II
BASIL THE SCRIBE
HOW AN IRISH MONK IN AN ENGLISH ABBEY CAME TO STAND BEFORE KINGS
Brother Basil, of the scriptorium, was doing two things at once with thesame brain. He did not know whether any of the other monks ever indulgedin this or not. None of them showed any signs of it.
The Abbot was clearly intent, soul, brain and body, on the ruling ofthe community. In such a house as this dozens of widely variedindustries must be carried on, much time spent in prayer, song andmeditation, and strict attention given to keeping in every detail thetraditional Benedictine rule. In many mediaeval Abbeys not all thesethings were done. Rumor hinted that one Order was too fond of ease, andanother of increasing its estates. In the Irish Abbey where BrotherBasil had received his first education, little thought was given toanything but religion; the fare was of the rudest and simplest kind.But in this English Abbey everything in the way of clothing, tools,furniture, meat and drink which could be produced on the lands wasproduced there. Guests of high rank were often entertained. The church,not yet complete, was planned on a magnificent scale. The work of themaking of books had grown into something like a large publishingbusiness. As the parchments for the writing, the leather for thecovers, the goose-quill pens, the metal clasps, the ink, and the colorsfor illuminated lettering, were all made on the premises, a great dealof skilled labor was involved. Besides the revenues from the sale ofmanuscript volumes the Abbey sold increasing quantities of wool eachyear. Under some Abbots this material wealth might have led to luxury.But Benedict of Winchester held that a man who took the vows ofreligion should keep them.
With this Brother Basil entirely agreed. He desired above all to givehis life to the service of God and the glory of his Order. He was askillful, accurate and rapid penman. Manuscripts copied by him, or underhis direction, had no mistakes or slovenly carelessness about them. Thepens which he cut were works of art. The ink was from a rule for whichhe had made many experiments. Every book was carefully and stronglybound. Brother Basil, in short, was an artist, and though the work mightbe mechanical, he could not endure not to have it beautifully done.
The Abbot was quite aware of this, and made use of the young monk'stalent for perfection by putting him in charge of the scriptorium. Inthe twelfth century the monks were almost the only persons who hadleisure for bookmaking. They wrote and translated many histories; theycopied the books which made up their own libraries, borrowed bookswherever they could and copied those, over and over again. They soldtheir work to kings, noblemen, and scholars, and to other religioushouses. The need for books was so great that in the scriptorium of whichBrother Basil had charge, very little time was spent on illumination.Missals, chronicles and books of hymns fancifully decorated in colorwere done only when there was a demand for them. They were costly intime, labor and material.
Brother Basil could copy a manuscript with his right hand and one halfhis brain, while the other half dreamed of things far afield. He couldnot remain blind to the grace of a bird's wing on its flight northwardin spring, to the delicate seeking tendrils of grapevines, the starrybeauty of daisies or the tracery of arched leafless boughs. Within hismind he could follow the gracious curves of the noble Norman choir, andhe had visions of color more lustrous than a sunrise.
Day by day, year by year, the sheep nibbled the tender springing grass.Yet the green sward continued to be decked with orfrey-work of manyhues--buttercups, violets, rose-campion, speedwell, daisies--defiantlittle bright heads not three inches from the roots. His fancies wouldcome up in spite of everything, like the flowers.
But would it always be so? Was he to spend his life in copying thesebulky volumes of theology and history--the same old phrases, the sameauthors, the same seat by the same window? And some day, would he findthat his dreams had vanished forever? Might he not grow to be likeBrother Peter, who had kept the porter's lodge for forty years and hatedto see a new face? This was the doubt in the back of his mind, and itwas very sobering indeed.
Years ago, when he was a boy, he had read the old stories of themissionary monks of Scotland and Ireland. These men carried the messageof the Cross to savage tribes, they stood before Kings, they wroughtwonders. Was there no more need for such work as theirs? Even now therewas fierce misrule in Ireland. Even now the dispute between church andstate had resulted in the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury on thesteps of the altar. The Abbeys of all England had hummed like bee-hiveswhen that news came.
Brother Basil discovered just then that the ink was failing, and wentto see how the new supply was coming on. It was a tedious task to makeink, but when made it lasted. Wood of thorn-trees must be cut in Aprilor May before the leaves or flowers were out, and the bundles of twigsdried for two, three or four weeks. Then they were beaten with woodenmallets upon hard wooden tablets to remove the bark, which was put ina barrel of water and left to stand for eight days. The water was thenput in a cauldron and boiled with some of the bark, to boil out whatsap remained. When it was boiled down to about a third of the originalmeasure it was put into another kettle and cooked until black andthick, and reduced again to a third of its bulk. Then a little purewine was added and it was further cooked until a sort of scum showeditself, when the pot was removed from the fire and placed in the sununtil the black ink purified itself of the dregs. The pure ink was thenpoured into bags of parchment carefully sewn and hung in the sunlightuntil dry, when it could be kept for any length of time till wanted. Towrite, one moistened the ink with a little wine and vitriol.
