BROTHER STEPHEN'S INSPIRATION
GABRIEL knew nothing of Brother Stephen's troubles, and so was smiling
happily as he stepped into the room, holding his cap in one hand, while
with his other arm he hugged to him his large bunch of violets and
cuckoo-buds. Indeed he looked so bright and full of life that even
Brother Stephen felt the effect of it, and his frown began to smooth out
a little as he said:
"Well, my lad, who art thou?"
"I am Gabriel Viaud, Brother Stephen," answered the boy, "and I have
come to help you; for they told me Jacques is fallen ill. What would you
like me to do first?"
To this Brother Stephen scarcely knew what to reply. He was certainly in
no mood for work. He was still very, very angry, and thought himself
terribly misused by the Abbot; and though he greatly dreaded the
latter's threats, he had almost reached the point of defying him and the
king and everybody else, no matter what dreadful thing happened to him
afterward.
But then as he looked again at the bright-faced little boy standing
there, and seeming so eager to help, he began to relent more and more;
and besides, he found it decidedly embarrassing to try to explain things
to Gabriel.
So after a little pause, he said to him: "Gabriel, I am not ready for
thee at this moment; go sit on yonder bench. I wish to think out a
matter which is perplexing me." Then as Gabriel obediently went over to
the bench and seated himself, he added: "Thou canst pass the time
looking at the books on the shelf above thee."
So while Brother Stephen was trying to make up his mind as to what he
would do, Gabriel took down one of the books, and was soon absorbed in
its pages. Presently, as he turned a new one, he gave a little
involuntary exclamation of delight. At this Brother Stephen noticed him,
and--
"Ah!" he said, "what hast thou found that seems to please thee?"
"Oh, sir," answered Gabriel, "this is the most beautiful initial letter
I have ever seen!"
Now Gabriel did not know that the book had been made a few years before
by Brother Stephen himself, and so he had no idea how much it pleased
the brother to have his work admired.
Indeed, most people who do good work of any kind oftentimes feel the
need of praise; not flattery, but the real approval of some one who
understands what they are trying to do. It makes the workman or artist
feel that if his work is liked by somebody, it is worth while to try to
do more and better.
Poor Brother Stephen did not get much of this needed praise, for many of
the other monks at the Abbey were envious of him, and so were unwilling
really to admire his work; while the Abbot was so cold and haughty and
so taken up with his own affairs, that he seldom took the trouble to say
what he liked or disliked.
So when Brother Stephen saw Gabriel's eager admiration, he felt pleased
indeed; for Gabriel had a nice taste in artistic things, and seemed
instinctively to pick out the best points of anything he looked at. And
when, in his enthusiasm, he carried the book over and began to tell
Brother Stephen why he so much admired the painting, without knowing it,
he really made the latter feel happier than he had felt for many a day.
He began to have a decided notion that he would paint King Louis's book
after all. And just then, as if to settle the matter, he happened to
glance at the corner of the table where Gabriel had laid down his bunch
of flowers as he came in.
It chanced that some of the violets had fallen from the cluster and
dropped upon a broad ruler of brass that lay beside the painting
materials. And even as Brother Stephen looked, it chanced also that a
little white butterfly drifted into the room through the bars of the
high, open window; after vaguely fluttering about for a while, at last,
attracted by the blossoms, it came, and, poising lightly over the
violets on the ruler, began to sip the honey from the heart of one of
them.
As Brother Stephen's artistic eye took in the beauty of effect made by
the few flowers on the brass ruler with the butterfly hovering over
them, he, too, gave a little exclamation, and his eyes brightened and he
smiled; for he had just got a new idea for an illuminated border.
"Yes," he said to himself, "this would be different from any I have yet
seen! I will decorate King Louis's book with borders of gold; and on the
gold I will paint the meadow wildflowers, and the bees and butterflies,
and all the little flying creatures."
Now before this, all the borders of the Abbey books had been painted, in
the usual manner of the time, with scrolls and birds and flowers more or
less conventionalized; that is, the artists did not try to make them
look exactly like the real ones, but twisted them about in all sorts of
fantastic ways. Sometimes the stem of a flower would end in the
curled-up folds of a winged dragon, or a bird would have strange
blossoms growing out of his beak, or perhaps the tips of his wings.
