OF A KNIGHT THAT WAS MONK OF CITEAUX, THE WHICH COULD LEARN NO LATIN SAVE THE WORDS "AVE, MARIA !"
HERE tell we for the comfort of the unlearned the history of a very simple and ignorant knight. He was a man much skilled in the exercise of arms, that had fought right valiantly under the banners of the Emperor, the Doge, and the Most Christian King ; so that he had gathered to himself great riches and many wounds. But in spite of his hardi- hood, he grew old, as we all must do ; and came at last to the time in which the making of his soul seemed a greater matter than the taking of many towns, and rest more desirable than victory. For though battles be great and honourable things, yet is there a greater and a secret fight; and this every man must conduct in privity.
Now this knight, though he had loved not the air of the withdrawing rooms, nor idled ever in the Courts of Love, had throughout his life most tenderly esteemed all ladies, being quick in their defence and exceeding careful of their ease. And at those times when he had
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found opportunity for the hearing of the Mass, it was rather to the Mother than the Son that he found it easiest to offer his devotion. Thus he would salute right courteously the Lady of Ladies, the Queen of Heavenly Love, saying very devoutly, Ave, Maria! for these words he had learned whilst yet he was very young, though what followed them he never could remember. Nor did he ever, that he knew it, pass by an image of the Blessed Virgin without offering her this salutation; a thing that should greatly have edified his followers, and if it did not, may their souls bear the blame!
But in that he had now come to an age in which the ladies of this world no longer needed his devotion, the thoughts of this knight turned naturally to that Better Country where, as he was taught, grey hairs and stiff joints are no impediments to success. And because from the castles of his patrons that country seemed dim and very hard of access, he dismissed his men-at-arms, withdrew from his services, and in the seventieth year of his age retired to the cloister, taking the habit of religion in the house of Citeaux.
Now if the first business of a good monk be holiness, the second is very surely the due and learned recitation of his prayers; and more especially of that divine and daily Office whereby the brotherhood from the stalls of the choir do mark the night hours and the divisions of the day. It was therefore with a very natural vexation that the monks of Citeaux discovered
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that their new brother knew two words only of the Latin tongue; those namely of Ave Maria! which had blessed the motions of his worldly life. With these words he would very rightly greet the image of Our Lady whenever he passed it; nor did this courtesy content him, for he would also laud her in this manner during the hours in which the choir Office was sung. And the cantors were much wrath at it, for they deemed that such antics comported not with the right worship of God. But this brother, for that he was altogether without scholarship, could in no wise read in the Psalter the psalms of the day, nor divine the matter of his brethren’s prayers; and ever in the chant of Beatus Vir and Dixit Insipiens his voice might be heard crying Ave, Maria! The thing brought contempt on the singing of the community; amongst those brothers that were tempted to the sin of ribaldry it became even an occasion of mirth. It was plain to all that this ignorant brother must be so instructed that he might at least stay silent whilst those wiser than he offered the fruits of their scholarship to God. The Lord Abbot had ever been of opinion that a bad Latinist maketh a bad monk ; therefore did he ordain that his sons should make it their business to teach this poor novice the language of religion as quickly as they might.
But the new brother was old, and not apt at the learning of new words: they were hard to utter and easy to forget. He was humble and obedient, full of a very loving devotion; but
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the tongue that could order his men-at-arms stumbled amongst the antiphons, and found even the Paternoster too hard to be contrived. Though he was much diligent, yet many weeks went by and still the only prayer ever heard upon his lips was that same cry of Ave, Maria! with which he was accustomed to greet the Mother of God. This did he say continually, with exceeding great fervour of devotion; nor did he forget to wake oft in the darkness to offer his praise to that Lady, for he loved her well.
So at last, because he was very old and simple, and it was plain that he could learn nothing, the brothers left their teaching, agreeing together that he was a witless person lacking all true vocation, and insusceptible of divine knowledge. When strangers came to the monastery, they looked curiously at the foolish monk that knew no Latin but Ave, Maria!: and some there were that mocked at him, but for the most part they left him alone as a simple fellow whose deeds were of little account. He was given that stall in the choir whence his voice might make least confusion; and there, at the hours of the Office, he confidently offered his praise to Our Lady, whilst his brothers chanted their verses and responds from “Dominus vobiscum” to “Sicut erat in principio.”
