Филиппа Карр: The Miracle at St. Bruno's

I believe I willed a miracle to happen. I did not ask in humility as one does in prayer. I did not say, 'Holy Mother, if it is thy will that St. Bruno's be saved, save us.' I was angry within me, in no mood for prayer. It seems to me now that my spirit was bold and arrogant. I demanded a miracle. And afterward when it came I remembered that day.”

"But whatever it was your words were heeded. In a few years the Abbey has become rich. You have no fear now that Bruno will fall into decay. Never in the Abbey's history can it have been so prosperous.”

"It's true and yet I wonder. We have changed, William. We have become worldly, have we not, Brother James?”

James grunted agreement.

"You do great good to the community," my father reminded them. "You are leading useful lives. Perhaps it is more cornmendable to help one's fellow men than to shut oneself away in meditation and prayer.

"I had thought so. But the change is marked. The Child obsesses everyone.”

"I can understand that," said my father, putting his lips on my hair. I nestled closer and then remembered that I did not want them to know that I was listening. I did not understand a great deal of what they said, but I enjoyed the rise and fall of their voices and now and then I got a glimmer of light.

"They vie with each other to please the boy. Brother Arnold is jealous of Brother Clement because the boy is more often in the bakehouse than in the brewhouse; he accuses him of bribing the Child with cake. The rule of silence is scarcely ever observed. I hear them whispering together and believe it is about the boy. They play games with him. It seems strange behavior for men dedicated to the monastic life.”

"It is a strange situation - monks with a child to bring up!"

"Perhaps we should have put him out with some woman to care for him. Mayhap your good wife could have taken him and brought him up here.”

I stopped myself protesting in time. I did not want the boy here. This was my home-I was the center of attraction. If he came people would take more notice of him than of me.

"But of a surety he was meant to remain at the Abbey," said my father. "That was where he was sent.”

"You speak truth. But we can talk to you of our misgivings. There is in the Abbey a restiveness which was not there before. We have gained in worldly goods but we have lost our peace. Clement and Arnold, as I have said, share this rivalry. Brother Ambrose is restive. He speaks of this to James. It seems as though he cannot resist this indulgence. He says that the Devil is constantly at his elbow and his flesh overpowers his spirit... He mortifies the flesh but it is of no avail. He breaks the rule of silence constantly. Sometimes I think he should go out into the world.

He finds solace in the Child, who loves Brother Ambrose as he loves no other.”

"He has come to be a blessing to you all. That much is clear. The Abbey was founded three hundred years ago by a Bruno who became a saint; now there is another Bruno at the Abbey and it prospers as it did in the beginning. This young Bruno has removed your anxieties and you say he comforts Brother Ambrose.”

"Yet he is a child with a child's ways. Yesterday Brother Valerian found him eating hot cakes which he had stolen from the kitchen. Brother Valerian was shocked. The Holy Child to steal! Then Clement pretended that he had given the Child the cakes and was caught by Valerian winking in some sort of collusion. You see...”

"Innocent mischief," said my father.

"Innocent to steal... to lie?”

"Yet the lie showed a kindness in Clement.”

"He would never have lied before. He is becoming fat. He eats too much. I believe he and the boy eat together in the bakehouse. And in the cellars Arnold and Eugene are constantly testing their brew. I have seen them emerge flushed and merry. I have seen them slap each other on the back-forgetting that one of our rules is never to come into physical contact with another human being. We are changing, changing, William. We have become rich and self-indulgent. It is not what we were intended for.”

"It is well to be rich in these days. Is it true that certain monasteries have been suppressed in order to found the King's colleges at Eton and Cambridge?”

"It is indeed true and it is true that there is talk of linking the smaller monasteries with larger ones," said Brother James.

"Then it is well for you that St. Bruno's has become one of the more powerful abbeys.”

"Perhaps so. But we live in changing times and the King has some unscrupulous ministers about him.”

"Hush," said my father. "It is unwise to talk so.”

"There spoke the lawyer," said Brother John. "But I am uneasy-more so than I was on that day when I asked for a miracle. The King is deeply worried by a conscience which appears to have come into being now that he wishes to put away an aging wife and take to his bed one, who is called a witch and a siren.”

"A divorce will not be granted him," said my father. "He will keep the Queen and the lady will remain what she is now for evermore-the Concubine.”

"I pray it may be so," said Brother James.

"And have you heard," went on my father, "that the lady is at this time sick of the sweat and that her life is in danger and the King is well nigh mad with anxiety lest she be taken from him?”

"If she were it would save a good many people a great deal of trouble.”

"You will not pray for that miracle, Brothers?”

"I shall never ask for miracles again," said Brother John.

They went on to talk of matters which I did not understand and I dozed.

I was awakened next time by my mother's voice.

She had come into the garden and was clearly agitated.

"There is bad news, William," she said. "My Cousin Mary and her husband are both dead of the sweat. Oh, it is so tragic.”

"My dear Dulce," said my father, "this is indeed terrible news. When did it happen?”

"Three weeks ago or thereabouts. My cousin died first; her husband followed in a few days.”

"And the children?”

"Fortunately my sister sent them away to an old servant who had married and was some miles off. It is this servant who sends the messenger to me now. She wants to know what is to become of little Rupert and Katherine.”

"By my soul," said my father, "there is no question. Their home must be with us now.”

And so Kate and Rupert came to live with us.

Everything was different. We seemed to be a household of children, and I was the youngest for Kate was two years my senior, Rupert two years hers. At first I was resentful; then I began to realize that life was more exciting if not so comfortable now that my cousins had come.

Kate was beautiful even in those days when she was inclined to be overplump. Her hair was reddish, her eyes green, and her skin creamy with a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was vain of her looks even at seven, and used to worry a great deal about the freckles. Her mother had used a freckle lotion because she had had the same kind of fair skin and Kate used to steal it. She could not do that now. She was more knowledgeable than I-sharp and shrewd, but in spite of her two years' advantage, I was ahead of her in the Greek, Latin and English which I had been studying since the age of three, a fact which I knew gave great satisfaction to my father.

Rupert was quieter than Kate; one would have thought she was the elder, but he was much taller and slender; he had the same color hair but lacked the green eyes-his were almost colorless-gray sometimes, faintly blue at others. Water color, I called them, for they reflected colors as water did. He was very anxious to please my parents; he was self-effacing and the sort of person people didn't notice was there. My father thought he might learn to become a lawyer in which case he would go to one of the Inns of Chancery after leaving Oxford as Father had done, but Rupert was enamored of the land. He loved being in the hayfield cutting and carrying and at such times he seemed more alive than we had ever seen him.