Hi, Internet Grandpa here, and today we're going to start reading The Door and the Wall by Marguerite d'Angeli. It's a Newbery Award winner, and it's very popular in the homeschool community. It's part of what they call the CC Challenge. It says here, I know thy works. Behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man shall shut it.
For thou hast a little strength, and hast not denied my name. Looks like it says it's from Revelations, although I cannot really read that. The door and the wall. The introduction says, as always, Mama was astonished that anyone would think her work superior enough to win the Newbery Medal.
To say she was thrilled would be an understatement. Typically, she gave a great deal of credit to an old friend, Harm Robinson, who was the inspiration for The Door and the Wall, and to her editor at Doubleday, Peggy Lesser, Mrs. Norman Foster. Her sense of wonder and modesty about her talent were things that lent her work such charm.
in both the text and the illustrations and her love of people especially children is evident throughout robin drew the coverlet close about his head and turned his face to the wall he covered his ears and shut his eyes for the sound of the bells was deafening all the bells of london were ringing the hour of nuns St. Mary Lebeau was nearest. St. Swithin's was close by, and not far away stood great St. Paul's. There were half a dozen others within sound, each clamoring to be heard.
It seemed to Robin as if they were all inside his head, screaming to be let out. Tears of vexation started to his eyes, but he held them back, for he remembered that a brave and genteel knight does not cry. Ever since he could remember, Robin had been told what was expected of him as son of his father.
Like other sons of noble families, he would be sent away from his mother and father to live in the household of another knight, where he would learn all the ways of knighthood. He would learn how to be of service to his liege lord, how to be courteous and gentle, and at the same time, strong of heart. Robin thought of his father and how he had looked on his last day when he rode off to the Scottish Wars at the head of the column. Now remembering, Robin could almost feel the weight of his father's mailed glove on his shoulder as he said goodbye.
Then he had been straight and strong, standing there in the courtyard as the men rode forth. Farewell, my son, said his father. Forget not to be brave. God knows when we shall meet again.
Farewell. He must not cry. Robin thought of his mother and how she too had said farewell the day after his tenth birthday.
She had called him to her side in the solar where she sat weaving. Since your father left for the wars, it's been a comfort to have you near, she said. But you are ten and no longer a child to be looked after by women and folk. It's time now for you to leave me.
John the Fletcher will come for you in a few days, and will take you to St. Peter di Lindsay, as we have arranged. There, too, you will be away from danger of the plague, which seems to be spreading, and now it is fitting that I obey the wish of the Queen to be her lady in waiting, for she is in need of my care. Today an escort will be sent for me, and I shall go. John the Cook, Gregory, and Dame Ellen will serve you until John the Fletcher arrives.
Farewell, my son. Be brave. She had drawn Robin to her and had turned away so he could not see her tears.
Little did she know how much Robin would need her. For the very next day, he became ill, unable to move his legs. That had been more than a month ago.
He was cold. He wished Ellen would come and mend the fire. The bells stopped ringing, and Robin heard the boys from the brother's school running and shouting along the street. He hoped that William or John, Thomas or Roger, would come in and tell him the news. But when their voices grew faint, he knew they had gone on past.
How he wished he were with them, even the tiresome lessons of singing and reading. would be worth doing if only he could run down the street with the other boys but he could not run he couldn't even get out of bed because he was unable to see out the wind hole that's a window robin had learned to guess at what was going on down in the street he knew the sound of armor and nightly equipment for the king's men passed that way going to and from the tower of westminster to joust or to tournament to parade or on business for the king a horse was passing now but robin was sure it was not of that order it was probably the shire reeves horse for above the slow clatter over the cobbles robin could hear the grating of runners on a kind of sled the horse was dragging from the odor that came through the window he could guess that what hoaxster had been taken again for selling putrid fish in the market stall. Robin chuckled.
He knew that soon Watt would be standing in the stocks near the fish market with his evil smelling goods hanging from his neck. Now Robin heard the sound of Dame Ellen's feet shuffling along the passage to his wall chamber. He turned his head to see what kind of dish she carried but quickly looked away again when he saw that it was a bowl with steam rising from it.
Was it barley soup? Was it a stew of rabbit? He didn't know and didn't care.
