Читать книгу The Abbey Girls - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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She was a slim girl of fifteen, taller for her age than Edna or Carry. She wore a dark dress and over it a big blue pinafore. Her brown eyes were wide with interest in her visitors, and looked the schoolgirls over with as much curiosity as they felt in her. Her hair was long and thick, tied back loosely with a ribbon, and very light and wavy in texture, of a colour which made Edna, gazing admiringly, whisper to Peggy, ‘I say! New pennies! What a ripping colour! Talk about red!’

‘Why are we just brown all over?’ Peggy responded. ‘Isn’t she pretty?’

‘If you’ll come this way I will show you the abbey,’ and the girl dismissed the Curate with a wave of her pinafore. ‘Go away! Go and find your mother! She’s sleeping on my bed. Will you come, then?’

Cicely and Miriam, much amused to be shown round by a girl two years younger than themselves, thanked her, and turned to follow as she led the way across the lawn towards a flight of steps under an old pointed arch.

‘The steps are very uneven. Please be careful, or you may slip. All that east side is Early English; you see the pointed arches and the lancet windows? The other part is Norman, and still older. But this one room was added much later. The windows, you see, are of the Perpendicular period. This is the finest room in the abbey—the refectory, where the monks had their meals, of course,’ she added, with a glance at the younger girls, for whom the explanation was not unnecessary.

They entered the wide doorway and looked in amazement about the great hall. No one could have guessed that so large and perfect a room was to be found inside. The surprise of the girls found vent as they wandered round, looking up at the high windows and vaulted roof.

‘She has her mother’s pretty voice,’ Cicely murmured, as they stood before the fireplace. ‘But she isn’t like her to look at. The mother was short and dark. This girl is lovely.’

‘If you look up the chimney’——the abbey girl began, then stood aside and laughed, as the juniors made a rush for the hearth. The elder girls laughed also at Edna’s contortions as she stooped to peer upwards, and Peggy shouted that she could see the sky.

‘These steps in this recess led to a pulpit, where a reader sat during meals and read aloud to the rest.’

‘I wonder what he read? You don’t know, I suppose?’

But the abbey girl was ready. ‘Legends of the saints and martyrs, and homilies and sermons. They had twelve books in their library, so they must have been very precious.’

‘I say! Twelve whole books?’

The abbey girl smiled. ‘They were silent monks. They didn’t talk during meals. Of course the lay brothers didn’t take such strict vows.’

‘I think I’d have been a lay brother!’ murmured Cicely.

‘What did they have for dinner?’ demanded Peggy, listening wide-eyed. ‘Anything queer? Or just ordinary?’

‘Never any meat!’ smiled the abbey girl. ‘Eggs, fish, herbs, cheese, bread, vegetable soup—they grew their own herbs and vegetables in the little garden, and they had their own fishponds in the grounds. They made signs when they wanted the dishes changed—a regular code of signals, I believe—for no one spoke but the reader; and a little bell was rung at the beginning and end of each meal. All the food that was left was given to the poor, waiting at the big gateway. Before going to bed they met again for another little meal, called the Cup of Charity, then they said their prayers and at the foot of the stairs were sprinkled with holy water, and so went up to bed.’

‘I like that! Keep out of the way, girls! I want to imagine it as it used to be,’ and Cicely surveyed the great room. ‘Long trestle tables, I suppose, and benches, and perhaps a big carved chair for the Abbot, and black-robed monks——’

‘White-robed!’ corrected their guide quickly. ‘They were Cistercians! Coarse white woollen robes, with a black head-dress!’

‘Really? Oh, that’s far more picturesque! And those paintings on the walls—what were they, do you know?’

‘The Apostles were all along that side. Here is St Peter with his keys, and St Matthew, and St John. On this side were Saints. It must have looked beautiful in those days, when the colours were still bright and the glass was still in the great windows. The glass used in those days was beautiful, of very rich colours.’