These borders were indeed exquisitely beautiful, but Brother Stephen
was just tired of it all, and wanted to do something quite different; so
he was delighted with his new idea of painting the field-flowers exactly
like nature, only placing them on a background of gold.
As he pictured in his mind one page after another thus adorned, he
became more and more interested and impatient to begin at once. He
forgot all about his anger at the Abbot; he forgot everything else,
except that he wanted to begin King Louis's book as quickly as possible!
And so he called briskly to Gabriel, who meantime had reseated himself
on his bench:
"Gabriel, come hither! Canst thou rule lines without blotting? Canst
thou make ink and grind colours and prepare gold size?"
"Yes, sir," said Gabriel, surprised at the monk's eager manner, "I have
worked at all these things."
"Good!" replied Brother Stephen. "Here is a piece of parchment thou
canst cut and prepare, and then rule it, thus" (and here he showed him
how he wished it done), "with scarlet ink. But do not take yonder brass
ruler! Here is one of ivory thou canst use instead."
And then as Gabriel went to work, Brother Stephen, taking a goose-quill
pen and some black ink, began skilfully and carefully to make drawings
of the violets as they lay on the ruler, not forgetting the white
butterfly which still hovered about. The harder he worked the happier he
grew; hour after hour passed, till at last the dinner time came, and
Gabriel, who was growing very hungry, could hear the footsteps of the
brothers, as they marched into the large dining-room where they all ate
together.
Brother Stephen, however, was so absorbed that he did not notice
anything; till, by and by, the door opened, and in came two monks, one
carrying some soup and bread and a flagon of wine. As they entered,
Brother Stephen turned quickly, and was about to rise, when all at once
he felt the tug of the chain still fastened about the leg of the table;
at this his face grew scarlet with shame, and he sank back in his
chair.
Gabriel started with surprise, for he had not before seen the chain,
partly hidden as it was by the folds of the brother's robe. As he
looked, one of the two monks went to the table, and, with a key which he
carried, unlocked the chain so Brother Stephen might have a half-hour's
liberty while he ate. The monks, however, stayed with him to keep an eye
on his movements; and meantime they told Gabriel to go out to the Abbey
kitchen and find something for his own dinner.
As Gabriel went out along the corridor to the kitchen, his heart swelled
with pity! Why was Brother Stephen chained? He tried to think, and
remembered that once before he had seen one of the brothers chained to a
table in the writing-room because he was not diligent enough with his
work,--but Brother Stephen! Was he not working so hard? And how
beautiful, too, were his drawings! The more Gabriel thought of it the
more indignant he grew. Indeed, he did not half-enjoy the bread and
savoury soup made of black beans, that the cook dished out for him; he
took his wooden bowl, and sitting on a bench, ate absently, thinking all
the while of Brother Stephen.
When he had finished he went back to the chapter-house and found the
other monks gone and Brother Stephen again chained. Gabriel felt much
embarrassed to have been obliged to see it; and when Brother Stephen,
pointing to the chain, said bitterly, "Thou seest they were afraid I
would run away from my work," the lad was so much at a loss to know what
to say, that he very wisely said nothing.
Now Brother Stephen, though he had begun the book as the Abbot wished,
yet he had by no means the meek and penitent spirit which also the Abbot
desired of him, and which it was proper for a monk to have.
And so if the truth must be told, each time the other monks came in to
chain him, he felt more than anything else like seizing both of them,
and thrusting them bodily out of the door, or at least trying to do so.
But then he could not forget the Abbot's threat if he showed
disobedience; and he had been brought up to dread the ban of the Church
more than anything else that could possibly happen to him, because he
believed that this would make him unhappy, not only in this life, but in
the life to come. And so he smothered his feelings and tried to bear the
humiliation as patiently as he could.
Gabriel could not help but see, however, that it took him some time to
regain the interest he had felt in his work, and it was not until the
afternoon was half-gone that he seemed to forget his troubles enough
really to have heart in the pages he was making.
When dusk fell, Gabriel picked up and arranged his things in order, and
bidding Brother Stephen good night, trudged off home.