The thought of it was all mixed with the sickening odor that came up with the raw wind from the street. Ellen's skirt brushed the bed as she leaned toward Robin. She was near enough so he could hear the creak of her starched linen coif as she peered at him to see whether he was asleep. He shut his eyes so as not to see the great whiskered wart on her chin, and tried to close his ears to the sound of her cockney speech. She saw by the squinching of his eyes that he was awake.
Turn over, do, there's a good lad, she said, intending her voice to be soft. But it was not. It sounded harsh and flat, as if her mouth had been stretched too wide, thought Robin.
He shook his head and closed his mouth tight against the food. We'll not have this good porridge, all with honey spread? Ellen's coaxing voice went on.
Robin shuddered and buried his face in the cushion. If only his lady mother were here, she would have seen to it that the porridge had been smoothly cooked and salted. She would speak in her gentle way, with the pleasant mixture of Norman French and good English words that were becoming the fashion.
If only. she were here, all would be well. The damp sweaty feeling would leave his head. His legs would obey him and take him where he wanted to go, racing up and down the alleyways or along the high street.
He would be running with the boys down Pudding Lane or across London Bridge, playing tag among the shops, but his legs would not obey him. They were like two long pieces of uncooked dough, he thought, such as John the Cook rolled out. on his molding board. Ellen tugged gently at the coverlet. Sweet lad, she begged, to give thee strength and mend these ailing limbs.
Robin would neither turn nor answer. Let her take the sickening stuff away. Let her throw it into the street on top of that fishmonger who had just gone past.
Come, my pretty, but Ellen got no further with her wielding. Robin gathered all his strength and flung his arms toward the bowl of porridge, sending it flying over Ellen's hands and spreading its contents all over her. He was ashamed as soon as he had done it, but Ellen did look funny with the mess hanging from her chin.
Wicked boy, she cried. No more will I serve thee. Scarce able to stand have I been this day, yet I have been faithful.
But I am a free woman and can go my way. Just wait and see when more vittles are brought thee, ungrateful wretch."She burst into loud weeping and left the room, wiping the porridge off with her apron. Robin turned again to the wall. She will come back, he thought, as she has done before. And she had better bring something I like if she wants me to eat it. But she did come back. An hour went by, then another hour. It grew colder and colder. Robin examined for the hundredth time the carvings on the hammer beams supporting the roof of the hall. Each one was an angel with feathered wings. He studied one by one the grotesque carvings of the dwarves that decorated the roof bosses and the corbels finishing the doorway. He worried of thinking about them and wished that Ellen would come. Robin's bedchamber was off the main hall, or living room of the house, in an embrasure of the thick wall. Like the hall, Robin's room was somewhat chapel-like, for the houses of the time of Edward III of England were very little different from the churches. Afternoon sounds came into the room, people passing along the street, to and from the shops. In Cheapside or Poultry Lane, Cartier's carrying goods to the wharves on the Thames, Belling's Gate, or Queen Heinth. He heard children playing games. Hoodmen blink and hide and seek. He wished he could have been among them because he knew a secret nook where he could always hide and where he was seldom discovered. It was down Honey Lane in the angle of a jutting wall near Poultry Lane. Black Friar's entry. It was so small a space that appeared to be no space at all. It was still his own secret. Robin tried very hard to get out of bed so he might look out of the window, but he only fell back again onto the pillow, exhausted from the effort. Hunger bit at his empty stomach. He was hungry enough now to have eaten the porridge Ellen had brought him. He listened. hoping to hear her footsteps in the passage, but the house was strangely silent. No sound of talk or laughter from the hall, for most of the servants and the retainers had gone either with his father, Sir John de Beaufort, or with his mother, the Lady Maud. Robin called for Ellen, and when he had no answer, he called for John the cook, then for old Gregory the gardener. He listened again. holding his breath, but he heard no one, and saw not a soul from noon to vespers. When the bells began to ring again, he was alone. Just as the bell stopped ringing, Robin heard a noise of the door opening. Then someone mounted the stair and came along the passage. Perhaps it was one of the boys, but not likely, for whoever it was walked rather slowly instead of running. as William or Thomas or John would have done. The footsteps turned toward the chamber. In the doorway stood a monk with a basket. He came toward the