by A. D. Crake
Chapter 8: Hubert At Lewes Priory.
William de Warrenne and Gundrada his wife, the daughter of themighty Conqueror, were travelling on the Continent and made apilgrimage to the famous Abbey of Clairvaux, presided over by thegreat abbot, poet, and preacher of the age, Saint Bernard. So muchdid they admire all they saw and heard, so sweet was the contrastof monastic peace to their life of ceaseless turmoil, that theydetermined to found such a house of God on their newly-acquireddomains in Sussex, after the fashion of Clairvaux.
Already they had superseded the wooden Saxon church of SaintPancras, the boy martyr of ancient Rome, which they found at Lewes,by a stone building, and now upon its site they began to erect amightier edifice by far, upon proportions which would entail thelabour of generations.
A wondrous and beautiful priory arose; it covered forty acres, itschurch was as big as a cathedral, a magnificent cruciform pile--onehundred and fifty feet long, sixty-five feet in height frompavement to roof; there were twenty-four massive pillars in thenave {14}, each thirty feet in circumference; but it was notuntil the time of their grandson, the third earl, that it wasdedicated. Nor indeed were its comely proportions enhanced by thetwo western towers until the very date of our tale, nearly twocenturies later. Then it lived on in its beauty, a joy tosuccessive generations, until the vandals of Thomas Cromwell,trained to devastation, so completely destroyed it in a few briefweeks that the next generation had almost forgotten its site{15}.
The first monks were foreigners, by the advice of Lanfranc, and, asa great favour, Saint Bernard sent three of his own brethren fromClairvaux, who taught the good people of Lewes to sing "Jesu dulcismemoria." Loth though we are to confess it, there can be littledoubt that the foreigners were a great advance in learning andpiety upon the monks before the Conquest; the first prior, Lanzo,was conspicuous for his many virtues and sweet ascetic disposition.
There the bones of the founders were laid to rest beneath thegorgeous fabric they had founded, and there they had hoped to awaitthe day of doom and righteous retribution. But alas! poor Normans!in the sixteenth century old Harry pulled the grand church downabove their heads; in the nineteenth the navvies, making therailroad, disinterred their bones. But they respected the dead, thenames William and Gundrada were upon the coffins which theirprofane mattocks unearthed, and the reader may see them atSouthover Church.
In the freshness of a May morning Hubert and his new uncle, SirNicholas Harengod, dismounted at the gate of the priory, havingleft their train at the hostelry up in the town.
"Canst thou tell us whether the brother of Saint John, Roger erstof Walderne, is tarrying within?"
"Certes he is, but just now he heareth the Chapter Mass--fewservices or offices doth he miss, and like Saint James of old, hisknees are worn as hard as the knees of camels."
"We would fain see him--here is his son."
"By our lady, not to mention Saint Pancras, a well-favouredstripling. And thou?"
"I am Sir Nicholas of Walderne," said he of that query, with someimportance, which was quite lost upon the janitor.
"Walderne! Some place in the woods may be. Well, get you,worshipful sirs, to the hospitium, where we feed all hungry folk atthe hour of noon, and I will strive to find the good brother."
The splendid group of buildings, of which only a fewhalf-demolished walls remain, rose before them, on each side of thegreat quadrangle which they now entered; the chapter house, wherethe brethren met for counsel; the refectory, where they fed; thedormitory, where they slept; the scriptory, where they copied thosebeautiful manuscripts which antiquarians love to obtain; theinfirmary, where the sick were tended; and lastly, the hospitium orguest house, where all travellers and pilgrims were welcome.
They entered the hospitium, where the noontide meal was about to beserved. It was plain but ample; solid joints, huge loaves, ale, andeven wine in moderation. Some twenty sat down to the hospitableboard.
During the "noon meat" a homily was read. When the meal was over alay brother came and beckoned Sir Nicholas and Hubert to followhim. He led them to the cloisters and knocked at the door of acell.
"Come in," said a deep voice.
Could this be the father Hubert had so longed to know, clad in along dark dress, with haggard and worn features, which, however,still preserved their native nobility?
At the sight of his visitors he showed an emotion he vainlyendeavoured to repress, under an affectation of self control. Hegreeted Sir Nicholas kindly, but embraced his fair son, while tearshe could not repress streamed down his worn cheeks.
"This is then my Hubert. Ah, how like thy short-lived mother! Shelives again in thee, my boy."
