ST. EDMUND.
Abbot Samson built many useful, many pious edifices; human dwellings,
churches, church-steeples, barns;--all fallen now and vanished, but
useful while they stood. He built and endowed 'the Hospital of
Babwell;' built 'fit houses for the St. Edmundsbury Schools.' Many are
the roofs once 'thatched with reeds' which he 'caused to be covered
with tiles;' or if they were churches, probably 'with lead.' For all
ruinous incomplete things, buildings or other, were an eye-sorrow to
the man. We saw his 'great tower of St. Edmund's;' or at least the
roof-timbers of it, lying cut and stamped in Elmset Wood. To change
combustible decaying reed-thatch into tile or lead; and material,
still more, moral wreck into rain-tight order, what a comfort to
Samson!
* * * * *
One of the things he could not in any wise but rebuild was the great
Altar, aloft on which stood the Shrine itself; the great Altar, which
had been damaged by fire, by the careless rubbish and careless candle
of two somnolent Monks, one night,--the Shrine escaping almost as if
by miracle! Abbot Samson read his Monks a severe lecture: "A Dream one
of us had, that he saw St. Edmund naked and in lamentable plight. Know
ye the interpretation of that Dream? St. Edmund proclaims himself
naked, because ye defraud the naked Poor of your old clothes, and
give with reluctance 'what ye are bound to give them of meat and
drink: the idleness moreover and negligence of the Sacristan and his
people is too evident from the late misfortune by fire. Well might our
Holy Martyr seem to lie cast out from his Shrine, and say with groans
that he was stript of his garments, and wasted with hunger and
thirst!"
This is Abbot Samson's interpretation of the Dream;--diametrically the
reverse of that given by the Monks themselves, who scruple not to say
privily, "It is _we_ that are the naked and famished limbs of the
Martyr; we whom the Abbot curtails of all our privileges, setting his
own official to control our very Cellarer!" Abbot Samson adds, that
this judgment by fire has fallen upon them for murmuring about their
meat and drink.
Clearly enough, meanwhile, the Altar, whatever the burning of it mean
or foreshadow, must needs be reedified. Abbot Samson reedifies it, all
of polished marble; with the highest stretch of art and sumptuosity,
reembellishes the Shrine for which it is to serve as pediment. Nay
farther, as had ever been among his prayers, he enjoys, he sinner, a
glimpse of the glorious Martyr's very Body in the process; having
solemnly opened the _Loculus_, Chest or sacred Coffin, for that
purpose. It is the culminating moment of Abbot Samson's life. Bozzy
Jocelin himself rises into a kind of Psalmist solemnity on this
occasion; the laziest monk 'weeps' warm tears, as _Te Deum_ is sung.
Very strange;--how far vanished from us in these unworshipping ages of
ours! The Patriot Hampden, best beatified man we have, had lain in
like manner some two centuries in his narrow home, when certain
dignitaries of us, 'and twelve grave-diggers with pulleys,' raised him
also up, under cloud of night, cut off his arm with penknives, pulled
the scalp off his head,--and otherwise worshipped our Hero Saint in
the most amazing manner![24] Let the modern eye look earnestly on that
old midnight hour in St. Edmundsbury Church, shining yet on us,
ruddy-bright, through the depths of seven hundred years; and consider
mournfully what our Hero-worship once was, and what it now is! We
translate with all the fidelity we can:
'The Festival of St. Edmund now approaching, the marble blocks are
polished, and all things are in readiness for lifting of the Shrine to
its new place. A fast of three days was held by all the people, the
cause and meaning thereof being publicly set forth to them. The Abbot
announces to the Convent that all must prepare themselves for
transferring of the Shrine, and appoints time and way for the work.
Coming therefore that night to matins, we found the great Shrine
(_feretrum magnum_) raised upon the Altar, but empty; covered all over
with white doeskin leather, fixed to the wood with silver nails; but
one pannel of the Shrine was left down below, and resting thereon,
beside its old column of the Church, the Loculus with the Sacred Body
yet lay where it was wont. Praises being sung, we all proceeded to
commence our disciplines (_ad disciplinas suscipiendas_). These
finished, the Abbot and certain with him are clothed in their albs;
and, approaching reverently, set about uncovering the Loculus. There
was an outer cloth of linen, enwrapping the Loculus and all; this we
found tied on the upper side with strings of its own: within this was
a cloth of silk, and then another linen cloth, and then a third; and
so at last the Loculus was uncovered, and seen resting on a little
tray of wood, that the bottom of it might not be injured by the stone.
Over the breast of the Martyr, there lay, fixed to the surface of the
Loculus, a Golden Angel about the length of a human foot; holding in
one hand a golden sword, and in the other a banner: under this there
was a hole in the lid of the Loculus, on which the ancient servants of
the Martyr had been wont to lay their hands for touching the Sacred
Body. And over the figure of the Angel was this verse inscribed:
_Martiris ecce zoma servat Michaelis agalma._[25]
At the head and foot of the Loculus were iron rings whereby it could
be lifted.
