderful deal offurniture at York House: I saw some of it at Master Cromwell's; hisgrace sent it to him, at least, so I heard. Is that so, sir?"
Chris said he did not know.
"Well, I believe it was so, sir; there was a chair there, set withagates and pearl, that I think I heard Mr. Ralph say had come fromthere. Did you ever see my lord, sir?"
Chris said he had seen him once in a narrow street at Westminster, butthe crowd was so great he could not get near.
"Ah! sir; then you never saw him go in state. I remember once seeinghim, sir, going down to Hampton Court, with his gentlemen bearing thesilver pillars before him, and the two priests with crosses. What mightthe pillars mean, sir?"
Again Chris confessed he did not know.
"Ah, sir!" said Morris reflectively, as if he had received asatisfactory answer. "And there was his saddle, Mr. Christopher, withsilver-gilt stirrups, and red velvet, set on my lord's mule. And therewas the Red Hat borne in front by another gentleman. At mass, too, hewould be served by none under the rank of an earl; and I heard that hewould have a duke sometimes for his lavabo. I heard Mr. Ralph say thatthere was more than a hundred and fifty carts that went with the LordCardinal up to Cawood, and that was after the King's grace had brokenwith him, sir; and he was counted a poor man."
Chris asked what was in the carts.
"Just his stuff, sir," said Mr. Morris reverentially.
The servant seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in recounting theseglories, but was most discreet about the political aspects of Wolsey,although Chris tried hard to get him to speak, and he would neitherpraise nor blame the fallen prelate; he was more frank, however, aboutCampeggio, who as an Italian, was a less dangerous target.
"He was not a good man, I fear, Mr. Christopher. They told some veryqueer tales of him when he was over here. But he could ride, sir, MasterMaxwell's man told me, near as well as my Lord of Canterbury himself.You know they say, sir, that the Archbishop can ride horses that none ofhis grooms can manage. But I never liked to think that a foreigner wasto be sent over to do our business for us, and more than ever not suchan one as that."
He proceeded to talk a good deal about Campeggio; his red silk and hislace, his gout, his servants, his un-English ways; but it began to get alittle tiresome to Chris, and soon after passing through Ditchling, Mr.Morris, having pointed across the country towards Fatton Hovel, andhaving spoken of the ghost of a cow that was seen there with two heads,one black and one white, fell gradually behind again, and Chris rodealone.
They were coming up now towards the downs, and the great rounded greenshoulders heaved high against the sky, gashed here and there by whitestrips and patches where the chalk glared in the bright afternoon sun.Ditchling beacon rose to their right, a hundred feet higher than thesurrounding hills, and the high country sloped away from it parallelwith their road, down to Lewes. The shadows were beginning to lieeastwards and to lengthen in long blue hollows and streaks against theclear green turf.
Chris wondered when he would see that side of the downs again; his ridewas like a kind of farewell progress, and all that he looked on wasdearer than it had ever been before, but he comforted himself by thethought of that larger world, so bright with revelation and soenchanting in its mystery that lay before him. He pleased himself bypicturing this last journey as a ride through an overhung lane,beautiful indeed, but dusky, towards shining gates beyond which laygreat tracts of country set with palaces alive with wonderful presences,and watered by the very river of life.
He did not catch sight of Lewes until he was close upon it, and itsuddenly opened out beneath him, with its crowded roofs pricked by adozen spires, the Norman castle on its twin mounds towering to his left,a silver gleam of the Ouse here and there between the plaster and timberhouses as the river wound beneath its bridges, and beyond all the vastmasses of the Priory straight in front of him to the South of the town,the church in front with its tall central tower, a huddle of conventroofs behind, all white against the rich meadows that lay beyond thestream
.
Mr. Morris came up as Chris checked his horse here.
"See, Mr. Christopher," he said, and the other turned to see the towngallows on the right of the road, not fifty yards away, with a raggedshape or two hanging there, and a great bird rising heavily and wingingits way into the west. Mr. Morris's face bore a look of judicialsatisfaction.
