THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS(希拉里兄的收集)

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THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

THE GATHERING OF

BROTHER HILARIUS

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

PART I - THE SEED

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

CHAPTER I - BLIND EYES IN THE FOREST

HILARIUS stood at the Monastery gate, looking away down the

smooth, well-kept road to the highway beyond. It lay quiet and serene in

the June sunshine, the white way to the outer world, and not even a dust

cloud on the horizon promised the approach of the train of sumpter mules

laden with meats for the bellies and cloth for the backs of the good

Brethren within. The Cellarer lacked wine, the drug stores in the farmery

were running low; last, but not least, the Precentor had bespoken precious

colours, rich gold, costly vellum, and on these the thoughts of Hilarius

tarried with anxious expectation.

On his left lay the forest, home of his longing imaginings. The

Monastery wall crept up one side of it, and over the top the great trees

peered and beckoned with their tossing, feathery branches. Twice had

Hilarius walked there, attending the Prior as he paced slowly and silently

along the mossy ways, under the strong, springing pines; and the

occasions were stored in his memory with the glories of St Benedict's Day

and Our Lady's Festivals. Away to the right, within the great enclosure,

stretched the Monastery lands, fair to the eye, with orchard and fruitful

field, teeming with glad, unhurried labour.

At a little elevation, overlooking the whole domain, rose the Priory

buildings, topped by the Church, crown and heart of the place, signing the

sign of the Cross over the daily life and work of the Brethren, itself the

centre of that life, the object of that work, ever unfinished because love

knows not how to make an end. To the monks it was a page in the history

of the life of the Order, written in stone, blazoned with beauty of the

world's treasure; a page on which each generation might spell out a word,

perchance add a line, to the greater glory of God and St Benedict. They

were always at work on it, stretching out eager hands for the rare stuffs

and precious stones devout men brought from overseas, finding a place for

the best of every ordered craft; their shame an uncouth line or graceless

arch, their glory each completed pinnacle and fretted spire; ever restoring,

enlarging, repairing, spendthrift of money and time in the service of the

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

House of the Lord.

The sun shone hot on grey wall and green garth; the spirit of insistent

peace brooded over the place. The wheeling white pigeons circling the

cloister walls cried peace; the sculptured saints in their niches over the

west door gave the blessing of peace; an old, blind monk crossed the garth

with the hesitating gait of habit lately acquired - on his face was great

peace. It rested everywhere, this peace of prayerful service, where the

clang of the blacksmith's hammer smote the sound of the Office bell.

Hilarius, at the gate, questioned the road again and again for sign of

the belated train. It was vexatious; the Prior's lips would take a thinner

line, for the mules were already some days overdue; and it was ill to keep

the Prior waiting. The soft June wind swept the fragrance of Mary's lilies

across to the lad; he turned his dreamy, blue eyes from the highway to the

forest. The scent of the pinewoods rushed to meet his sudden thought.

Should he, dare he, break cloister, and taste the wondrous delight of an

unwalled world? It were a sin, a grave sin, in a newly-made novice,

cloister-bred. The sweet, pungent smell overpowered him; the trees

beckoned with their long arms and slender fingers; the voice of the forest

called, and Hilarius, answering, walked swiftly away, with bowed head

and beating heart, between the sunburnt pine-boles.

At last he ventured to stop and look around him, his fair hair aflame in

the sunlight, his eyes full of awe of this arched and pillared city of mystery

and wonder.

It was very silent. Here and there a coney peeped out and fled, and a

woodpecker toiled with sharp, effective stroke. Hilarius' eyes shone as

he lifted his head and caught sight of the sunlit blue between the great,

green-fringed branches: it was as if Our Lady trailed her gracious robe

across the tree-tops. Then, as he bathed his thirsty soul in the great sea of

light and shade, cool depths and shifting colours, the sense of his wrong-

doing slipped from him, and joy replaced it - joy so great that his heart

ached with it. He went on his way, singing Lauda Syon, his eyes

following the pine-boles, and presently, coming out into an open glade,

halted in amazement.

A flower incarnate stood before him; stood - nay, danced in the wind.

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

Over the sunny sward two little scarlet-clad feet chased each other in

rhythmic maze; dainty little brown hands spread the folds of the deep blue

skirt; a bodice, silver-laced, served as stalk, on which balanced, lightly

swaying, the flower of flowers itself. Hilarius' eyes travelled upwards

and rested there. Cheeks like a sunburnt peach, lips, a scarlet bow;

shimmering, tender, laughing grey eyes curtained by long curling lashes;

soft tendrils of curly hair, blue black in the shadows, hiding the low level

brow. A sight for gods, but not for monks; above all, not for untutored

novices such as Hilarius.

His sin had found him out; it was the Devil, the lovely lady of St

Benedict; he drew breath and crossed himself hastily with a murmured

"Apage Sataas!"