'Lifting the Loculus and Body, therefore, they carried it to the
Altar; and I put-to my sinful hand to help in carrying, though the
Abbot had commanded that none should approach except called. And the
Loculus was placed in the Shrine; and the pannel it had stood on was
put in its place, and the Shrine for the present closed. We all
thought that the Abbot would show the Loculus to the people; and bring
out the Sacred Body again, at a certain period of the Festival. But in
this we were wofully mistaken, as the sequel shows.
'For in the fourth holiday of the Festival, while the Convent were all
singing _Completorium_, our Lord Abbot spoke privily with the
Sacristan and Walter the Medicus; and order was taken that twelve of
the Brethren should be appointed against midnight, who were strong for
carrying the pannel-planks of the Shrine, and skilful in unfixing
them, and putting them together again. The Abbot then said that it was
among his prayers to look once upon the Body of his Patron; and that
he wished the Sacristan and Walter the Medicus to be with him. The
Twelve appointed Brethren were these: The Abbot's two Chaplains, the
two Keepers of the Shrine, the two Masters of the Vestry; and six
more, namely, the Sacristan Hugo, Walter the Medicus, Augustin,
William of Dice, Robert, and Richard. I, alas, was not of the number.
'The Convent therefore being all asleep, these Twelve, clothed in
their albs, with the Abbot, assembled at the Altar; and opening a
pannel of the Shrine, they took out the Loculus; laid it on a table,
near where the Shrine used to be; and made ready for unfastening the
lid, which was joined and fixed to the Loculus with sixteen very long
nails. Which when, with difficulty, they had done, all except the two
forenamed associates are ordered to draw back. The Abbot and they two
were alone privileged to look in. The Loculus was so filled with the
Sacred Body that you could scarcely put a needle between the head and
the wood, or between the feet and the wood: the head lay united to the
body, a little raised with a small pillow. But the Abbot, looking
close, found now a silk cloth veiling the whole Body, and then a linen
cloth of wondrous whiteness; and upon the head was spread a small
linen cloth, and then another small and most fine silk cloth, as if it
were the veil of a nun. These coverings being lifted off, they found
now the Sacred Body all wrapt in linen; and so at length the
lineaments of the same appeared. But here the Abbot stopped; saying he
durst not proceed farther, or look at the sacred flesh naked. Taking
the head between his hands, he thus spake, groaning: "Glorious Martyr,
holy Edmund, blessed be the hour when thou wert born. Glorious Martyr,
turn it not to my perdition that I have so dared to touch thee, I
miserable and sinful; thou knowest my devout love, and the intention
of my mind." And proceeding, he touched the eyes; and the nose, which
was very massive and prominent (_valde grossum et valde eminentem_);
and then he touched the breast and arms; and raising the left arm he
touched the fingers, and placed his own fingers between the sacred
fingers. And proceeding he found the feet standing stiff up, like the
feet of a man dead yesterday; and he touched the toes and counted them
(_tangendo numeravit_).
'And now it was agreed that the other Brethren should be called
forward to see the miracles; and accordingly those ten now advanced,
and along with them six others who had stolen in without the Abbot's
assent, namely, Walter of St. Alban's, Hugh the Infirmirarius, Gilbert
brother of the Prior, Richard of Henham, Jocellus our Cellarer, and
Turstan the Little; and all these saw the Sacred Body, but Turstan
alone of them put forth his hand, and touched the Saint's knees and
feet. And that there might be abundance of witnesses, one of our
Brethren, John of Dice, sitting on the roof of the Church, with the
servants of the Vestry, and looking through, clearly saw all these
things.'
* * * * *
What a scene; shining luminous effulgent, as the lamps of St. Edmund
do, through the dark Night; John of Dice, with vestrymen, clambering
on the roof to look through; the Convent all asleep, and the Earth all
asleep,--and since then, Seven Centuries of Time mostly gone to sleep!
Yes, there, sure enough, is the martyred Body of Edmund, landlord of
the Eastern Counties, who, nobly doing what he liked with his own, was
slain three hundred years ago: and a noble awe surrounds the memory of
him, symbol and promoter of many other right noble things.