"We are making a sweep of them," he said, and as a terrible figure, allrags and sores, with blind red eyes and toothless mouth rose croakingand entreating from the ditch by the road, the servant pointed withtight lips and solemn eyes to Hangman's Acre. Chris fumbled in hispurse, threw a couple of groats on to the ground, and rode on down thehill.
His heart was beating fast as he went down Westgate Lane into the HighStreet, and it quickened yet further as the great bells in the Priorychurch began to jangle; for it was close on vesper time, andinstinctively he shook his reins to hasten his beast, who was pickinghis way delicately through the filth and tumbled stones that layeverywhere, for the melodious roar seemed to be bidding him haste and bewelcome. Mr. Morris was close beside him, and remarked on this and thatas they went, the spire of St. Ann's away to the right, with St.Pancras's Bridge, a swinging sign over an inn with Queen Katharine'sface erased, but plainly visible under Ann Boleyn's, the tall moundbeyond the Priory crowned by a Calvary, and the roof of the famousdove-cote of the Priory, a great cruciform structure with over twothousand cells. But Christopher knew it all better than the servant,and paid little attention, and besides, his excitement was running toohigh. They came down at last through Antioch Street, Puddingbag Lane,and across the dry bed of the Winterbourne, and the gateway was beforethem.
The bells had ceased by now, after a final stroke. Mr. Morris sprang offhis horse, and drew on the chain that hung by the smaller of the twodoors. There was a sound of footsteps and a face looked out from thegrating. The servant said a word or two; the face disappeared, and amoment later there was the turning of a key, and one leaf of thehorse-entrance rolled back. Chris touched his beast with his heel,passed through on to the paved floor, and sat smiling and flushed,looking down at the old lay-brother, who beamed up at him pleasantly andtold him he was expected.
Chris dismounted at once, telling the servant to take the horses roundto the stables on the right, and himself went across the open courttowards the west end of the church, that rose above him fifty feet intothe clear evening air, faced with marble about the two doors, andcrowned by the western tower and the high central spire beyond where thebells hung. On the right lay the long low wall of the Cellarer'soffices, with the kitchen jutting out at the lower end, and thehigh-pitched refectory roof above and beyond it. The church was full ofgolden light as he entered, darkening to dusk in the chapels on eitherside, pricked with lights here and there that burned before the images,and giving an impression of immense height owing to its narrowness andits length. The air was full of rolling sound, sonorous and full, thatechoed in the two high vaults on this side and that of the high altar,was caught in the double transepts, and lost in the chapels that openedin a corona of carved work at the further end, for the monks were busyat the _Opus Dei_, and the psalms rocked from side to side, as if thenave were indeed a great ship ploughing its way to the kingdom ofheaven.
There were a few seats at the western end, and into one of theseChristopher found his way, signing himself first from the stoup at thedoor, and inclining before he went in. Then he leaned his chin on hishands and looked eagerly.
It was difficult to make out details clearly at the further end, for thechurch was poorly lighted, and there was no western window; the glarefrom the white roads, too, along which he had come still dazzled him,but little by little, helped by his own knowledge of the place, he beganto see more clearly.
* * * * *
High above him ran the lines of the clerestory, resting on the roundedNorman arches, broken by the beam that held the mighty rood, with thefigures of St. Mary and St. John on either side; and beyond, yet higher,on this side of the high altar, rose the lofty air of the vault ninetyfeet above the pavement. To left and right opened the two westerntransepts, and from where he knelt he could make out the altar of St.Martin in the further one, with its apse behind. The image of St.Pancras himself stood against a pillar with the light from the lampbeneath flickering against his feet. But Christopher's eyes soon cameback to the centre, beyond the screen, where a row of blackness oneither side in the stalls, marked where the monks rested back, and wherehe would soon be resting with them. There were candles lighted at sparseintervals along the book-rests, that shone up into the faces bent downover the wide pages beneath; and beyond all rose the altar with twosteady flames crowning it against the shining halpas behind that cut itoff from the four groups of slender carved columns that divided the fivechapels at the extreme east. Half-a-dozen figures sat about the nave,and Christopher noticed an old man, his white hair falling to hisshoulders, two seats in front, beginning to nod gently with sleep as thesoft heavy waves of melody poured down, lulling him.
