The Conservative (Lovecraft)/January 1917/The Unbreakable Link
The Unbreakable Link
By Arthur W. Ashby
As we passed under the moss-covered lych-gate the ancient yew threw over us both its gloom, and its serenity. They wore welcome, for on the white road along which we came the blazing June sun bore down from above, and a stifling cloud of dust rose from below. Having passed the gateway we instinctively left the gravel path for the sake of feeling the spring of turf beneath our feet. Our ways parted; she was going to her father's grave, taking the first bunch of the season's white roses. I did not follow, for part of her life lies there, and I knew she would rather commune with it alone.
As I walked on, something impelled me toward the stone portal of the Church which, in the fierce light, stood placid and grey as it might in a winter fog. Time and weather have softened its lines, but only the vandal hands of men have greatly modified its appearance since the Normans laid their last stone. As I passed inside the air was chilly, it seemed almost freezing, and I felt my bones aching. In the middle of the centre aisle some new pews had recently been installed, so I went to try them; remembering the hours I had spent as a schoolboy in their predecessors of the high seat and the straight back. Sitting down, I noticed a ray of light playing hide and seek among the stanchions of the roof. It came from a Saxon window between the arches, outside which the Normand had extended the structure. And under that window was the great stone gargoyle that I so much dreaded as a boy. It is a head as of a horse, but with fierce eyes and teeth. Large, crude, and striking, it is typically Saxon.
My head dropped over the back of the pew. Strangely, weirdly, I hoard the tramp of feet. Not loud, but distinctly regular, accompanied by the soft rustle and crunch of straw. A maiden with light flowing hair came through the door, and by her side was the heavy, squat figure of a man clad in hodden-gray; behind them was a retinue of rickety followers. They took their seats on a flat bench before the altar steps. Shuffling peasants came in and scattered themselves about the building, and a man came to the altar. The pulpit corner had become a blank and the picture of the Lamb was obliterated. The man upon the steps began to speak in thick guttural tones, and the words were indistinct, but the audience obeyed them. They rose and sat, and rose again; presently there was a sound of a low, soft chant of voices unaccompanied by music, and then I saw the lady's page pick up her train as she stepped from the floor rushes on to a clay path outside. All was quiet.
Then I heard the sound of metal, also musical voices, more striking than those I had heard before. There were men chipping large blocks of white stone; these were also dressed in gray, their long flowing mantles girdled with stout grass ropes. Amongst them was a man dressed in colours, with golden spurs, and in the background a beautiful white arch, as yet uncompleted. Silence! ....... And then thought came again--I had seen the Knights of St. John, and the cunning monks and the white stone they imported from Normandy to adorn their chancel.
Years passed by; and when voices broke the silence once more, they were clear and familiar. All around was hurry of feet and clank of metal. Horses neighed and champed outside, and through the general sound came whispers of "Essex" and "Rupert", "Parliament" and "Independent". I looked for the beautiful marble effigy loft by the Knights of Jerusalem. It still remained intact. No! they were not Ironsides. They were ordinary Englishmen, but just a little excited. Their clamour lasted long, and when it subsided strange booms sounded in the distance. "Rupert" was in action.
The next scene was different. Three men -- the parish overseers -- sat by a large chest with a book before them. There was the chink of coin; men, boys, and women passed in and out. The last to go was a decrepit old grandmother, who would need to be carried the next time she came to church, probably in a pauper's coffin. The lid of the chest went down with a bang, and the door closed.
It soon opened again. A crowd of men rushed to the bellropes. The bells clamoured and clanged, and as the groaning men stretched down the ropes so that the tongues of the bells might speak again, there came in quick gasps, "Waterloo", "Wellington".
I saw and heard no more. Something gently brushed my lips. My eyes opened and they were met by two bright dancing lights. All illusions were dispelled by a sharp tremor that ran through my body. It was the Universal, the Unchangeable! The unbreakable link with the past! We walked out together, and the door gently closed behind me and my dream.