The Gathering of Brother Hilarius [12]
Prior Stephen may say."
And he went off singing -
"Three felons hung from a roadside tree, One black and one white and one grey; And the ravens plucked their eyes away From one and two and three, That honest men might see And thievish knaves should pay; Lest these might be As blind as they. Ah, well-a-day, well-a-day! One - two - three! On the gallows-tree hung they."
Hilarius listened with a smile until the last notes of Martin's voice had died away, and then fell a-musing of hunger and love, the dancer and the Prior.
Suddenly, as if his thought had taken speech, he heard a voice say:
"I hunger, I hunger, feed me most sweet Manna, for I hunger - I hunger, and I love."
He sprang to his feet, but there was no one in sight. Again the shrill quavering voice called:
"Love of God, I hunger, Love of God, I die. Blessed Peter, pray for me! Blessed Michael, defend me!"
Hilarius knew now; it was the Ankret, that holy man who for sixty years had fasted and prayed in his living tomb at the corner of the cloister. He was held a saint above all the ankrets before him, and wondrous wise; the King himself had sought his counsel, and the Convent held him in high esteem.
Again the voice: Hilarius strove to reach up to the grated window of the cell - it was too high above him. An overpowering desire came upon him to ask the Ankret of his future. With a spring he caught at the window's upright bars; his cap flew off and he hung bare-headed, the sun behind him, gazing into the cell.
On his knees was an old man whose long white hair lay in matted locks upon his shoulders, and whose beard fell far below his girdle. The skin of his face was like grey parchment, and his deep-set eyes glowed strangely in their hollow cavities.
Hilarius strove to speak, but words failed him.
The Ankret looking up saw the beautiful face at his window with its aureole of yellow hair, and stretched out his bony withered hands.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael, the messenger of the Lord!" he cried, gaining strength from the vision.
"What would'st thou, Father!" said Hilarius, afraid.
"Nay, who am I that I should speak? and yet, and yet - " the old man's voice grew weaker - "the Bread of Heaven, that I may die in peace."
He stretched out his hands again entreatingly, and Hilarius was sore perplexed.
"Dost thou crave speech of the Abbat, my Father?"
The Ankret looked troubled.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" he murmured entreatingly.
Hilarius' hands hurt him sore; it was clear that the holy man saw some wondrous vision, and 'twas no gain time to speech of him.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" quavered the old, tired voice.
Hilarius felt himself slipping; with a great effort he held fast and braced himself against the wall
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" - The appeal in the half-dead face was awful.
Hilarius' grip failed; he slid to the ground bruised and sore from the unaccustomed strain, but well pleased. True, he had gained no counsel from the Ankret, but he had seen the holy man - ay, even when he was visited by a heavenly messenger, and that in itself should bring a blessing. He turned to go, when a sudden thought came to him. There was no one in sight, no sound but the failing cry from the tired old saint. Hilarius doffed his cap again and his fresh young voice rose clear and sweet through the thin still air:-
"Iesu, dulcis memoria, Dans vera cordis gaudia; Sed super mel et omnia Dulcis ejus praesentia."
At the fourth stanza his memory failed him; but he could hear the Ankret crooning to himself the words he had sung, and crying softly like a little child.
Hilarius went home with wonder in his heart, but said no word of what had befallen him; and that night the Ankret died, and the Sub- Prior gave him the last sacraments.
Next day it was known that a vision had been vouchsafed the holy man before his end; and that the Prince of Angels himself had brought his message of release: and Hilarius, greatly content to think that the Blessed Michael had indeed
And he went off singing -
"Three felons hung from a roadside tree, One black and one white and one grey; And the ravens plucked their eyes away From one and two and three, That honest men might see And thievish knaves should pay; Lest these might be As blind as they. Ah, well-a-day, well-a-day! One - two - three! On the gallows-tree hung they."
Hilarius listened with a smile until the last notes of Martin's voice had died away, and then fell a-musing of hunger and love, the dancer and the Prior.
Suddenly, as if his thought had taken speech, he heard a voice say:
"I hunger, I hunger, feed me most sweet Manna, for I hunger - I hunger, and I love."
He sprang to his feet, but there was no one in sight. Again the shrill quavering voice called:
"Love of God, I hunger, Love of God, I die. Blessed Peter, pray for me! Blessed Michael, defend me!"
Hilarius knew now; it was the Ankret, that holy man who for sixty years had fasted and prayed in his living tomb at the corner of the cloister. He was held a saint above all the ankrets before him, and wondrous wise; the King himself had sought his counsel, and the Convent held him in high esteem.
Again the voice: Hilarius strove to reach up to the grated window of the cell - it was too high above him. An overpowering desire came upon him to ask the Ankret of his future. With a spring he caught at the window's upright bars; his cap flew off and he hung bare-headed, the sun behind him, gazing into the cell.
On his knees was an old man whose long white hair lay in matted locks upon his shoulders, and whose beard fell far below his girdle. The skin of his face was like grey parchment, and his deep-set eyes glowed strangely in their hollow cavities.
Hilarius strove to speak, but words failed him.
The Ankret looking up saw the beautiful face at his window with its aureole of yellow hair, and stretched out his bony withered hands.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael, the messenger of the Lord!" he cried, gaining strength from the vision.
"What would'st thou, Father!" said Hilarius, afraid.
"Nay, who am I that I should speak? and yet, and yet - " the old man's voice grew weaker - "the Bread of Heaven, that I may die in peace."
He stretched out his hands again entreatingly, and Hilarius was sore perplexed.
"Dost thou crave speech of the Abbat, my Father?"
The Ankret looked troubled.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" he murmured entreatingly.
Hilarius' hands hurt him sore; it was clear that the holy man saw some wondrous vision, and 'twas no gain time to speech of him.
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" quavered the old, tired voice.
Hilarius felt himself slipping; with a great effort he held fast and braced himself against the wall
"Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!" - The appeal in the half-dead face was awful.
Hilarius' grip failed; he slid to the ground bruised and sore from the unaccustomed strain, but well pleased. True, he had gained no counsel from the Ankret, but he had seen the holy man - ay, even when he was visited by a heavenly messenger, and that in itself should bring a blessing. He turned to go, when a sudden thought came to him. There was no one in sight, no sound but the failing cry from the tired old saint. Hilarius doffed his cap again and his fresh young voice rose clear and sweet through the thin still air:-
"Iesu, dulcis memoria, Dans vera cordis gaudia; Sed super mel et omnia Dulcis ejus praesentia."
At the fourth stanza his memory failed him; but he could hear the Ankret crooning to himself the words he had sung, and crying softly like a little child.
Hilarius went home with wonder in his heart, but said no word of what had befallen him; and that night the Ankret died, and the Sub- Prior gave him the last sacraments.
Next day it was known that a vision had been vouchsafed the holy man before his end; and that the Prince of Angels himself had brought his message of release: and Hilarius, greatly content to think that the Blessed Michael had indeed