Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"I have little fancy for these mummeries," said my Lady to us, as we took the stools which had been set for our accommodation; "but yet we must not mortify the poor players. I trust they will confine themselves in proper bounds."

"'Tis the Passion of our Lord they are about to play," said the Prior of Stanton, who had his seat near us. "No one can object to that, surely."

"With submission, reverend Father, such a subject seems to me hardly fitted for the day and the scene," answered my Lady, gently. "Besides, does it not seem to you to savor of presumption—to say no more—that a poor strolling player, and he often a lewd and profane person, as but too many of them are—should take upon himself to personate our suffering Lord, putting his own words in the mouth of one so unspeakably august and venerable?"

The Prior fidgetted on his scat, and looked somewhat uncomfortable as he answered:

"You know, my Lady, the Church path always sanctioned these things, considering them to be of the nature of pictures and images, which are called the books of the unlearned."

"But why not expend the time and treasure which these things cost, in teaching the unlearned?" asked my mother.

"Nay, Madam, that would never do," answered the Prior. "What, would you have Jack and Jill, and Hodge and Joan, leaving their ploughing and spinning to pore over books of divinity, and discuss questions of casuistry? What then would become of the work, and of the respect which they owe to their betters?"

The poor old fat priest got so red and did seem so disturbed, that I was glad my mother made him no reply, save a smile. Indeed, she had no time to do so, for the play began directly.

I had never seen such an one before, and I must say I was shocked. There were all the holy Apostles, our Lady (represented by a simpering boy with a crack in his voice) Pontius Pilate (a most truculent looking personage), the two thieves, and worst of all, our Lord himself, besides devils and angels in plenty. The people made their remarks freely enough, and I can't say they seemed greatly solemnized or edified. The part which pleased them most was when the devils thrust Judas down to the infernal pit, and were then kicked after him, without any ceremony, by the angels, who afterward ascended to heaven, one at a time, on the same cloud which had served our Lord, and which was worked in plain sight by a man with a rope and a winch.

It seems to me almost profane to write these things down, and yet I don't know why I should feel so. We used to make little Christs of wax at the convent, and paint them to the life, and nobody thought any harm of that. And there were our Bethlehems, which practice was begun by Saint Francis himself, our holy founder, and at the first of which happened a wonderful miracle, for during the ceremony, the saint was seen caressing an infant of celestial beauty, who appeared to the astonishment of all beholders. The straw on which this apparition happened was preserved with great devotion, and worked many miraculous cures. We had some of it among our relics, and 'twas held almost as sacred as the glass containing the Holy Virgin's milk. But I am forgetting the May games.