The Book of Margery Kempe (32 page)

When they reached Aachen, the said creature met a monk from England on his way to Rome. Then she was much comforted, because she had someone that she could understand. And so they remained together ten or twelve days, in order to see our Lady's smock and other holy relics which were shown on St Margaret's Day.
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And while they remained there, it happened that a worthy woman came from London, a widow with a large retinue with her, to see and worship the holy relics. The said creature came to this worthy woman, complaining that she had no companions to go with her home to England. The worthy woman granted her all her desire, and made her eat and drink with her, and was very friendly to her.

When St Margaret's Day was come and gone, and they had seen the holy relics, the worthy woman sped quickly out of Aachen with all her retinue. The said creature, thinking to have gone with her and thus cheated of her purpose, was in great distress. She took her leave of the monk who was on his way to Rome, as is written before, and afterwards got herself a wagon with other pilgrims, and followed after the said worthy woman as fast as she could, to see if she could overtake her, but it was not to be.

Then she happened to meet two Londoners going back to London. She asked to travel in their company. They said, if she could bear to go as quickly as them, she would be welcome, but they could have no great delaying; nevertheless, they would willingly help her on with her journey. So she followed after them with great effort, until they came to a fine town where they met English pilgrims, who had come from the court of Rome and were going home again to England. She prayed them that she might go with them, and they said shortly that they would not hamper their travelling for her, for they had been robbed and had little money to get themselves home, because of which they must make
good time on their journey. And therefore, if she could bear to go as quickly as them she would be welcome, and otherwise not.

She saw no other help for it but to remain with them as long as she could, and so she left the other two men and stayed with these men. Then they went to their meal and enjoyed themselves. The said creature looked a little to one side, and saw a man lying and resting himself on a bench's end. She inquired what man that was. They said he was a friar, one of their party.

‘Why doesn't he eat with you?'

‘Because we were robbed as well as he, and therefore each man must help himself as well as he can.'

‘Well,' said she, ‘he shall have part of such money as God sends me.'

She trusted that our Lord would provide what was needful for them both. She made him eat and drink, and comforted him a great deal. Afterwards they all went on together. The said creature soon fell behind; she was too aged and weak to keep pace with them. She ran and jumped as fast as she could until her strength failed.

Then she spoke to the poor friar whom she had cheered before, offering to pay his expenses until he got to Calais, if he would stay with her and let her travel with him until they got there, and still give him a reward besides for his trouble. He was well content and agreed to her wish. So they let their companions go on ahead, and the two of them followed at a gentle pace, as they could manage.

The friar, being very thirsty, said to this creature, ‘I know these parts well enough, for I have often gone thus to Rome, and I know there is a place for refreshments a little way from here. Let us go there and have a drink.'

She was well pleased, and followed him. When they got there, the good wife of the house, having compassion for this creature's difficulties, advised that she should take a wagon with other pilgrims and not travel so with a man alone. She said that she had intended and fully trusted to have travelled with a worthy woman of London, and she was deceived. By the time they had
rested a while and chatted with the good wife of the house, a wagon came past with pilgrims. The good wife, having knowledge of the pilgrims in the wagon, called them back when they had passed her house, beseeching them that this creature might ride with them in their wagon to speed her journey. They, kindly consenting, received her into their wagon, riding altogether until they came to a good town where the said creature noticed the worthy woman of London, previously mentioned.

Then she asked the pilgrims in the wagon to excuse her, and let her pay for the time that she had been with them as they pleased, for she would go to a worthy woman of her own nation who she noticed was in the town, and with whom she had agreed while she was at Aachen to travel home to England. She took a fond leave, and parted from them.

They rode on, and she went to the worthy woman, thinking to have been very kindly received. It was just the opposite: she was received in a very short manner and with very sharp words, the worthy woman saying to her, ‘What! do you think to go with me? No, I'll have you know that I'll not get involved with you.'

This creature was so rebuked that she did not know what to do. She did not know anybody there, and nobody knew her. She did not know where to go. She did not know where the friar was, who should have been her guide, nor whether he would come that way, or not. She was in great uncertainty and grief, the greatest, she thought, that she had suffered since she left England.