And at last, when he had lived amongst them many years, often the subject of laughter and contempt, yet never ceasing the courteous devotion which he offered to the Queen of Heaven in all
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love and loyalty, as good knight to liege lady ever should, that ignorant brother died. And he was wrapped, as the Rule ordains, in the habit of the order, and buried without pomp or outward show in the cemetery of the monks. Nor did any give great heed to his passing, for he had been a very humble and a quiet old man, unnoticed save for that constant prayer of Ave Maria!
But it happened a while after, when already the absence of that brother had ceased to be matter of common speech and the memory of his folly had grown dim, that a certain lay brother, the which was also an unlettered man, walked in the hour of recreation in the cemetery of the monks. And it was an exceeding bare and desolate place, that had no trees nor flowering plants therein; but crosses there were of black wood that marked the graves wherein the brothers had been laid. Therefore was that lay
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brother greatly astonished when he saw, in a corner beneath the wall, some white and golden thing that grew to a man’s full height. It seemed to him that this must be a flower, and he knew not who had dared to plant it. And being filled with a very ardent curiosity, he drew nearer that he might the better see what it was; for it was the hour of twilight, and already distant things grew dim. But this thing did not vanish away, as he had feared that it might do when he came near; rather did it grow in size, towering above him in great majesty. And he saw that it was a great and pale lily, even such a lily as Saint Gabriel the Archangel bore to Our Lady with his Salutation. And it sprang from the earth that was heaped upon one of the graves ; and though its roots were planted in corruption, yet its petals shone with a whiteness that is of Paradise, and letters of fine gold were written on each of its leaves. And the lay brother, seeing it thus, was full of amazement; for the place wherefrom it grew was not that in which the body of the sub-Prior, an holy and a learned man esteemed of all, had been laid; but it was the newest grave in all the cemetery, even that of the ignorant monk.
Then, because he was exceeding perplexed by that which he had seen, and further, being unlettered, could not read the words that were on the leaves of the flower, that lay brother went in haste and great fear to the Lord Abbot, and told him of the lily that grew amongst the graves. And the Abbot was much astonished,
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and he came straitway with many of the monks, to see what it might be. But when they were come to that part of the cemetery wherein the lily was, behold, great fear and reverence fell on them; for these were lettered men, and they knew that the flower they looked on was not such an one as grows on our poor earth. For the light which came from its petals put out that of the lantern which they carried, and on each of its leaves was written in letters of gold the words of the Angelic Salutation, even Ave Maria !
Then were they all greatly amazed, devoutly regarding this miracle; and some crossed themselves, fearing an evil magic, and some went hot-foot to their prayers. But the Lord Abbot was full of perplexity, for he knew not any cause wherefore this mercy should have been vouchsafed to his flock. Therefore he did ordain that spades be brought, and that they should dig with much care and dread about the roots of the lily where it sprang from the earth, to the end that they might discover the secret of its growth. And having so said, he retired to his chamber, there to give thanks for the miracle ; and he also entreated God right humbly that light might be granted him concerning that which this marvel should portend.
And the brothers did as he commanded them with exceeding care and reverence, for they feared to lay hands upon the holy flower or trouble the earth about its roots. Yet for all their travail they shook it not at all ; but they dug
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deep and yet deeper, and still the roots went before them into the earth. And when they had gone to a great depth, they found at last the place wherefrom it sprang ; as with due labour and searching the roots of all things that flower upon this earth may be found. Then left they their toil and went to the Abbot, greatly troubled at that which they had seen ; for this matter they might not understand. And they said to him :
“Oh, Lord Abbot! we have discovered the roots of the heavenly lily and the place wherefrom it draws its nourishment; for we have searched out its beginnings, and have found them where they do take their rise. And they spring from between the lips of that ignorant monk our brother; even he that could utter no Latin save the words ‘ AVE, MARIA ! '”