bed where Robin lay. Good eve, my son, he said. I'm Brother Luke, a wandering friar, newly come to St. Mark's. I brought thee food, and, cause it's Friday, fish. Fish! Robin's stomach took a sudden turn. But a good smell came from the covered basket brother luke carried and he was hungry so he smiled a welcome and the friar explained how he had happened to know that robin needed help a poor widow who twice a week is fed from our hospice told me of thy need she said the dame ellen who lately served thee, has this very day been taken of the plague. She it was who told us that all thy servants too are fled because of the plague, and some are dead of it. Dame Ellen told thee not, pitying thee. Now be a good lad, and take thy supper. He obediently ate what the friar fed him. When he was fed, Brother Luke, who had talked quietly the while, fetched water in a basin. washed him and in other ways made him comfortable he took the rumpled sheets off the bed then sat down to rub robin's legs and back while he rubbed he spoke it is well known that thy noble father hath of his goodness given money to st mark's so to st mark's i'll take thee and i will care for thee in mine own quarters because all other beds and places are already taken by those in the parish that have great need even the corridors are filled and the cloisters lined with pallets. but i cannot walk said robin woefully see you my two legs are as useless as if they were logs of wood how shall i go there my father is with the king at the scottish wars and with him are all his men-at-arms my lady mother has been commanded to attend upon her majesty the queen it is supposed to be by them that i am now page in the household of sir peter de lindsay at his castle in the north John the Fletcher was to have come for me in March before the feast of St. Gregory. Instead, a messenger came on that day to say that he had been set upon by thieves and lay wounded in the hospice at reading. He came later to fetch me, but found me thus, unable to walk or ride. He brought a surgeon who said I had not the plague, but some other malady. He told Ellen to feed me well and that he would return. He came not again, nor did John the Fletcher. alas said brother luke sadly because of the plague all the physicians are working night and day either he himself has been taken or he has been so busy caring for others he is not able to return as for john the fletcher he may have gone out the city gate and not been allowed to re-enter for they are keeping strangers out now fear not for the manner of our going to st mark's tethered in the courtyard Is a jeanette, ready saddled, with blankets, whereon thou'lt ride softly, walking beside thee, I shall support thee, and so we shall go through Knight Rider Street, and Gildsburg, to Ludgate, and then toward Smoothfield, where stands St. Mark's. Dost remember the long wall that is about the garden of thy father's house? Yes, said Robin, of course, why? Dost remember too? The wall about the tower, or any other wall? Robin nodded. Have they not all a door somewhere? Yes, said Robin again. Always remember that, said the friar. Thou hast only to follow the wall long enough, and there will be a door in it. I will remember, Robin promised, but he wasn't sure that he knew what the brother Luke meant to say. While he was speaking, the friar had been caring for Robin. easing his tired muscles and making him clean and comfortable he opened a large chest and found under linen and hosen a hood with a long peak and a warm cloak the evening damp creeps up from the thames said the friar pulling the hosen over robin's shrunken legs and though the days are longer now it is still early in the season good english wool will keep thee warm now for the hood He pulled the hood down over Robin's head and settled it around his shoulders while he held him against his coarse woven monk's frock. Then Brother Luke put his strong arms under Robin, hoisted him onto his back, and carried the bundle of Robin's clothes and the basket in one hand and steadying Robin with the other. Down they went through the great echoing hall, down the winding stairs at the other end, past the empty kitchens, and out into the courtyard. There stood the little Spanish horse, Jenny, just as Brother Luke had said, patiently waiting. Brother Luke set Robin on the Jeanette. The robe and the blankets around him made him comfortable. Brother Luke put a strap around Robin's waist and then ran it under the Jeanette's belly to keep him from falling. He tied the bundle on at the back and they set forth. Out through the door and the wall of the courtyard they went into the street. Robin, leaning against Brother Luke and the Jeanette, picking her way sedately over the cobbles. There were not many people abroad, for it was end of day. Curfew was ringing as they turned up Creed Lane to Ludgate Hill, and only because the guard knew Brother Luke's habits were they allowed to pass through the city gate. By then, they were more than halfway to the hospice, but it was nearly dark when they reached St. Mark's and were admitted by