Nevertheless, she trusted in our Lord's promise and remained still in the town until God would send her some comfort. And when it was nearly evening, she saw the friar coming into the town. She hurried to speak to him, complaining how she was deceived and rejected by the good woman in whom she had trusted so much. The friar said they would do as well as God would give them grace, and comforted her as much as was in his power. But he said he would not stay in that town that night, for he knew very well chat they were dangerous people.

Then they went on together out of the town again in the evening in great fear and grief, mourning along the way as to
where they should find lodging that night. They happened to come along the side of a wood, busily looking if they could spy any place where they could rest. And, as our Lord willed, they noticed one or two buildings, and they went hastily to where a good man was living with his wife and two children. But they did not lodge travellers, and would not receive guests in their home.

The said creature saw a heap of bracken in an outhouse, and with great insistence she obtained leave to rest herself on the bracken that night. The friar, after much asking, was laid in a barn, and they thought they were well off that they had a roof over them. The next day they settled up for their lodging, taking the way towards Calais, and going very wearying and tiresome ways through deep sands, hills and valleys for two days before they came there. They suffered great thirst and discomfort, for there were few towns along the way that they went and very poor lodgings.

And at nights she was often most afraid, and perhaps this was because of her spiritual enemy, because she was always afraid of being raped or violated. She dared trust no man; whether she had reason or not, she was always afraid. She scarcely dared sleep any night, because she believed men would have raped her. Therefore she did not gladly go to bed any night, unless she had a woman or two with her. For that grace God sent her, that wherever she went, for the most part, young girls would cheerfully lie beside her, and that was a great comfort to her. She was so weary and so overcome with exertion on the way to Calais that she thought her spirit would have departed from her body as she went along the way.

Thus with great effort she came to Calais, and the good friar with her, who had been most kindly and decently behaved towards her during the time that they travelled together. And therefore she gave him such reward as she could manage, so that he was well pleased and content, and so they parted from each other.

In Calais this creature was made welcome by various people, both men and women, who had never seen her before. There was a good woman who had her home to her house, and washed her clean and put a new smock on her, and comforted her greatly. Other good people had her for meals and drinks. While she was there three or four days waiting for a ship she met various people who had known her before, and who spoke handsomely to her and gave her kind words. They did not give her anything else, these people who were waiting like her for a ship.

She wanted to sail with them to Dover, but they would not help her at all, nor let her know which ship they proposed to sail in. She inquired and watched out as diligently as she could, and she always had knowledge of their intentions one way or another, until she had arranged the same ship as them. And when she had carried her things into the ship where they were – supposing they should have sailed in haste, she did not know how soon – they got themselves another ship ready to sail. What the cause was, she never knew.

Through grace, she, having knowledge of their purpose and of how ready they were to sail, left all her things in the vessel that she was in, and went to the ship that they were in, and through our Lord's help she was received into the ship. And the worthy woman from London was there who had refused her, as is written before. And so they all sailed together to Dover.

The said creature, perceiving from their faces and expressions that they had little affection for her, prayed to our Lord that he would grant her grace to hold her head up, and preserve her from bringing up vomit in their presence, so that she should cause them no abhorrence. Her desire was fulfilled, so that, while others in the ship were throwing up very violently and foully, she was able – to the amazement of them all – to help them and do what she wished. And the woman from London especially had the worst of that sickness, and this creature was most busy to help
her and comfort her for our Lord's love and charity – she had no other reason.

So they sailed on until they came to Dover, and then each of that party got company to travel with, if he wanted, except only her, for she could get no companion to help her. Therefore she set off for Canterbury by herself alone, sorrowful and grieving that she had no company and that she did not know the way. She was up early in the morning and came to a poor man's house, knocking at the door. The good poor man, pulling on his clothes, which were unfastened and unbuttoned, came to the door to learn her will. She prayed him, if he had any horse, that he would help her get to Canterbury, and she would reward him for his trouble. He, desiring to do her pleasure in our Lord's name, fulfilled her desire and took her to Canterbury.

She had great joy in our Lord, who sent her help and succour in every need, and thanked him with many a devout tear, with much sobbing and weeping, in nearly every place that she came to, so that it cannot all be written, as much as on the other side of the sea as on this side, on water as on land – blessed may God be.