As all the colors for illumination must be made by similar tediousprocesses, it can be seen that unless there was a demand for such workit would not be thrifty to do it.
Brother Basil arrived just in time to caution the lay brother, SimonGastard, against undue haste. Gastard was a clever fellow, but he neededwatching. He was too apt to think that a little slackness here andthere was good for profits. Brother Basil stood over him until the inkwas quite up to the standard of the Abbey. But his mind meanwhile ran onthe petty squabblings and dry records of the chronicle that he had justbeen copying. How, after all, was he better than Gastard? He was givingthe market what it wanted--and the book was not worth reading. If menwere to write chronicles, why not make them vivid as legends, true,stirring, magnificent stories of the men who moved the world? Who wouldcare, in a thousand years, what rent was paid by the tenant farmers ofthe Abbey, or who received a certain benefice from the King?
As he turned from the sunlit court where the ink was a-making, hereceived a summons to the Abbot's own parlor. He found that dignitaryoccupied with a stout and consequential monk of perhaps forty-five, whowas looking bewildered, snubbed, and indignant. Brother Ambrosius wasmost unaccustomed to admonitions, even of the mildest. He had a widereputation as a writer, and was indeed the author of the very volumewhich Brother Basil was now copying. He seemed to know by instinct whatwould please the buyers of chronicles, and especially what was to beleft out.
It was also most unusual to see the Abbot thoroughly aroused. He had acool, indifferent manner, which made his rebukes more cutting. Now hewas in wrathful earnest.
"'SOME OF US WILL LIVE TO SEE THOMAS OF CANTERBURY ASAINT OF THE CHURCH'"]
"Ambrosius," he thundered, "there are some of us who will live to seeThomas of Canterbury a Saint of the Church. But that is no reason whywe should gabble about it beforehand. You have been thinking yourselfa writer, have you? Your place here has been allowed you because youare--as a rule--cautious even to timidity. Silence is always safe,and an indiscreet pen is ruinous. The children of the brain travel far,and they must not discuss their betters."
"Shall we write then of the doings of binds and swinkers?" asked thehistorian, pursing his heavy mouth. "It seems we cannot write of Kingsand of Saints."
"You may write anything in reason of Kings and of Saints--when they aredead," the Abbot retorted. "But if you cannot avoid treasonablecriticism of your King, I will find another historian. Go now to yourpenance."
And Brother
Ambrosius, not venturing a reply, slunk out.
In the last three minutes Brother Basil had seen far beneath the surfaceof things. His deep-set blue eyes flamed. The dullness of the chroniclewas not always the dullness of the author, it seemed. The King showed atbest none too much respect for the Church, and his courtiers had daredthe murder of Becket. Surely the Abbot was right.
"Basil," his superior observed grimly, "in a world full of fools itwould be strange if some were not found here. It is the business of theChurch to make all men alike useful to God. Because the murder of anArchbishop has set all Christendom a-buzz, we must be the more zealousto give no just cause of offence. I do not believe that Henry is guiltyof that murder, but if he were, he would not shrink from other crimes.In the one case we have no reason to condemn him; in the other, we mustbe silent or court our own destruction. There are other ways of keepingalive the memory of Thomas of Canterbury besides foolish accusations inblack and white. There may be pictures, which the people will see,ballads which they will hear and repeat--the very towers of theCathedral will be his monument.
"I have sent for you now because there is work for you to do elsewhere.The road from Paris to Byzantium may soon be blocked. The Emperor ofGermany is at open war with the Pope. Turks are attacking pilgrims inthe Holy Land. Soon it may be impossible, even for a monk, to make thejourney safely. The time to go is now.