"But, my father, I trust thy courage and valour have descended tome also. They do not call me girlish at Kenilworth."
"Such as I have to bequeath is, I trust, thine. Thy mother came ofa race more addicted to lute and harp than sword or spear. It wasthe worse for them in their dire need, when the stern father of himwho shelters thee harried their land with fire and sword.
"But we waste time. Sit down and let the eyes of the father, wearyof the world, gaze upon the boy in whom he lives again."
For a few moments there was silence, during which Roger seemedstruggling to overcome an emotion which overpowered him.
"I was thinking of the sunny land of Provence, and was there againwith one dearly loved, who was only spared to me a few shortmonths. She died in giving thee birth, my Hubert; had she lived, Ihad not become the wreck I am.
"So thou desirest to go forth into the world, my son?"
"As thou didst also, my father."
"But I trust under other auspices. Tell me not of my giddy youth.Dearly did I pay the price of youthful folly and unseemly strife.Thou, too, my boy, must buy experience; God grant more cheaply thanI bought mine."
There he shuddered.
"My boy, hast thou ever wished to be a warrior of the Cross--acrusader?"
"Often, oh how often. In that way I would fain serve God."
The monk soldier smiled.
"And how wouldst thou attempt to convert the infidel?"
"At the first blasphemy he uttered I would cut him down, cleave himto the chine."
"Such our knights generally hold to be the better way, for theirarms were readier than their tongues, but I never heard that theysaved the souls of the heathen thereby."
"No one wants to see them in heaven, I should think. Let them go totheir own place."
"It is wrong, I know it is. It must be. There is a better way--comewith me, boy, I would fain show thee something."
He led the wondering boy into the garden of the monastery. There inthe centre arose an artificial mount, and upon it stood across--the figure of the Redeemer, bending, as in death, from therood. It was called "The Calvary," and men came there to pray.
The father bent his knee--the son did the same.
"Now, my boy, whom did He die for but His enemies? Even for Hismurderers He cried, 'Father, forgive them!' And you would fain slaythem."
Hubert was silent.
"When thou art struck--"
"No one ever struck me without getting it back, at least no boy ofmy own age," interrupted Hubert.
"And He said, 'When thou art smitten on one cheek, turn the otherto the smiter.'"
"But, my father, must we all be like that? I am sure I couldn't bethat sort of Christian; even the good earl Simon is not, nor Martineither. Perhaps the chaplain is--do you think so?"
"Who is Martin?"
"The best boy I know, but I have seen him fight."
"Well, and thou may'st fight nay, must, as the world goes, in agood cause, and there is a sword which thou must bear unsulliedthrough the conflict. But if thou avengest thine own privatewrongs, as I did, or bearest rancour against thy personal foes,never wilt thou deliver me."
"Deliver thee?"
"Yes, my child. I am under a curse, because on the very day of thegreat sacrifice on the Cross, on a Friday, I slew a man who hadinsulted me. He died unhouselled, unan
ointed, unannealed, and hisghost ever haunts my midnight hour."
"Even here, in this holy, consecrated place?"
"Even in the very church itself."
"Can any one else see it?"
"They have never done so. Perhaps as thou art of my blood, it mightbe permitted thee."
"I will try. Let me stay this night with thee, and watch by thyside in the church."
"Thou shalt be blessed in the deed. I will ask Sir Nicholas totarry the night if he can do so."
"Or I might ride back alone tomorrow."
"The forest is dangerous; the outlaws abound."
"That for the outlaws, hujus facio;" and Hubert snapped hisfingers. It was about the only scrap of Latin he cared for.
The father smiled sadly.
"Come, we are keeping Sir Nicholas waiting;" and they returned tothe great quadrangle, where they found that worthy striding up anddown with some impatience.
"We must be off at once, brother, Hubert and I. The woods are notover safe after nightfall."
"I must ask thee to spare me my son a while. I would fain make hisfurther acquaintance."
"Come back with us to Walderne, then. The lad would soon die of thegloom of a monastery."
"I spent four years in one, and the earl found me alive at theend," said Hubert.
"Nay, my brother, I may not leave the priory now."
"But how long wilt thou keep the boy?"
"Only till tomorrow."
"Well, I may tarry till tomorrow, but not at the monastery. My oldcrony, the De Warrenne up at the castle, will lodge me, and I willreturn for the lad after the Chapter Mass, at nine."
