OPEN EYES AT THE GATE
ANOTHER year wrote its record on forest and field. The weeks passed;
summer sped to autumn, the ripe corn bowed to the sickle. The Convent’s
lands were rich and heavy, virgin soil reclaimed; and the Prior, watching
the last great wain piled high with wealth of golden treasure, saw the
porter coming to him.
Now the porter was stout, short of breath, and of a hasty spirit; and the
Prior knew something was amiss by reason of his hurried gait and wrathful
countenance.
“Domine,” he gasped, “Domine, there is a ragged man at the gate, a
vagabond by his own showing, and he craves speech of thee. I bade him go
to the guest-house, but he will not budge, and hath waited already an
hour despite my—”
The porter stayed, staring; he spoke to the wind; the Prior was already
halfway to the gate.
“This my son was dead and is alive again,” sang his heart. The porter,
afraid, hasted after him with the keys, and had scarce time to do his
office ere the sunburnt vagabond was clasped in the Prior’s arms. It was
a harvesting indeed.
That night Hilarius went across to the Prior’s house to tell the tale of
his journeyings. He found him seated in a great oak chair by the open
window; the sky was ablaze with stars, and the flame of the oil lamp
jarred like a splash of yellow paint on the moonlight which flooded the
room; the Prior’s eyes smiled measureless content, and the murmured
“_Laus Deo_” of his lips voiced the gladness of his heart. Thus, in the
shelter of peace and a great love, Hilarius told his tale, while the
forest waved a welcome to him over the Monastery wall, and the late
lilies burned white in the garth below.
The Prior sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes fixed on the lad’s
face, pale against the dark wainscot; and Hilarius told of his
journeyings, and all that befell, even as it hath been recorded in this
chronicle; and the Prior’s eyes were wet as he heard of the little maid.
“And then, my son?” said the Prior.
“Then, my Father, I companied with the caravan folk as far as the
sea-coast; and, leaving them there, went overseas in the train of my lord
Bishop Robert Walter of Norwich, who was hasting to Rome. He knew thee,
my Father, and bade his people supply my needs.”
“Ay, he knows me,” said the Prior briefly. “The Lord reward him
according to his works, but show him mercy forasmuch as he had compassion
on my son!”
“Then saw I Rome, my Father, that great and beauteous city full of
treasure and many wonders; only the Holy Father I did not see, being let.
Methinks life in that country is as one long pageant; but I marked that
great holiness and an evil life, much riches and much penury, dwelt there
side by side, and men reeked little of death but much of pleasure. Then
one bade me go to Florence an I would be a limner; therefore I hasted
thither, and gave my last coin for bread as I entered the city.”
The Prior’s brows contracted; the lad had seen some schooling.
“But thou didst learn to be a limner, my son?”
“Ay, my Father, in God’s time: at first I must herd goats and sell melons
in the market-place for a lump of bread. Day by day I strove to gain
enough to buy colours, but could not, for the Lord sent me ever a
neighbour poorer than myself. Nevertheless I was of good courage,
knowing the Lord’s ways are not as ours; and mindful how Brother Ambrose
held that inasmuch as the Heavenly City is laid with fair colours ’twere
no sin to deem that a man may limn perfect pictures there, for the gift
is from the Lord.”
“My son, ’tis a great lesson thou hast learnt,” said the Prior, “for the
Word was made Flesh; and as Blessed John hath it, a man cannot love God
unseen, if he love not the brother whom He hath given him. What next,
dear lad?”
“My Father, the Lord Himself sent a messenger to me. One day a great
limner, the Signor Andrea di Cione, whom men call d’Orcagna, stayed by me
where I stood with my melons in the shadow of the Shepherd’s Tower, and
bade me follow him to his house, for he would fain use me for an angel’s
head in the great Altar-piece he was e’en then concerned with for the
Church of the White Friars. Later he heard my story; and when he found I
had some small skill with the brush, he kept me with him, and taught me
as only such an one can teach: him I served five years. And many times
Satan desired my soul; nay, once I was in peril of hell-fire, but the
Lord was with me, and plucked my feet out of the pit. But of that I will
speak anon, at my shriving, as is meet.”
The Prior remembered his dream, but he said no word, and Hilarius took up
his tale.
“Then one day my master cried there was an end to teaching; nevertheless
he would have me bide with him in honour for the work. But my heart was
full of longing for home and the scent of the forest; and, above all, for
thee, my Father; therefore I set my face north, that I might bring back
my gift to St Benedict and our Church; and should have been here long ere
this, but I was let by the way.”
The Prior looked up a little anxiously, and Hilarius smiled at the
question in his face.
“’Tis a lawless tract, my Father, under the shadow of the great mountains
beyond Florence; and I was taken by robbers, who bore me and others of
our company to their fastness in the hills: there I lay in a little cave
many days; but what befell the rest I know not. The robbers brought me
forth to serve them, and by God’s mercy handled me kindly, though they
thought little of bloodshedding.
“Then one of them was troubled in his spirit, and minded to forsake this
evil manner of life. Therefore one night he fled, carrying me with him,
when the others had gone forth; and we made good our way to Mantua.
There Pietro, for so was the robber called, left me that he might give
himself to the service of God and men, inasmuch as he had formerly abused
them. Never saw I man so changed, my Father; his speech, formerly
profane, was all of God and the Saints; he did penance and confessed his
sins publicly; ay, by the Justice’s order he received one hundred lashes
in the market-place, and at every lash he cried with upturned face, ‘_Deo
Gratias_!’ And I was there, because he besought of me to stand in the
crowd and pray for him that his courage failed not. But it came to pass
that even the people marvelled at his joyful endurance; and indeed ’twas
more like a scourging of one of the blessed martyrs than of a poor sinful
robber. After this the Brothers of the Poor took him, for such was his
desire; and so I bade him farewell, and craved his blessing.”
“The Lord fulfil all his mind!” said the Prior with clasped hands.
“Amen,” said Hilarius.
“Didst thou not fear to journey further alone, my son?”
“Nay, my Father, I found for the most part good and kindly men by the
way, despite their somewhat evil seeming; but at Genoa I took service
with a merchant then beginning his journey, and travelled with him
through Flanders, a strange, flat country with many canals and tall
poplar trees; and so we came to Bruges in safety, after a most prosperous
course. There he commended me to a good friend of his, a wool merchant
travelling to Salisbury; and at first all things went well with us; but
later the winds proved contrary, and we were driven hither and thither in
great peril of our lives, but at last made the Bristol Channel, and so
came safe into port. Thence I have come hither afoot begging my bread.”
When Hilarius had made an end, the Prior took him in his arms and blessed
him for his dear son; praising God that the lad had come back a child at
heart, but hungering, loving, open-eyed.
Next morning, being shriven, Hilarius ate the bread and drank the wine of
the “wayfaring man,” his heart merry for the joy of his home-coming.
When the Lady-Mass was ended he knelt on in her Chapel.
“Great Light of Love, all praise and thanks be thine from thy poor son,”
sang his heart; and then he prayed for his little maid.