The dancer stopped, conscious perhaps of a chill in the wind.

"O what a pretty boy!" she cried gaily. "Playing truant, I dare wager.

Come and dance!"

Hilarius crimsoned with shame and horror. "Woman," he said, and

his voice trembled somewhat, "art thou not shamed to deck thyself in this

devil's guise?"

The dancer bit her lip and stamped her little red shoe angrily.

"No more devil's guise than thine own," she retorted, eyeing his semi-

monastic garb with scant favour. "Can a poor maid not practise her steps

in the heart of a forest, but a cloister-bred youngster must cry devil's

guise?"

As she spoke her anger vanished like a summer cloud, and she broke

into peal on peal of joyous laughter. "Poor lad, with thy talk of devils;

hast thou never looked a maid in the eyes before?" Shrewdly hit,

mistress; never before has Hilarius looked a maid in the eyes, and now he

drops his own.

"Dost thou not know it is sin to deck the body thus, and entice men's

souls to their undoing?"

"An what is the matter with my poor body, may it please you, kind

sir?" she asked demurely, and stood with downcast eyes, like a scolded

child.

"It is wrong to deck the body," began Hilarius, softening at her attitude,

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

"because, because - "

Again the merry laugh rang out.

"Because, because - nay, Father" (with a mock reverence), "methinks

thy sermon is not ready; let it simmer awhile, and I will catechise. How

old art thou?" She held up her small finger admonishingly.

"Seventeen," replied Hilarius, surprised into reply.

"Art thou a monk?"

"Nay, a novice only."

"Hast thou ever loved?"

Hilarius threw up his hands in shocked indignation, but she went on

unconcerned -

"'Twas a foolish question; the answer's writ large for any maid to read.

But tell me, why art thou angry at the thought of love?"

Hilarius felt the ground slipping from under his feet.

"There is an evil love, and a holy love; it is good to love God and the

Saints and the Brethren - "

"But not the sisters?" the wicked little laugh pealed out. "Poor sisters!

Why, boy, the world is full of love, and not all for the Saints and the

Brethren, and it is good - good - good!" She opened her arms wide.

"'Tis the devil and the monks who call it evil. Hast thou never seen the

birds mate in the springtime, nor heard the nightingale sing?"

"It is well for a husband to love his wife, and a mother her child. That

is love in measure, but not so high as the love we bear to God and the

Saints!" quoth Hilarius sententiously, mindful of yesterday's homily in the

Frater.

"But how can'st thou know that thou lovest the Saints?" the dancer

persisted.

How did he know?

"How dost thou know that thou lovest thy mother?" he cried

triumphantly, forgetting the reprobate nature of the catechist, and anxious

only to come well out of the wordy war.

But the unexpected happened.

"Dost thou dare speak to me of my mother? I, love her? - I hate her;"

and she flung herself down on the grass in a passion of weeping.

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

Even a master of theology is helpless before a woman's tears.

"Maid, maid," said Hilarius, in deep distress, "indeed I did not mean to

vex thee;" and he came up and laid his hand on her shoulder.

So successfully can the Prince of Darkness simulate grief!

The dancer sat up and brushed away her tears; she looked fairer and

more flowerlike than before, sitting on the green sward, looking up at him

through shining lashes.

"There, boy, 'tis naught. How could'st thou know? But what of

thine own mother?"

"I know not."

"Nay, what is this? And thy father?"

"He was a gentle knight who died in battle ere I knew him. I came a

little child to the Monastery, and know no other place."

"Ah," - vindictively, - "then thy mother may have been a light o' love."

"Light of love; it has a wondrous fair sound," said Hilarius with a

smile.

The maid looked at him speechless.

"Go home, Boy," she said at last emphatically.

Just then a lad, a tumbler by his dress, pushed a way through the

undergrowth, and stood grinning at the pair.

"So, Gia!" he said. "We must make haste; the others wait."

"''Tis my brother," said the dancer, "and" - pointing to the bag slung

across the youth's shoulder - "I trust he hath a fine fat hen from thy

Monastery for our meal."

Hilarius broke into a cold sweat.

The Convent's hens! The Saints preserve us! Was nothing sacred,

and were the Ten Commandments written solely for use in the

Monasteries?

"'Tis stealing," he said feebly.

"'Tis stealing," the dancer mocked. "Hast thou another sermon ready,

Sir Preacher?"

"Empty bellies make light fingers," quoth the youth. "Did'st thou

ever hunger, master?"

"There is the fast of Lent which presses somewhat," said Hilarius.

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

"But ever a meal certain once in the day?" queried the girl.

"Ay, surely, and collation also; and Sunday is no fast."

The mischievous apes laughed - how they laughed!