the porter at the... the postern gate. Will I go back home soon? asked Robin fearfully, for the gate had clanged shut behind him as if it had been closed forever. Will a message be sent to my father or to my mother? Be comforted, my child, said Brother Luke. As soon as the plague is somewhat quieted in London, a messenger will be sent to thy father. Meanwhile, we shall care for thee. He lifted Robin and carried him. to his own cell and put him on the narrow cot. Now rest, my son, he said. May came in with a burst of bloom and hedge and field. There was hawthorn, both pink and white, and primroses and buttercups carpeted the fields with yellow. In every garden, wallflowers blossomed in bright color and filled the air with perfume. For days, Robin was cared for as if he were a little child. Brother Luke brought him food, kept him washed, and changed his clothes, but he was too much occupied with other things to stay with Robin for very long at a time. The bells clamored as loudly as ever, but now the sound was associated with the regular procession of the monks going to devotions. Robin grew to like it. He began to sleep well on the hard cot and to feel at home in the little cell. He could see nothing but the sky through the small windhole, for it was high in the stone wall, and only in the early morning allowed a ray of sunshine to come in. Against another wall stood a prayer stool and a desk combined, and a smaller one beside it. On the wall hung a little cupboard which held Brother Luke's few personal belongings and his breviary. Robin couldn't see into the corridor, and at first couldn't identify all the sounds he heard. He liked the sh-sh-sh-sh-ing sound of feet on stone as the monks passed to and fro. Sometimes, when they passed in procession, chanting, he joined in the singing, for most of the plain songs were known to him. Sometimes there were long silences when he heard nothing, but the mewing of the cat, Melisand, or the squeaking of the mouse she had caught. That must be Melisand! There were hundreds of people within the hospice, but they were separated by thick walls and long passages. The outer court was far away at the other side of the monastery. There, visiting pilgrims, knights-at-arms, merchants, and minstrels gathered, each awaiting the attention of the prior. Because there were few inns, the monasteries were open for the entertainment of wayfarers, rich and poor alike. Besides that portion reserved for the travelers, There was an almonery overflowing with the poor of London, seeking food and clothing. St. Mark's was a busy place, but most of the activity was far away from Robin. He was much alone, and time seemed long. One day Brother Luke said, It is now time to try thee sitting up. He was rubbing Robin's legs as he did every day, talking the while. If thy hands are busy, time will pass more quickly. Dost thou like to whittle? Of course, answered Robin. Who does not? But I have not to whittle. I shall find thee a piece of soft pine, and will lend thee my knife, tis sharp and of good steel. This bench will fit against thy back to support thee. Brother Luke set the oaken bench at Robin's back, and fitted a cushion for his comfort. Can I make a boat? asked Robin. Can I make it now? Brother Luke nodded and left the cell. It seemed long before he returned. Finally, he brought the knife and a piece of pine he had promised. It felt smooth and clean to Robin's hands, and he liked to watch the small white shavings peel off. At first, he scarcely knew where to begin to bring out the shape of a boat, but little by little, it began to round out, and at one end, a point began to appear as if it had been a prow. Perhaps I can make it into a sailing boat like the fishermen bring to Belin's Gate, or a barge such as the king uses, he said. Perhaps when it is done, I will be able to walk and we can go to the Thames to sail it. Perhaps, agreed the friar. It was very exciting, but Robin had to stop often to rest. Brother Luke brought soup in which dark bread was to be sopped. Robin didn't want any of it. He wanted only to go on with his whittling and turned away from the food. But tis made of good mutton, in which bay and marigold have been seethed, Brother Luke coaxed. Brother Michael grows these fragrant herbs in the garden. Bay is tasty and gives good appetite. Marigold is said to be of value against poor sight and angry words. It is said t'will draw evil humors out of the head, and the flowers make fair garlands for maidens. because of their golden color. What cared Robin for garlands or maidens? What cared he for fragrant herbs? Sopping food he despised. Brother Luke looked patiently, said nothing, but continued to hold the food ready. And Robin gave in. He drank the soup and ate the dry bread. Because he had something interesting to do and think about, Robin found the days passed more quickly. He began to recognize sounds as he had done before and to associate footsteps and differing gates with the people whom they belong. Now and then one of the monks would look in on Robin and give him cheer or to say an Ave. So