He began now to catch the words, as his ears grew accustomed to thesound, and he, too, sat back to listen.
"_Fiat pax in virtute tua: et abundantia in turribus tuis;" "Propterfratres meos et proximos meos_:" came back the answer, "_loquebar pacemde te_." And once more: "_Propter domum Domini Dei nostri: quaesivi bonatibi_."
Then there was a soft clattering roar as the monks rose to their feet,and in double volume from the bent heads sounded out the _Gloria Patri_.
It was overwhelming to the young man to hear the melodious tumult ofpraise, and to remember that in less than a week he would be standingthere among the novices and adding his voice. It seemed to him as if hehad already come into the heart of life that he had felt pulsating roundhim as he swam in the starlight a month before. It was this that wasreality, and the rest illusion. Here was the end for which man was made,the direct praise of God; here were living souls eager and alert on thebusiness of their existence, building up with vibration after vibrationthe eternal temple of glory in which God dwelt. Once he began to sing,and then stopped. He would be silent here until his voice had beenauthorized to join in that consecrated offering.
He waited until all was over, and the two lines of black figures hadpassed out southwards, and the sacristan was going round putting outthe lights; and then he too rose and went out, thrilled and excited,into the gathering twilight, as the bell for supper began to sound outfrom the refectory tower.
He found Mr. Morris waiting for him at the entrance to the guest-house,and the two went up the stairs at the porter's directions into theparlour that looked out over the irregular court towards the church andconvent.
Christopher sat down in the window seat.
Over the roofs opposite the sky was still tender and luminous, with rosylight from the west, and a little troop of pigeons were wheeling overthe church in their last flight before returning home to their hugedwelling down by the stream. The porter had gone a few minutes before,and Christopher presently saw him returning with Dom Anthony Marks, theguest-master, whom he had got to know very well on former visits. In afit of shyness he drew back from the window, and stood up, nervous andtrembling, and a moment later heard steps on the stairs. Mr. Morris hadslipped out, and now stood in the passage, and Chris saw him bowing witha nicely calculated mixture of humility and independence. Then a blackfigure appeared in the doorway, and came briskly through.
"My dear Chris," he said warmly, holding out his hands, and Chris tookthem, still trembling and excited.
They sat down together in the window-seat, and the monk opened thecasement and threw it open, for the atmosphere was a little heavy, andthen flung his arm out over the sill and crossed his feet, as if he hadan hour at his disposal. Chris had noticed before that extraordinaryappearance of ease and leisure in such monks, and it imperceptiblysoothed him. Neither would Dom Anthony speak on technical matters, butdiscoursed pleasantly about the party at Overfield Court and the beautyof the roads between there and Lewe
s, as if Chris were only come to paya passing visit.
"Your horses are happy enough," he said. "We had a load of fresh beanssent in to-day. And you, Chris, are you hungry? Supper will be hereimmediately. Brother James told the guest-cook as soon as you came."
He seemed to want no answer, but talked on genially and restfully aboutthe commissioners who had come from Cluny to see after their possessionsin England, and their queer French ways.
"Dom Philippe would not touch the muscadel at first, and now he cannothave too much. He clamoured for claret at first, and we had to give himsome. But he knows better now. But he says mass like a holy angel ofGod, and is a very devout man in all ways. But they are going soon."
Dom Anthony fulfilled to perfection the ideal laid down for aguest-master in the Custumal. He showed, indeed, the "cheerfulhospitality to guests" by which "the good name of the monastery wasenhanced, friendships multiplied, enmities lessened, God honoured, andcharity increased." He recognised perfectly well the confused terror inChristopher's mind and his anxiety to make a good beginning, andsmoothed down the tendency to awkwardness that would otherwise haveshown itself. He had a happy tranquil face, with wide friendly eyes thatalmost disappeared when he laughed, and a row of even white teeth.