She glanced at the girls, evidently expecting a question. None came, however, and her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. ‘You don’t know very much about the Cistercians, do you?’

‘Absolutely nothing! Except that they were monks, and you say they wore white, and didn’t talk at meals. But why? How did we show our ignorance?’

She laughed. ‘By not pulling me up about the stained glass. That was one of the things they were forbidden. No stained glass, no paintings on the walls, no beautiful carving, and in the church no organ, no images nor gilding, no unnecessary lights, no jewelled dishes—that was the Cistercian rule. Everything had to be severe and simple. Even their chanting had to be in unison—no harmony was allowed.’

‘I say, they were strict! But then why——’ and Cicely looked round the great refectory. ‘Surely they broke rules when they built this room?’ and she nodded towards the carved heads of saints and angels supporting the beams of the great vaulted roof.

‘That’s what I expected you to ask. But this room dates only from Perpendicular times—not earlier than 1400. They were falling away from their strict rules then, and allowing all these things. But in early days they were severely simple.’

‘I like your old monks!’ said Miriam Honor. ‘And they always built in lonely places, didn’t they?’

‘Always out of the world, never in towns; and generally in beautiful places. They liked to be in the depths of woods, as we are here, or in the heart of the moors.’

‘And did they really call it Gracedieu Abbey?’ asked Cicely. ‘It sounds too poetical for those old times!’

‘Not for Cistercians!’ the abbey girl said swiftly. ‘They always had beautiful names for their houses. You know Fountains and Beaulieu, of course. But did you know there were others called “The Vale of Flowers,” “The Hill of Victory,” “God’s Benison,” “The Vale of Roses,” and “Sweet-heart”? The names would be in French or Latin, but those were the sort of thing they meant. Ours would be “God’s Pardon,” or “The Grace of God.” Aren’t they pretty?’

‘Lovely! I had no idea they were such poets.’

‘They worked in the fields and gardens all the time. Perhaps that had something to do with it. You know their motto, “Labour is Prayer”?’

‘I do like them!’ Cicely said, with conviction.

‘Here you can see the original tiles of the floor——’

‘There are pictures on them!’ cried Edna. ‘I can see a thing with two heads—and roses—and birds——’

‘They were the coats of arms of knights who had given gifts to the abbey. Shall we go now to see the dormitory?’

‘Where they slept? Can you show us that? How ripping!’

‘But where did they have their meals before this was built?’ demanded Agnes, a critical note in her voice. ‘This can’t be so much newer! They must have had a dining-room!’

The abbey girl looked at her curiously, evidently surprised that any one so ignorant should presume to criticise. ‘There was an older refectory, which has disappeared. This room is Perpendicular, as you can see by the windows. The rest is Early English, or even Norman,’ she said, with a quiet definiteness which left no room for argument.

‘D’you feel squashed, Agnes?’ murmured Peggy in delight.

‘Not a scrap! I don’t believe she knows. She could quite well make it up. I’m sure this looks as old as all the rest.’

‘Agnes, don’t be silly!’ said Cicely sharply, ‘If you don’t know a Norman from an Early English arch you ought to. Don’t betray your ignorance, anyway.’

‘I should have thought Early English was older than Norman!’ muttered Agnes, but Cicely had followed the abbey girl up another narrow flight of steps, through a fine rounded arch.

‘This is our finest Norman doorway,’ she said quietly, in passing.

A turn in the staircase made the way dark, and Cicely murmured, ‘Now I know why this girl got the job! It’s because her hair shines in the dark, and people only have to follow. It’s like a lamp. Saves her bringing a candle!’

Miriam laughed. ‘It is a splendid colour. Margia would love it.’

‘These were the day-stairs,’ the abbey girl was explaining. ‘There were others used at night, which led down into the church. The monks rose at 2 a.m. to go to service.’

‘What, always? Hard lines! And they came up those dark steps? I wonder,’ murmured Cicely, ‘if they had red-haired girls to show them the way?’

