It is unfortunate--or fortunate: that is a matter to be settled by the
taste of the reader--that with this episode of the visit to London all
detailed material for the life of Ambrose Meyrick comes to an end. Odd
scraps of information, stray notes and jottings are all that is
available, and the rest of Meyrick's life must be left in dim and
somewhat legendary outline.
Personally, I think that this failure of documents is to be lamented.
The four preceding chapters have, in the main, dealt with the years of
boyhood, and therefore with a multitude of follies. One is inclined to
wonder, as poor Nelly wondered, whether the lad was quite right in his
head. It is possible that if we had fuller information as to his later
years we might be able to dismiss him as decidedly eccentric, but
well-meaning on the whole.
But, after all, I cannot be confident that he would get off so easily.
Certainly he did not repeat the adventure of Little Russell Row, nor, so
far as I am aware, did he address anyone besides his old schoolmaster
in a Rabelaisian epistle. There are certain acts of lunacy which are
like certain acts of heroism: they are hardly to be achieved twice by
the same men.
But Meyrick continued to do odd things. He became a strolling player
instead of becoming a scholar of Balliol. If he had proceeded to the
University, he would have encountered the formative and salutary
influence of Jowett. He wandered up and down the country for two or
three years with the actors, and writes the following apostrophe to the
memory of his old company.
"I take off my hat when I hear the old music, for I think of the old
friends and the old days; of the theatre in the meadows by the sacred
river, and the swelling song of the nightingales on sweet, spring
nights. There is no doubt that we may safely hold with Plato his
opinion, and safely may we believe that all brave earthly shows are but
broken copies and dim lineaments of immortal things. Therefore, I hope
and trust that I shall again be gathered unto the true Hathaway Company
_quae sursum est_, which is the purged and exalted image of the lower,
which plays for ever a great mystery in the theatre of the meadows of
asphodel, which wanders by the happy, shining streams, and drinks from
an Eternal Cup in a high and blissful and everlasting Tavern. _Ave,
cara sodalitas, ave semper._"
Thus does he translate into wild speech _crepe_ hair and grease paints,
dirty dressing-rooms and dirtier lodgings. And when his strolling days
were over he settled down in London, paying occasional visits to his old
home in the west. He wrote three or four books which are curious and
interesting in their way, though they will never be popular. And finally
he went on a strange errand to the East; and from the East there was for
him no returning.
It will be remembered that he speaks of a Celtic cup, which had been
preserved in one family for many hundred years. On the death of the last
"Keeper" this cup was placed in Meyrick's charge. He received it with
the condition that it was to be taken to a certain concealed shrine in
Asia and there deposited in hands that would know how to hide its
glories for ever from the evil world.
He went on this journey into unknown regions, travelling by ragged roads
and mountain passes, by the sandy wilderness and the mighty river. And
he forded his way by the quaking and dubious track that winds in and out
among the dangers and desolations of the _Kevir_--the great salt slough.
He came at last to the place appointed and gave the word and the
treasure to those who know how to wear a mask and to keep well the
things which are committed to them, and then set out on his journey
back. He had reached a point not very far from the gates of West and
halted for a day or two amongst Christians, being tired out with a weary
pilgrimage. But the Turks or the Kurds--it does not matter
which--descended on the place and worked their customary works, and so
Ambrose was taken by them.
One of the native Christians, who had hidden himself from the
miscreants, told afterwards how he saw "the stranger Ambrosian" brought
out, and how they held before him the image of the Crucified that he
might spit upon it and trample it under his feet. But he kissed the icon
with great joy and penitence and devotion. So they bore him to a tree
outside the village and crucified him there.
And after he had hung on the tree some hours, the infidels, enraged, as
it is said, by the shining rapture of his face, killed him with their
spears.
It was in this manner that Ambrose Meyrick gained Red Martyrdom and
achieved the most glorious Quest and Adventure of the Sangraal.