As he talked on, Christopher furtively examined his habit, though heknew every detail of it well enough already. He had, of course, left hiscowl, or ample-sleeved singing gown, in the sacristy on leaving thechurch, and was in his black frock girded with the leather belt, andthe scapular over it, hanging to the ground before and behind. His hood,Christopher noticed, was creased and flat as if he were accustomed tosit back at his ease. He wore strong black leather boots that justshowed beneath his habit, and a bunch of keys, duplicates of those ofthe camerarius and cook, hung on his right side. He was tonsuredaccording to the Benedictine pattern, and his lips and cheeks wereclean-shaven.
He noticed presently that Christopher was eyeing him, and put his handin friendly fashion on the young man's knee.
"Yes," he said, smiling, "yours is ready too. Dom Franklin looked it outto-day, and asked me whether it would be the right size. But of theboots I am not so sure."
There was a clink and a footstep outside, and the monk glanced out.
"Supper is here," he said, and stood up to look at the table--thepolished clothless top laid ready with a couple of wooden plates andknives, a pewter tankard, salt-cellar and bread. There was a plain chairwith arms drawn up to it. The rest of the room, which Christopher hadscarcely noticed before, was furnished plainly and efficiently, and hadjust that touch of ornament that was intended to distinguish it from acell. The floor was strewn with clean rushes; a couple of ironcandlesticks stood on the mantelpiece, and the white walls had one ortwo religious objects hanging on them--a wooden crucifix opposite thetable, a framed card bearing an "Image of Pity" with an indulgencedprayer illuminated beneath, a little statue of St. Pancras on a bracketover the fire, and a clear-written copy of rules for guests hung by thelow oak door.
Dom Anthony nodded approvingly at the table, took up a knife and rubbedit delicately on the napkin, and turned round.
"We will look here," he said, and went towards the second door by thefire. Christopher followed him, and found himself in the bedroom,furnished with the same simplicity as the other; but with an ironbedstead in the corner, a kneeling stool beside it, with a little Frenchsilver image of St. Mary over it, and a sprig of dried yew tucked inbehind. A thin leather-bound copy of the Little Office of Our Lady layon the sloping desk, with another book or two on the upper slab. DomAnthony went to the window and threw that open too.
"Your luggage is unpacked, I see," he said, nodding to the press besidewhich lay the two trunks, emptied now by Mr. Morris's careful hands.
"There are some hares, too," said Christopher. "Ralph has sent them tomy Lord Prior."
"The porter has them," said the monk, "they look strangely like abribe." And he nodded again with a beaming face, and his eyes grewlittle and bright at his own humour.
He examined the bed before he left the room again, turned back thesheets and pressed them down, and the straw rustled drily beneath;glanced into the sweating earthenware jug, refolded the coarse towel onits wooden peg, and then smiled again at the young man.
"Supper," he said briefly.
Christopher stayed a moment with a word of excuse to wash off the dustof his ride from his hands and face, and when he came back into thesitting-room found the candles lighted, the wooden shutters folded overthe windows, and a basin of soup with a roast pigeon steaming on thetable. The monk was standing, waiting for him by the door.
"I must be gone, Chris," he said, "but I shall be back before compline.My Lord Prior will see you to-morrow. There is nothing more? Rememberyou are at home now."
And on Christopher's assurances that he had all he could need, he wasgone, leisurely and cheerfully, and his footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Mr. Morris came up before Chris had finished supper, and as he silentlyslipped away his plate and set another for the cheese, Chris rememberedwith a nervous exultation that this would be probably the last time thathe would have a servant to wait on him. He was beginning to feelstrangely at home already; the bean soup was strong and savoury, thebeer cool; and he was pleasantly exercised by his ride. Mr. Morris, too,in answer to his enquiries, said that he had been well looked after inthe servants' quarters of the guest-house, and had had an entertainingsupper with an agreeable Frenchman who, it seemed, had come with theCluniac commissioners. Respect for his master and a sense of theludicrous struggled in Mr. Morris's voice as he described theforeigner's pronunciation and his eloquent gestures.