‘It isn’t red. It’s bronze,’ Miriam responded, and followed the younger girls, to whom their guide was explaining the original condition of the dormitory.

‘Each window has a recess with a little seat, you see. Between each two was a mattress, with a bolster and coverlet, and a low partition to divide the hall into little rooms. That skew door at the north end was for watching the lights in the church. The windows are all Early English lancets,’ with a glance at Agnes, who looked up at the pointed arches and sniffed doubtfully.

‘It’s quite easy to imagine. And the windows look out on that lovely inner lawn,’ and Cicely stood in rapt silence, revelling in the hush which still seemed to linger round the old walls.

‘The cloister-garth!’ murmured the bronze-haired girl.

From the dormitory she led them to the monks’ day-room or workshop, and then to the calefactory—‘That means the room with a fire. There is the old fire-place. They used to dry parchments here, and heat the charcoal for the boys’ censers. Now you must see the chapter-house. It is very fine.’

‘You’re fond of the abbey?’ and Miriam looked down at her with interest.

‘Oh, I love it. I wish I had lived here always.’

‘You haven’t been here long? There used to be an old man.’

‘He was too old, so he went away a year ago. I loved the place from the first moment. I made him tell me all his stories.’

‘You do know all about it, don’t you?’—for no question had found her unprepared, and she had told much of legend and history for which they had been too ignorant to ask.

But the girl shook her head. ‘I’m always finding things I don’t understand. Of course one can imagine a good deal. Do you like the chapter-house? It was the most holy place after the church itself, so they always kept a light burning in it, and never spoke above a whisper.’

‘Really?’ and the girls turned from their scrutiny of the beautiful vaulted roof to gaze at her incredulously.

‘Sure you aren’t trying to—well——’

The abbey girl laughed, and her laugh was well above a whisper. ‘Oh, no! I wouldn’t do that! It’s true, really. Do you see this end part of the room, raised a step above the rest? This was the muniment room, where books and parchments were stored, and they went in there when they wanted to talk. I expect it was used a good deal!’

The girls laughed, but she went on with a quick change of tone. ‘But did you ever see anything more beautiful than those pointed arches of the door and little windows, with the garth beyond and the cloisters opposite? I love this room. There is one very fine window you must see,’ and she led them out to the garth again.

‘How dark it’s getting! What if we have a storm?’ and Cicely looked up at the darkening sky. ‘Think of Carry at the cross-roads! Serve her right if she’s well soaked!’

‘This was the sacristy. It opened into the church, and novices were trained here for officiating at Mass. The walls were painted like those in the refectory, you see, and the roof is vaulted like the chapter-house. That is the rose window—seven feet across. They think it was fourteenth century work.’

‘But where is the church? We haven’t seen that yet?’

‘That was destroyed by Henry the Eighth. I can show you where it stood,’ and she led them out by a narrow passage to the back of the great blank wall which closed the cloister garth on the north side.

‘The church was all along this side, adjoining the dormitory, and here’—and she bent—‘I can show you the original tiled floor. We keep it covered in winter to preserve it.’

She swept aside the loose soil, and showed beautiful coloured tiles set in patterns. The girls admired and exclaimed, and uncovered other spots to see how far the tiles extended; then Miriam carefully replaced the scattered soil.

‘It would be a terrible pity if it were left to suffer from the weather,’ she said, and the abbey girl eyed her with approval.

She showed them the ‘slype,’ a narrow passage-way, the ‘aumbries,’ or recesses in which the monks kept their books, the ‘tresaunt,’ another passage leading to the Abbot’s garden, with a stone seat for the porter. Then, leading them to the inner lawn again, she pointed out a richly moulded arch close to the refectory staircase.

‘There was a trough below the arch, where they washed before meals. Now I think I have shown you everything. Perhaps you would like to go round again alone?’

‘You’ve done it awfully well!’ Cicely said impulsively, and the abbey girl flushed.

