Robert Annys: Poor Priest. A Tale of the Great Uprising

by Annie Nathan Meyer

The play upon words evoked no smile from the earnest young poor priest, whose retort, however, waited not an instant. "Nay, but I find the land overflowing with those who will say 'Hail Marys' from Matin to Vespers, but I do not find over many ready to cut stones and repair the highways."

"Why not get down and help us?" asked one burly fellow of the traveller. "Wot you that the Bishop hath granted sixty days' indulgence to all who do the pious work of repairing roads or bridges?"

The fat pilgrim shook with laughter. "Water will freeze in May," he answered, "before you see Hugo Stott laboring in the highroad. And as for remittances of penances," he pointed significantly to the vernicle sewed conspicuously in his cap to show that he had but lately returned from a pilgrimage to Rome, "you see," he said, "I have seen somewhat of the world at the same time, and I have taken it leisurely and without toil, and, moreover, the Roman ladies are beautiful and complaisant." Then, catching sight of the scorn in the eyes of the poor priest, he hastened to add, "Besides, I am bent upon more important business, for what would the people do were I to fail them?"

"Fail them in what?" indignantly asked Robert Annys—for the bridge repairer was he. "To my mind you fail them indeed if you scorn to help them in keeping in repair the one means they have of communicating with one another, of hearing of one another and keeping up the bonds of fellowship."

"Well," replied the other, good-humoredly, "I do my share in keeping the roads in repair—thou in one way, I in another."

"How now," exclaimed Annys, fiercely; "I do not jest."

"Nor I. Nothing is simpler. Take a man who hath been ordered to make a pilgrimage to Rome, or even let us say Canterbury, I pardon him his pilgrimage at the expense of a few shillings, and by my help he hath at once saved his immortal soul and the road which he would have worn by his feet."

"And you thereby have lined your pouch with the shillings," said Annys, more amiably, for, much as he detested these pardoners who were living off the ignorance and superstition of the people, he could not resist a smile at the fellow's quaint logic.

"Ay! 'Tis an equal division. I take the pence and they get the peace. I do the wandering and endure the hardships of travel" (here he could not help a grimace as he saw the other's keen eyes fixed pointedly on the finely groomed horse with the luxurious trappings, a mount that scarce spoke very eloquently of hardships). "See," he continued, pointing to the various signs and amulets which hung in great profusion about his neck, "see, here are the ampullæ from Canterbury, and this scallop shell I got all the way from the shrine of St. James in Galicia; and you see I must hunt up relics and medals from all parts of the world, while they bide peaceably at home and derive all the benefits from them."

There was something in the russet priest, notwithstanding his clear displeasure, that attracted the pardon seller. "See here, Sir Russet-priest," he began, approaching nearer and lowering his voice, "be thou not so sour-faced, young man. Thou hast thy way of bringing blessings to the people, and I have mine. And thou must grant that we pardoners have our uses. You long-visaged chaps may do more to uplift the people as ye call it, but drat me if ye leave them so merry as I."