"He's not like a man, sir," he said, and shook with reminiscentlaughter.
* * * * *
It was half an hour before Dom Anthony returned, and after hospitableenquiries, sat down by Chris again in the wide window-seat and began totalk.
He told him that guests were not expected to attend the night-offices,and that indeed he strongly recommended Chris doing nothing of the kindat any rate that night; that masses were said at all hours from fiveo'clock onwards; that prime was said at seven, and was followed by the_Missa familiaris_ for the servants and work-people of the house.Breakfast would be ready in the guest-house at eight; the chapter-masswould be said at the half-hour and after the daily chapter whichfollowed it had taken place, the Prior wished to see Christopher. Thehigh mass was sung at ten, and dinner would be served at eleven. Hedirected his attention, too, to the card that hung by the door on whichthese hours were notified.
Christopher already knew that for the first three or four days he wouldhave to remain in the guest-house before any formal step was taken withregard to him, but he said a word to Father Anthony about this.
"Yes," said the monk, "my Lord Prior will tell you about that. But youwill be here as a guest until Sunday, and on that day you will come tothe morning chapter to beg for admission. You will do that for threedays, and then, please God, you will be clothed as a novice."
And once more he looked at him with deep smiling eyes.
Chris asked him a few more questions, and Dom Anthony told him what hewished to know, though protesting with monastic etiquette that it wasnot his province.
"Dom James Berkely is the novice-master," he said, "you will find himvery holy and careful. The first matter you will have to learn is how towear the habit, carry your hands, and to walk with gravity. Then youwill learn how to bow, with the hands crossed on the knees, so--" and heillustrated it by a gesture--"if it is a profound inclination; and whenand where the inclinations are to be made. Then you will learn of thecustody of the eyes. It is these little things that help the soul atfirst, as you will find, like--like--the bindings of a peach-tree, thatit may learn how to grow and bear its fruit. And the Rule will be givenyou, and what a monk must have by rote, and how to sing. You will not beidle, Chris."
It was no surprise to Christopher to hear how much of the lessons atfirst were co
ncerned with external behaviour. In his visits to Lewesbefore, as well as from the books that Mr. Carleton had lent him, he hadlearnt that the perfection of the Religious Life depended to aconsiderable extent upon minuti? that were both aids to, and the resultof, a tranquil and recollected mind, the acquirement of which was partof the object of the monk's ambition. The ideal, he knew, was theperfect direction of every part of his being, of hands and eyes, as wellas of the great powers of the soul; what God had joined together manmust not put asunder, and the man who had every physical movement undercontrol, and never erred through forgetfulness or impulse in theselittle matters, presumably also was master of his will, and retainedinternal as well as external equanimity.
The great bell began to toll presently for compline, and theguest-master rose in the midst of his explanations.
"My Lord Prior bade me thank you for the hares," he said. "Perhaps yourservant will take the message back to Mr. Ralph to-morrow. Come."
They went down the stairs together and out into the summer twilight, thegreat strokes sounding overhead in the gloom as they walked. Over thehigh wall to the left shone a light or two from Lewes town, and beyondrose up the shadowy masses of the downs over which Christopher hadridden that afternoon. Over those hills, too, he knew, lay his old home.As they walked together in silence up the paved walk to the west end ofthe church, a vivid picture rose before the young man's eyes of thelittle parlour where he had sat last night--of his silent mother in herblack satin; his father in the tall chair, Ralph in an unwontedly easyand genial mood lounging on the other side and telling stories of town,of the chaplain with his homely, pleasant face, slipping silently out atthe door. That was the last time that all that was his,--that he had aright and a place there. If he ever saw it again it would be as a guestwho had become the son of another home, with new rights and relations,and at the thought a pang of uncontrollable shrinking pricked at hisheart.
But at the door of the church the monk drew his arm within his own for amoment and held it, and Chris saw the shadowed eyes under his brows reston him tenderly.
"God bless you, Chris!" he said.
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