"You will set forth within a fortnight, and go to Rouen, Paris andLimoges; thence to Rome, Byzantium and Alexandria. I will give youmemoranda of certain manuscripts which you are to secure if possible,either by purchase or by securing permission to make copies. Get asmany more as you can. The King is coming here to-night in company withthe Archbishop of York, the Chancellor, a Prince of Ireland, andothers. He may buy or order some works on the ancient law. He desiresalso to found an Abbey in Ireland, to be a cell of this house. I haveselected Cuthbert of Oxenford to take charge of the work, and he willset out immediately with twelve brethren to make the foundation. Whenyou return from your journey it will doubtless be well under way. Youwill begin there the training of scribes, artists, metal workers andother craftsmen. It is true that you know little of any work exceptthat of the scriptorium, but one can learn to know men there as wellas anywhere. You will observe what is done in France, Lombardy andByzantium. The men to whom you will have letters will make youacquainted with young craftsmen who may be induced to go to Irelandto work, and teach their work to others. Little can be done towardestablishing a school until Ireland is more quiet, but in this theKing believes that we shall be of some assistance. I desire you to bepresent at our conference, to make notes as you are directed, and tosay nothing, for the present, of these matters. Ambrosius may thinkthat you are to have his place, and that will be very well."
The Abbot concluded with a rather ominous little smile. Brother Basilwent back to the scriptorium, his head in a whirl. Within a twelvemonthhe would see the mosaics of Saint Mark's in Venice, the glorious windowsof the French cathedrals, the dome of Saint Sophia, the wonders of theHoly Land. He was no longer part of a machine. Indeed, he must alwayshave been more than that, or the Abbot would not have chosen him forthis work. He felt very humble and very happy.
He knew that he must study architecture above anything else, for thebuilding done by the monks was for centuries to come. Each brother ofthe Order gathered wisdom for all. When a monk of distinguished abilitylearned how to strengthen an arch here or carve a doorway there, hiswork was seen and studied by others from a hundred towns and cities.Living day by day with their work, the builders detected weaknesses andproved step by step all that they did. Cuthbert of Oxenford was a sureand careful mason, but that was all. The beauty of the building wouldhave to be created by another man. Glass-work, goldsmith work, mosaics,vestments and books might be brought from abroad, but the stone-workmust be done with materials near at hand and such labor as could be had.Brother Basil received letters not only to Abbots and Bishops, but toGerard the wood-carver of Amiens, Matteo the Florentine artist, Tomasothe physician of Padua, Angelo the glass-maker. He set all in order inthe scriptorium where he had toiled for five long years. Then, havingbeen diligent in business, he went to stand before the King.
Many churchmen pictured this Plantagenet with horns and a cloven foot,and muttered references to the old fairy tale about a certain ancestorof the family who married a witch. But Brother Basil was familiar withthe records of history. He knew the fierce Norman blood of the race,and knew also the long struggle between Matilda, this King's mother,and Stephen. Here, in the plainly furnished room of the Abbot, was ahawk-nosed man with gray eyes and a stout restless figure, broad coarsehands, and slightly bowed legs, as if he spent most of his days in thesaddle. The others, churchmen and courtiers, looked far more likeroyalty. Yet Henry's realm took in all England, a part of Ireland, anda half of what is now France. He was the only real rival to the GermanEmperor who had defied and driven into exile the Pope of Rome. If Henrywere of like mind with Frederick Barbarossa it would be a sorry dayindeed for the Church. If he were disposed to contend with Barbarossafor the supreme power over Europe, the land would be worn out with wars.What would he do? Brother Basil watched the debating group and tried tomake up his mind.
He wrote now and then a paragraph at the Abbot's command. It seemedthat the King claimed certain taxes and service from the churchmen whoheld estates under him, precisely as from the feudal nobles. The Abbotsand Bishops, while claiming the protection of English law for theirproperty, claimed also that they owed no obedience to the King, butonly to their spiritual master. Argument after argument was advanced bytheir trained minds.
But it was not for amusement that Henry II., after a day with somehunting Abbot, falcon on fist, read busily in books of law. BrotherBasil began to see that the King was defining, little by little, a codeof England based on the old Roman law and customs handed down from theprimitive British village. Would he at last obey the Church, or not?
Suddenly the monarch halted in his pacing of the room, turned and facedthe group. The lightning of his eye flashed from one to another, and alldrew back a little except the Abbot, who listened with the little grimsmile that the monks knew.
"I tell ye," said Henry, bringing his hard fist down upon the oakentable, "Pope or no Pope, Emperor or no Emperor, I will be King ofEngland, and this land shall be fief to no King upon earth. I will haveneither two masters to my dogs, nor two laws to my realm. Hear ye that,my lords and councilors?"
VENETIAN GLASS
Sea-born they learned the secrets of the sea, Prisoned her with strong love that left her free, Cherished her beauty in those fragile chains Whereof this precious heritage remains.
Venetian glass! The hues of sunset light, The gold of starlight in a winter night, Heaven joined with earth, and faeryland was wrought In these the crystal Palaces of Thought.
In the Days of the Guild Page 6