From there she went on to London, clad in a canvas cloth, a kind of sacking garment, just as she had gone overseas. When she came into London, many people knew her well enough. Because she was not dressed as she would like to have been for lack of money, and wishing to go about unrecognized until she could arrange a loan, she held a handkerchief in front of her face. Notwithstanding that she did so, some dissolute persons, supposing it was Mar. Kempe
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of Lynn, said – so that she might easily hear – these words of reproof, ‘Ah, you false flesh, you shall eat no good meat!'

She, not answering, passed by as if she had not heard. The said words were never of her speaking, neither of God nor of any good man, even though it was charged against her, and she many times and in many places had great rebuke because of it. They were invented by the devil, father of lies, favoured, maintained and born from his members, false envious people, who were indignant at her virtuous living and had no power to hinder her except through their false tongues.

There was never man or woman that might ever prove that she said such words, but they always made other liars their authorities, saying to excuse themselves that other men told them so. In this way were these false words invented through the devil's suggestion.

Some person, or else more than one person, deceived by their spiritual enemy, contrived this tale not long after the conversion of the said creature, saying that she – sitting down to a meal on a fish day at a good man's table, served with various fish, such as red herring and good pike and others such – was supposed to have said, as they reported it, ‘Ah, false flesh, you would now eat red herring, but you shall not have your will.'

And with that she set aside the red herring and ate the good pike.
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And other things of this kind she was supposed to have said, as they said, and thus it sprang up into a kind of proverb against her, so that some people said, ‘False flesh, you shall eat no herring.' And some said the words that are written before, and all were false, but still they were not forgotten; they were repeated in many a place where she was never known.

She went on to a worthy widow's house in London, where she was kindly received and made welcome for our Lord's love; and in many places in London she was highly encouraged in our Lord's name, God reward them all. There was one worthy woman especially who showed her high charity, both in food and drink and in giving other benefits. On one occasion she was at dinner at her house with various other people of various conditions, she being unknown to them and they to her, of whom some were from the Cardinal's house
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(as she was told by other people), and they had a great feast and a good time.

And when they were in their mirth, some repeated the words before written, or others like them, that is to say: ‘You false flesh, you shall eat none of this good meat.'

She sat still, and suffered a good while. Each of them joked to each other, having great sport with the imperfection of the person that these words were said of. When they had thoroughly amused themselves with these words, she asked them if they had any knowledge of the person who was supposed to have said these words.

They said, ‘No, indeed. But we have heard tell that there is such a false, pretending hypocrite in Lynn who says such words and, leaving coarse meats, she then eats the most delicious and delectable meats that are placed on the table.'

‘Look, sirs,' she said, ‘you ought to say no worse than you know, and yet not as bad as you know. Nevertheless, you are here saying worse than you know, God forgive it you, for I am that same person to whom these words are imputed, and I often suffer great shame and reproof, and I am not guilty in this matter, I take God as witness.'

When they saw her unmoved in this matter, not reproving them at all, desiring their correction in a spirit of charity, they were rebuked by their own decency, humbling themselves to make amends.

She spoke boldly and strongly wherever she went in London against swearers, cursers, liars and other such vicious people, and against the pompous fashions of both men and women. She did not spare them, she did not flatter them, neither for their gifts, nor for their food and drink. Her speaking profited many people very much. Therefore, when she came into church to her contemplation, our Lord sent her most high devotion, thanking her that she was not afraid to reprove sin in his name, and because she suffered scorn and reproofs for his sake, promising her very much grace in this life and, after this life, to have joy and bliss without end.

She was so comforted in the sweet communications of our Lord that she could not control herself nor govern her spirit according
to her own will or the discretion of other men, but according to how our Lord would lead it and control it himself, in sobbing very violently and weeping most abundantly, for which she suffered very great slander and reproof, especially from the curates and priests of the churches in London. They would not allow her to remain in their churches, and therefore she went from one church to another so that she should not be tiresome to them. Many of the common people glorified God in her, having firm belief that it was the goodness of God which performed that high grace in her soul.