‘I like to show it to people who appreciate it. Americans enjoy it most, I think, but sometimes they’re very funny. Will you know your way out if I leave you to wander round?’

‘Will you trust us to wander? We’ll do no damage, and Cicely’s pining to use her camera,’ Miriam explained.

‘Of course. But you shouldn’t stay too long, for I think there’ll be a storm. It’s a long way back to Wycombe.’

‘Now how did you know we came from Wycombe?’ demanded Cicely, turning her camera on the arched door and windows of the chapter-house. ‘I say, wouldn’t you pose for me?’

But the abbey girl laughed. ‘This is a monastery. A girl would be most improper. I knew your hats. I’ve cycled into Wycombe, and I’ve seen your school. I’m glad you like the abbey! Good-afternoon!’ and she left them on the lawn and disappeared down the narrow passage.

‘What a jolly girl!’ said Cicely, focusing with care. ‘But I’d have liked a photo of her. Go and sit on that stone, Mirry, there’s a dear!’

‘No, I agree with her. It wouldn’t be in keeping. Come and take the refectory, Cicely. The long high windows are beautiful.’

They wandered through the ruin, discussing the holy men who had built it, with their coarse white robes, their rigid rules and austere life, till heavy raindrops sent them flying to the shelter of the cloisters.

‘A real good old thunderstorm! See that lightning! We’re stuck here for a while, that’s certain.’

‘I wonder what that silly Carry’s doing?’ cried Edna.

‘She’ll have stayed with her aunt—if there is any aunt! I wish that girl would come and talk to us! I meant to ask who keeps the lawns in such beautiful order. But I don’t like to fetch her out again. She’s told us so much already,’ and Cicely sat in one of the arched windows, and gazed out at the rain as the thunder echoed among the old walls.

In another corner Edna Gilks was taking Agnes to task for the way she had argued with the abbey girl.

‘You asked questions in the hope of catching her! It was mean!’

‘I believe she was making up three-quarters of it!’

‘Why should she? You are objectionable sometimes, Agnes!’

Agnes looked decidedly objectionable at the moment, for Carry’s desertion had left her in a bad humour. The elder girls looked across at them, and Miriam remarked,—

‘They’ll be quarrelling in a moment. Can’t we create a diversion?’

‘Yes!’ and Cicely sprang up. ‘It’s draughty with all these doors and passages. Perhaps that has got on Agnes’s nerves. She wants warming up. Girls, let’s dance! D’you remember that heavy shower at Chalfont, when we ran to a farm and danced in a cow-shed? These old cloisters make a far finer setting. Who will volunteer? Agnes, you lead the “side.” Edna, you must whistle. What shall we have?’

‘We haven’t enough handkerchiefs,’ Agnes objected. ‘We want two each.’

‘We must do without. We might have “How d’ye do, sir?” Or—oh, ripping! Good for you, Edna!’

In a corner stood a pile of garden implements, and Edna, darting forward, drew out a bundle of short green stakes and held them aloft with a shout of triumph.

‘Good! Here you are!’ and the ‘side’ seized them eagerly. ‘Now what can you whistle, Edna?’

‘ “Bean-setting.” But they mustn’t make me laugh.’

‘They won’t,’ Cicely promised, and as the six girls fell into columns, led by Agnes and Peggy, Edna mounted the low stone parapet and whistled the air, ‘Once To Yourself.’ On the last note the dance began with a jump and a clash of staves, and Cicely stood back to watch critically.

‘It’s most improper. I don’t know what the pretty girl would say,’ Miriam demurred. ‘The old monks would turn in their graves.’

‘This is only the cloister. It isn’t quite so holy as the rest, is it?’

‘Girls, suppose you try “Shooting.” There couldn’t be an easier tune, Edna.’

Edna nodded, and proceeded to oblige, and the ‘side’ took up its staves again and fell into position, watched critically by Cicely, for this was her hobby.

‘I wonder what the abbey girl would say? She might not approve, but it’s quite the best way to spend the time.’