"So, good Preacher," said the dancer at last, rising to her feet, "thou

dost know it is wrong to steal; but hast never felt hunger. Thou dost know

it is wrong to love any but God, the Saints, and thy mother; but thou hast

never known a mother, nor felt what it was to love. Blind eyes! Blind

eyes! the very forest could teach thee these things an thou would'st learn.

Farewell, good novice, back to thy Saints and thy nursery; for me the wide

wide world; hunger and love - love - love!"

She seized her brother's hand and together they danced away like two

bright butterflies among the trees.

Hilarius stared after them until they disappeared, and then with dazed

eyes and drooping head took his way back to the Monastery. The train of

mules had just arrived; all was stir, bustle, and explanation; and in the

thick of it he slipped in unseen, unquestioned; but he was hardly conscious

of this mercy vouchsafed him, for in his heart reigned desolation and

doubt, and in his ears rang the dancer's parting cry, "Hunger and love -

love - love!"

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

CHAPTER II - THE LOVE OF PRIOR STEPHEN

BROTHER BERNARD, the Precentor, dealt out gold, paint and

vellum with generous hand to his favourite pupil, and wondered at his

downcast look.

"Methinks this gold is dull, Brother," said Hilarius one day, fretfully, to

his old master.

And again -

"'Tis very poor vermilion."

The Brother looked at him enquiry.

"Nay, nay, boy; 'tis thine eyes at fault; naught ails the colours."

Later, the Precentor came to look at the delicate border Hilarius was

setting to the page of the Nativity of Our Lady.

"Now may God be good to us!" he cried with uplifted hands. "Since

when did man paint the Blessed Mother with grey eyes and black hair -

curly too, i' faith?"

Hilarius crimsoned, he was weary of limning ever with blue and gold,

he faltered.

It was the same in chapel. The insistent question pursued him

through chant and psalm. Did he really love the Saints - St Benedict, St

Scholastica, St Bernard, St Hilary? The names left him untouched; but

his lips quivered as he thought of the great love between the holy brother

and sister of his Order. If he had had a sister would they have loved like

that?

The Saints' Days came and went, and he scourged himself with the

repeated question, kneeling with burning cheeks, and eyes from which

tears were not absent, in the Chapel of the Great Mother. "Light of Love,"

the girl had called his mother; what more beautiful name could he find for

the Queen of Saints herself? So he prayed in his simplicity:- "Great

Light of Love, Mother of my mother, grant love, love, love, to thy poor

sinful son!"

The question came in his daily life.

Did he love the Prior? He feared him; and his voice was for Hilarius

THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS

as the voice of God Himself. Brother John? He feared him too; Brother

John's tongue was a thing to fear. Brother Richard, old, half-blind?

Surely he loved Brother Richard? - sad, helpless, and lonely, by reason of

his infirmities - or was it only pity he felt for him?

Nay, let be; he loved them all. The Monastery was his home, the

Prior his father, the monks his brethren; why heed the wild words of the

witch in the forest? And yet what was it she had said? "For me the wide

world, hunger, and love - love - love!"

He wandered in the Monastery garden and was troubled by its beauties.

Two sulphur butterflies sported around the tall white lilies at the farmery

door. Did they love?

He watched the sparrows at their second nesting, full of business and

cheerful bickerings. Did they love?

She had said the answer was writ large for him to see: he wandered

staring, wide-eyed but sightless.

At last in his sore distress he turned to the Prior, as the ship- wrecked

mariner turns to the sea-girt rock that towers serene and unhurt above the

devouring waves.

The Prior heard him patiently, with here and there a shrewd question.

When the halting tale was told he mused awhile, his stern blue eyes grew

tender, and a little smile troubled the firm line of his mouth.

"My son," he said at length, "thou art in the wrong school; nursery,

was it the maid said? A shrewd lass and welcome to the hen. Thou art a

limner at heart - Brother Bernard tells of thy wondrous skill with the brush

- and to be limner thou must learn to hunger and to love as the maid said.

Ay, boy, and to be monk too, though alack, men gainsay it."

"Father," said Hilarius, waxing bold from excessive need, "did'st thou

ever love as the maid meant?"

"Ay, boy - thy mother."

There was a long silence. Then the boy said timidly:-

"The maid said she might be light of love; 'tis a beautiful thought."

The Prior started, and looked at him curiously:-

"What didst thou tell the maid?"

"That I never knew her, but that my father was a gentle knight who

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THEGATHERINGOFBROTHERHILARIUS1THEGATHERINGOFBROTHERHILARIUSTHEGATHERINGOFBROTHERHILARIUS2PARTI-THESEEDTHEGATHERINGOFBROTHERHILARIUS3CHAPTERI-BLINDEYESINTHEFORESTHILARIUSstoodattheMonasterygate,lookingawaydownthesmooth,well-keptroadtothehighwaybeyond.ItlayquietandsereneintheJunesunshine,thewhitewayto...

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