The City Speaks, by Peter Ackroyd
The affair which became known as the Virgin Day began, as far as I am aware, with a discovery by two altar boys in the ancient church of Saint Mildred in Bread Street.
They had ventured into the crypt, the only part of the church that had survived the Great Fire, where they had for some time been hoping to find the secret tunnel that was rumoured to connect the church with the cellars of a local public house.
They had not been successful.
But they had over recent weeks been able to dislodge an old piece of stone in a particularly damp corner of the crypt and, on one particular morning, they had managed to remove it from the wall.
And there, much to their surprise, lay the now famous manuscript placed flat against an interior partition. The parchment was wrapped in leather, and was of great age. The two boys argued whether they should replace it and move back the stone, or whether they should take it to the priest of the church.
The novelty of the find persuaded them to the latter course.
Father Healey examined the manuscript carefully, and then passed it on to his curate whose mastery of Latin was greater. Together they pondered over its meaning. It had been written by a monk, Egleburt, whose monastery church had existed on the same site some thousand years before.
It described an apparition in the Lady Chapel of the medieval church, no less than a visitation by the Virgin Mary herself. She had hovered several inches above the stone altar, and had been surrounded by a light greater than a thousand candles. She had not only appeared; she had spoken.
It was a long speech, in Latin, but the gist was as follows : 鈥淚, Mary, have come before you to bless this church of Saint Mildred. If the people of London retain their faith in me, and follow the precepts of my sacred Son, then I will appear again in a thousand years.鈥
The curate deciphered the date of the vision as Friday, 8th February, 1008.
鈥淵ou know what this means?鈥 he asked the older priest.
鈥淚t was a long time ago?鈥
鈥淭his is the thousandth year. She will come back next month.鈥
鈥淲hat are we supposed to do with her?鈥
鈥淲e can do nothing,鈥 the curate replied. 鈥淪he will do everything.鈥
鈥淲e must prepare. We must make plans.鈥
鈥淚 will telephone the Bishop. And the Evening Standard.鈥
鈥淪urely not the press, Edward.鈥
鈥淲e can deny doing it. We can blame it on the mother of one of the boys. But do you not see the opportunity? We will be the site of pilgrimage. We will become important! Think of the publicity, father.鈥
And so began the fervour of Virgin Day.
The day before the promised appearance of the Virgin, people from all over London and beyond made their way towards the little church in Bread Street鈥.
Peter Ackroyd, 2006 |