Of all forms of architecture the Norman appears to the writer themost awe inspiring. Its massive round pillars, its bold, but simplearch, have an effect upon the mind more imposing and solemnising,if we may coin the word, than the more florid architecture of thedecorated period, which may aptly be described as "Gothic run toseed." Such a stern and simple structure was the earlier priorychurch of Lewes, in the days of which we write.
A little before midnight two forms entered the south transept by alittle wicket door. There was a black darkness over the heavensthat night, and a high wind moaned and shrieked about the upperturrets of the stately fane. Oh, how solemn was the inner aspect atthat dread hour, lighted only by the seven lamps, which, typical ofthe Seven Spirits of God, burned in the choir, pendent from theroof.
One timorous glance Hubert gave into the dark recesses of theaisles and transept, into the dim space overhead, as if he almostexpected to hear the flapping of ghostly pinions in the portentousgloom. A sense of mystery daunted his spirit as he followed hissire by the light of a feeble lamp, carried in the hand, amidst thetall columns which rose like tree trunks around, each shaftappearing to rise farther than the sight could penetrate, ere itgave birth to the arch from its summit. Dead crusaders lay aroundin stone, and strove with grim visage to draw the sword and smitethe worshippers of Mohammed, as if in the very act they had beenpetrified by a new Gorgon's head. The steps of the intruders seemedsacrilegious, breaking the solemn stillness of the night as thefather led the son into the chapel of the patron saint of his order:
Who propped the Virgin in her faint,The loved Apostle John.
There the horror-stricken Hubert heard the dismal tale which wehave already related, and that his unhappy father believed himselfyet visited each night by the ghost of the man he had slain. Andalso that it was fixed in his poor diseased brain that theapparition would not rest until the crusade, vowed by the Sieur deFievrault, but cut short by his fall, should be made by proxy, andthat the proxy must be one sans peur et sans reproche. And thatthis reparation made, the poor spirit, according to the belief ofthe age, released from purgatorial fires, might enter Paradise andreappear no more between the hours of midnight and cock crowing totrouble the living.
"What an absurd story," the sceptic may say. No doubt it is to us,but a man must live in his own age, and there was nought absurd orimprobable to young Hubert in it all.
And when the weird tale was finished, and the hour of midnighttolled boom! boom! boom! from the tower above, every stroke sent athrill through the heart of the youth. That dread hour, when, asmen thought, the powers of darkness had the world to themselves,when a thousand ghosts shrieked on the hollow wind, when midnighthags swept through the tainted air, and goblins gibbered insepulchres.
Just then Hubert caught his father's glance, and it made eachseparate hair erect itself:
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
"Father," cried the boy, "what art thou gazing at? what aileththee? I see nought amiss."
Words came from the father's lips, not in reply to his son, but asif to some object unseen by all besides.
"Yes, unhappy ghost, I may dare thy livid terrors now. My son, thyproxy, is by my side, pure and shameless, brave and trustworthy. Heshall carry thy sword to the holy soil and dye it 'deep in Paynimblood.' Then thou and I may rest in peace."
"Father, I see nought."
"Not there, between those pillars?"
"What is it?"
"A dead man, with a sword wound in his open breast, which hedisplays. His eyes live, yea, and the wound lives."
"No, father, there is nothing."
"Then go and stand between those pillars, and prove it to me to bevoid."
Hubert hesitated. He would sooner have fought a hundred boyishbattles with fist, quarterstaff, or even deadly weapons--but this--
"Ah, thou darest not. Nay, I blame thee not, yet thou didst saythere was nothing."
Hubert could not resist that pleading tone in which the sire seemedto ask release from his own delusion. He went with determined step,and stood on the indicated spot.
"He is gone. He fled before thee. The omen is good. Thou shaltdeliver thy sire--let us pray together."
Sire and son knelt until the first note of the matin song justbefore daybreak (it was the month of May) broke the utterance ofthe father and, we fear we must own it, the sleep of the son.
Domine labia mea aperiesEt os meum annuntiabit laudem Tuam.
The sombre-robed monks were in the choir, the organ rolling out itsdeep notes in accompaniment to the plain song of the Veniteexultemus, which then, as now, preceded the psalms for the day.Then came the hymn:
Lo night and clouds and darkness wrapThe world in dark array;The morning dawns, the sun breaks in,Hence, hence, ye shades--away {16}!
"Come, Hubert, dear son, worthy of thy sainted mother. We willpraise Him, too, for He has lifted the darkness from my heart."
