Philippa Carr: The Miracle at St. Bruno's

Because I was so young I was only vaguely and intermittently aware of the tension all about me. I could not at that time accept the fact that the world outside our household was of any great importance to us. My father aged considerably in the months that followed the new Queen’s coronation. He used to row up the river to Chelsea and visited Sir Thomas More who was a very well-known gentleman. He had been Lord Chancellor before his resignation, having taken the post vacated by the great Cardinal. My father had a great deal in common with Sir Thomas, for their lives had not been dissimilar; they were both lawyers; they had both toyed with the idea of becoming monks and had chosen the family life instead. Sir Thomas had a house not unlike ours but his family was grown up and they were a large household because his children were married and their families formed part of that household. It used to be such a merry household; Sir Thomas, although so learned and a man of great integrity, loved a joke; but everything was changed now. It seemed as though they were all waiting for something terrible to happen, and because of this a certain foreboding had crept into our house.

Kate and I could escape from it, although I doubt whether Kate was even aware of it. She could go into such a storm with Keziah over the manner in which a dress had been washed, or if a favorite ribbon had been lost, and these matters seemed so much more important to her than anything else. She was so forceful and I was so used to following her that I began to feel as she did. I had discovered too that there was an inclination in my nature to ignore that which was unpleasant (no doubt inherited from my mother), so I tried not to be aware of the growing tension and to assure myself that it did not exist.

Simon Caseman had now joined us. Father said he was an extremely clever young man and he thought he would be very successful. He had shown a shrewd ability in my father’s business and seemed determined to ingratiate himself with our household. He was always very deferential toward Father and at meals he would say very humbly: “Do you think, sir—” and then go on to discuss some law matter which was incomprehensible to the rest of us. He would put forward a view and if Father didn’t agree would immediately apologize and say he was only a kind of apprentice after all. Father used to chide him a little and say that he was not necessarily wrong because they did not agree; every man should have his own opinion and so on; I could see that Father was very pleased with Simon. “He’s the cleverest of any young man I’ve trained,” he used to say.

Then Simon made himself useful to Mother. He very quickly learned the names of flowers and how best they should be tended. Mother was delighted with him and he was often to be seen carrying her basket for her while she went about the garden, snipping blooms here and there.

Often I would find him watching me speculatively and he even tried to interest himself in what I liked. He would attempt to discuss the Greek philosophers with me—for I had a reputation for being something of a scholar, largely because I was so much better at my lessons than Kate or Rupert, which did not mean I had reached such a really high standard; he would also discuss horses with me because I loved to ride.

With Rupert he could talk fairly knowledgeably on farming and the raising of animals; and he always treated Kate with that mixture of deference and boldness which she provoked and expected from most men.

In fact he took considerable pains to cause no inconvenience in the household—indeed to make himself an agreeable part of it. During the long summer evenings of that year the time passed pleasantly. We went Maying, riding, and on Midsummer Eve we stayed up to see the sun rise; we picnicked; we made the hay, always something of a ritual, and we cut the corn and when the harvest was in we hung our sheaves on the walls of the kitchen to be left there until next year; then we gathered in the fruits of the orchards and the nuttery and stored them away. When the evenings drew in we played games at the fireside. We had treasure hunts around the house, and sometimes guessing games at which I usually excelled, much to Kate’s chagrin.

It was that summer that I saw the jeweled Madonna. We had no right to see it and I am sure Bruno would never have taken us into the chapel had Kate not lured him into it.

We had gone through the secret door to find Bruno waiting for us. I believe he looked forward to these meetings as much as we did. I suppose it was because had it been known that we were trespassing on the Abbey grounds and that Bruno was meeting us, there would have been such an outcry, that we all found the meetings so exciting. Bruno fascinated us both because we could never forget the mystery of his birth. For this reason I was in awe of him; so was Kate. I believed she would have refused to admit this and to deceive herself constantly attempted to lead him into some kind of mischief. She told me once that she could well understand how the Devil felt when he tempted Christ to cast himself down and prove his divinity because she was always wanting to make Bruno do something like that. “There must be quite a bit of the Devil in me,” she said; and I assured her that she was no doubt right about that.

We were lying on the grass and Kate was talking as she often did about the Queen’s coronation and how she had lain in her litter of cloth of gold.

“She sparkled with jewels such as you’ve never seen,” she told Bruno.

“Oh, yes, I have,” he replied. “I’ve seen better jewels than hers.”

“There aren’t any better. These were royal jewels.”

“I’ve seen holy jewels,” said Bruno.

“Holy jewels! There aren’t such things. Jewels are a symbol of worldly pomp. So how could they be holy, pray?”

“If they’re the Madonna’s jewels they’re holy,” said Bruno.

“Madonnas don’t have jewels.”

“They do. Our Madonna has. She has finer jewels than the King has.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bruno plucked a blade of grass and began to chew it in a very unholy manner. He remained silent and there was nothing like that kind of silence to infuriate Kate.

“Well?” she demanded. “You’re lying, aren’t you? You’re making up stories about your silly old Madonna.”

Kate looked over her shoulder as she spoke for she was very superstitious and she wondered whether she had gone too far in referring to the Madonna as silly and old.

Bruno said: “I’m not. I wish I could show you. You never believe anything that you’re not shown.”

“Then show us,” cried Kate.

“How could I? It’s in the sacred chapel.”

“All things are possible,” said Kate virtuously.

“The jeweled Madonna is in the sacred chapel and only those monks who are enclosed visit it.”

“Then how have you seen it?”

“I was taken there. I blessed her and she blessed me.”

“Oh,” said Kate, “the Holy Child of course.”

“Brother Valerian has the key and it hangs on a chain he wears round his waist.”

“You could steal it when he sleeps. He often sleeps when you are doing your lessons. You told us so.”

“I could not do that.”

“You mean you dare not. You call yourself a Holy Child and you are afraid of an old monk! Where are all your miracles? If you’re really a Holy Child you should be able to get the key…just like that.”

“I never said I could work miracles all the time.”

“But it’s what we all expect of you. How dare you appear in a Christmas crib if you’re not a holy child? It’s sacrilege. You ought to be turned out of the Abbey. You’re not a holy child, you’re a fraud.”

I had discovered that there was one thing Bruno could not endure and that was to have his holiness doubted. I was beginning to realize how much it meant to him to see himself apart from others. His face was suffused with fury. I had never seen him so put out before.