by A. D. Crake
Produced by Martin Robb
THE HOUSE OF WALDERNE
A Tale of the Cloister and the Forest in the Days of the Barons' Wars
by the Reverend A. D. Crake
Preface.Prologue.Chapter 1: The Knight And Squire.Chapter 2: Michelham Priory.Chapter 3: Kenilworth.Chapter 4: In the Greenwood.Chapter 5: Martin Leaves Kenilworth.Chapter 6: At Walderne Castle.Chapter 7: Martin's First Day At Oxford.Chapter 8: Hubert At Lewes Priory.Chapter 9: The Other Side Of The Picture.Chapter 10: Foul And Fair.Chapter 11: The Early Franciscans.Chapter 12: How Hubert Gained His Spurs.Chapter 13: How Martin Gained His Desire.Chapter 14: May Day In Lewes.Chapter 15: The Crusader Sets Forth.Chapter 16: Michelham Once More.Chapter 17: The Castle Of Fievrault.Chapter 18: The Retreat Of The Outlaws.Chapter 19: The Preaching Friar.Chapter 20: The Old Man Of The Mountain.Chapter 21: To Arms! To Arms!Chapter 22: A Medieval Tyrant.Chapter 23: Saved As By Fire.Chapter 24: Before The Battle.Chapter 25: The Battle Of Lewes.Chapter 26: After The Battle.Epilogue.Notes.
Preface.
It is not without pleasure that the author presents this, thetwelfth of his series of historical novelettes, to his friends andreaders; the characters, real and imaginary, are very dear to him;they have formed a part of his social circle for some two yearspast, and if no one else should believe in Sir Hubert of Walderneand Brother Martin, the author assuredly does. It was during apleasant summer holiday that the plan of this little work wasconceived: the author was taking temporary duty at Waldron inSussex, during the absence of its vicar--the Walderne of our story,formerly so called, a lovely village situated on the southern slopeof that range of low hills which extends from Hastings to Uckfield,and which formed the backbone of the Andredsweald. In the depths ofa wood below the vicarage he found the almost forgotten site of theold Castle of Walderne, situate in a pathless thicket, and onlyapproachable through the underwood. The moat was still there,although at that time destitute of water, the space withincompletely occupied by trees and bushes, where once all the bustleand life of a medieval household was centred.
The author felt a strong interest in the spot; he searched in theSussex Archaeological Collections for all the facts he could gathertogether about this forgotten family: he found far more informationthan he had hoped to gain, especially in an article contributed bythe Reverend John Ley, a former vicar of Waldron. He also madehimself familiar with the topography of the neighbourhood, andprepared to make the old castle the chief scene of his next story,and to revivify the dry dust so far as he was able.
In a former story, the Andredsweald, a tale of the Norman Conquest,he wrote of "The House of Michelham," in the same locality, and hehas introduced one of the descendants of that earlier family, inthe person of Friar Martin, thinking it might prove a link ofinterest to the readers of the earlier story.
He had intended to incorporate more of the general history of thetime, but space forbade, so he can only recommend his readers whoare curious to know more of the period to the Life of Simon deMontfort, by Canon Creighton {1}, which will serve well toaccompany the novelette. And also those who wish to know more ofthe loving and saintly Francis of Assisi, will find a mostexcellent biography by Mrs. Oliphant, in Macmillan's SundayLibrary, to which the author also acknowledges great obligations.
If it be objected, as it probably may, that the author'sFranciscans are curiously like the early Wesleyans, or in somerespects even like a less respectable body of modern religionists,he can only reply "so they were;" but there was this greatdifference, that they deeply realised the sacramental system of theChurch, and led people to her, not from her; the preacher was neverallowed to supersede the priest.
But, on the other hand, it may reasonably be objected that BrotherMartin only exhibits one side of the religion of his period; thatthere is an unaccountable absence of the popular superstitions ofthe age in his teaching; and that, more especially, he does notinvoke the saints as a friar would naturally have done again andagain.
Now, the author does not for a moment deny that Martin must haveshared in the common belief of his time; but such things were notof the essence of his teaching, only the accidental accompanimentsthereof. The prominent feature of the preaching of the earlyFranciscans was, as was that of St. Paul, Jesus Christ and Himcrucified. And in a book intended primarily for young readers ofthe Church of England, it is perhaps allowable to suppress featureswhich would perplex youthful minds before they have the power ofdiscriminating between the chaff and the wheat; while it is notthereby intended to deny that they really existed. The objectionableside of the teaching of the medieval Church of England has beendwelt upon with such little charity, by certain Protestant writers,that their youthful readers might be led to think that the religionof their forefathers was but a mass of superstition, devoid of allspiritual life, and therefore the author feels that it is betterto dwell upon the points of agreement between the fathers and thechildren, than to gloat over "corruptions."
In writing the chapters which describe medieval Oxford, the authorhad the advantage of an ancient map, and of certain interestingrecords of the thirteenth century, so that the picture ofscholastic life and of the conflicts of "north and south," etc. isnot simply imaginary portraiture. The earliest houses of educationin Oxford were doubtless the religious houses, beginning with thePriory of Saint Frideswide, but schools appear to have speedilyfollowed, whose alumni lodged in such hostels as we have describedin "Le Oriole." The hall, so called (we are not answerable for thenon-elision of the vowel) was subsequently granted by Queen Eleanorto one James de Hispania, from whom it was purchased for the newcollege founded by Adam de Brom, and took the name of OrielCollege.
Two other points in this family history may invite remark. It maybe objected that the Old Man of the Mountain is too atrocious forbelief. The author can only reply that he is not original; he metthe old man and all his doings long ago, in an almost forgottenchronicle of the crusades, especially he noted the perversion ofboyish intellect to crime and cruelty.
Lastly, in these days of incredulity, the supernatural element inthe story of Sir Roger of Walderne may appear forced or unreal. Butthe incident is one of a class which has been made common propertyby writers of fiction in all generations; it occurs at least thricein the Ingoldsby Legends; Sir Walter Scott gives a terribleinstance in his story of the Scotch judge haunted by the spectre ofthe bandit he had sentenced to death {2}, which appears to befounded on fact; and indeed the present narrative was suggested byone of Washington Irving's short stories, read by the writer when aboy at school.
Whether such appearances, of which there are so many authenticinstances, be objective or subjective--the creation of thesufferer's remorse--they are equally real to the victim.
But the author will no longer detain the reader from the storyitself, only dedicating it to the kind friends he met at Waldronduring his summer holiday in eighteen hundred and eighty-three.