But have not we now advanced to strange new stages of Hero-worship,
now in the little Church of Hampden, with our penknives out, and
twelve grave-diggers with pulleys? The manner of men's Hero-worship,
verily it is the innermost fact of their existence, and determines all
the rest,--at public hustings, in private drawing-rooms, in church,
in market, and wherever else. Have true reverence, and what indeed is
inseparable therefrom, reverence the right man, all is well; have
sham-reverence, and what also follows, greet with it the wrong man,
then all is ill, and there is nothing well. Alas, if Hero-worship
become Dilettantism, and all except Mammonism be a vain grimace, how
much, in this most earnest Earth, has gone and is evermore going to
fatal destruction, and lies wasting in quiet lazy ruin, no man
regarding it! Till at length no heavenly _Ism_ any longer coming down
upon us, _Isms_ from the other quarter have to mount up. For the
Earth, I say, is an earnest place; Life is no grimace, but a most
serious fact. And so, under universal Dilettantism much having been
stript bare, not the souls of men only, but their very bodies and
bread-cupboards having been stript bare, and life now no longer
possible,--all is reduced to desperation, to the iron law of Necessity
and very Fact again; and to temper Dilettantism, and astonish it, and
burn it up with infernal fire, arises Chartism, _Bare-back-ism_,
Sansculottism so-called! May the gods, and what of unworshipped heroes
still remain among us, avert the omen!--
* * * * *
But however this may be, St. Edmund's Loculus, we find, has the veils
of silk and linen reverently replaced, the lid fastened down again
with its sixteen ancient nails; is wrapt in a new costly covering of
silk, the gift of Hubert Archbishop of Canterbury: and through the
sky-window John of Dice sees it lifted to its place in the Shrine, the
pannels of this latter duly refixed, fit parchment documents being
introduced withal;--and now John and his vestrymen can slide down from
the roof, for all is over, and the Convent wholly awakens to matins.
'When we assembled to sing matins,' says Jocelin, 'and understood
what had been done, grief took hold of all that had not seen these
things, each saying to himself, "Alas, I was deceived." Matins over,
the Abbot called the Convent to the great Altar; and briefly
recounting the matter, alleged that it had not been in his power, nor
was it permissible or fit, to invite us all to the sight of such
things. At hearing of which, we all wept, and with tears sang _Te Deum
laudamus_; and hastened to toll the bells in the Choir.'
Stupid blockheads, to reverence their St. Edmund's dead Body in this
manner? Yes, brother;--and yet, on the whole, who knows how to
reverence the Body of a Man? It is the most reverend phenomenon under
this Sun. For the Highest God dwells visible in that mystic
unfathomable Visibility, which calls itself "I" on the Earth. 'Bending
before men,' says Novalis, 'is a reverence done to this Revelation in
the Flesh. We touch Heaven when we lay our hand on a human Body.' And
the Body of one Dead;--a temple where the Hero-soul once was and now
is not: Oh, all mystery, all pity, all mute _awe_ and wonder;
_Super_-naturalism brought home to the very dullest; Eternity laid
open, and the nether Darkness and the upper Light-Kingdoms, do conjoin
there, or exist nowhere! Sauerteig used to say to me, in his peculiar
way: "A Chancery Lawsuit; justice, nay justice in mere money, denied a
man, for all his pleading, till twenty, till forty years of his Life
are gone seeking it: and a Cockney Funeral, Death reverenced by
hatchments, horsehair, brass-lacquer, and unconcerned bipeds carrying
long poles and bags of black silk:--are not these two reverences, this
reverence for Death and that reverence for Life, a notable pair of
reverences among you English?"
Abbot Samson, at this culminating point of his existence may, and
indeed must, be left to vanish with his Life-scenery from the eyes of
modern men. He had to run into France, to settle with King Richard for
the military service there of his St. Edmundsbury Knights; and with
great labour got it done. He had to decide on the dilapidated Coventry
Monks; and with great labour, and much pleading and journeying, got
them reinstated; dined with them all, and with the 'Masters of the
Schools of Oxneford,'--the veritable Oxford _Caput_ sitting there at
dinner, in a dim but undeniable manner, in the City of Peeping Tom! He
had, not without labour, to controvert the intrusive Bishop of Ely,
the intrusive Abbot of Cluny. Magnanimous Samson, his life is but a
labour and a journey; a bustling and a justling, till the still Night
come. He is sent for again, over sea, to advise King Richard touching
certain Peers of England, who had taken the Cross, but never followed
it to Palestine; whom the Pope is inquiring after. The magnanimous
Abbot makes preparation for departure; departs, and----And Jocelin's
Boswellean Narrative, suddenly shorn-through by the scissors of
Destiny, _ends_. There are no words more; but a black line, and leaves
of blank paper. Irremediable: the miraculous hand, that held all this
theatric-machinery, suddenly quits hold; impenetrable Time-Curtains
rush down; in the mind's eye all is again dark, void; with loud
dinning in the mind's ear, our real-phantasmagory of St. Edmundsbury
plunges into the bosom of the Twelfth Century again, and all is over.
Monks, Abbot, Hero-worship, Government, Obedience, Coeur-de-Lion and
St. Edmund's Shrine, vanish like Mirza's Vision; and there is nothing
left but a mutilated black Ruin amid green botanic expanses, and oxen,
sheep and dilettanti pasturing in their places.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] _Annual Register_ (year 1828, Chronicle, p. 93), _Gentleman's
Magazine_, &c. &c.
[25] 'This is the Martyr's Garment, which Michael's Image guards.'