he knew several of the monks by name and he could tell which of them was passing. Brother Andrew he knew because he dragged one foot a little. Brother Thomas walked very swiftly heel and toe, heel and toe. whistling tunelessly under his breath as he went brother paul was a large man and when he walked through the corridor the thudding of his feet seemed to shake the walls heavy as they were besides one of his shoes squeaked robin worked steadily on his little boat he finished the hull on the fourth day of the second week i see this is to be a sailing boat after all instead of a barge said brother luke it is somewhat awry with the bow a slant from the stern, but it hath an air, as if it had been battling the storm. Brother Luke brought small slender pieces of pine and showed Robin how to smooth them into masts and bowsprint, and then found scraps of linen for sails and pieces of yarn for rigging. He even begged a scrap of silk ribbon from a traveler for Robin to use as a pennant for the masthead, as if the toy boat had belonged to the king's fleet. Robin thought. Never before had Robin done anything of the kind for himself. Always one of his father's retainers had made what toys he had. Once Rolf had made him a hobby horse, and once Alfred the Dane had made him a boat, but it had not seemed so fine as this one. Now he could hardly wait to begin something else. He would like to carve one of those dwarves, for example. such as those on the roof bosses in his father's house. Brother Luke suggested something easier. Patience, my son, he said. It takes great skill to carve figures like that. Why not make a simple cross? It will be fitting to hang over thy cot if it is well made and smoothly finished. I'll find some pieces of wood and will show thee how to begin. Always while Brother Luke talked. he rubbed away at robin's legs then turned him and smoothed his back busy as he was brother luke found time to bring robin the pieces of wood he had promised these i saved from the pruning of the walnut tree that stands by the wall he said it is weathered for it hath lain in sun and rain these many months and how shall i fasten the pieces of the cross together asked robin shall i nail it then or How shall it be done? When thou art ready for that, Brother Matthew will show thee, answered the friar. Now make it smooth and fine, and have it well proportioned, for it will be a keepsake, and not a toy like the little boat. That I leave to thy judgment, for tis part of the joy in making things. Each day the pieces of the cross grew smoother and better shaped, for Brother Luke would examine them and show how they were too wide here or... Too uneven there. Each day, too, Robin grew stronger and would work longer before resting. The knife fitted his hand and obeyed his thought more truly. One or two cuts on his fingers had taught him caution. Many times, Robin held the shorter piece of wood across the longer to see how it would look and would ask, isn't it time to put them together? But each time, Brother Luke's fingers sought out rough places that must be rubbed down with pumice. Brother Luke was busy all day caring for the sick and the poor. From vespers until the early bedtime, he served his turn in the scriptorium, where all the writing was done. Once, he'd carried Robin to another part of the monastery and showed him where records of everyday living were written and poems and psalteries copied. Each monk had a small enclosure of his own where he could be quiet to do his work. Brother Luke set Robin down beside him on the oaken bench in his own particular place where he could spread out the pages of his handwritten manuscripts on which he was working. The pages were of sheepskin called parchment and were covered with careful lettering and decorations. Gold leaf illuminated the capitals and the delicate tracery which bordered the pages. Robin wished he had known how to read what he saw. He wished he could dip the quill into the ink pot and inscribe letters and draw pictures such as Brother Luke had done. Will you teach me to write? asked Robin. We were taught singing at the brother's school, but I know not writing. Will you teach me then? Yes, my son, truly I will, and when there are not so many people to care for. But come now back to thy cot, for we shall stop to say a prayer in the chapel for thy strength. He lifted Robin to his back again and started down the corridor. In some places the passages were so crowded it was difficult to get through without stepping on someone. Old men and women in pitiful rags sat hunched against the wall or lay upon pallets. Among them went the brothers of the order and sisters from the priory nearby, cleansing and feeding, dressing and comforting them. Ill-clad children ran about, a small girl child. clung to Brother Luke and begged to be carried. A boy not much older than Robin came hobbling toward them on crutches. He smacked Robin as he passed and saluted him, seeing how Robin's legs were lame, even as his own. Good eve, Brother Crookshanks, he cried, laughing as if he had been a great joke to be lame. I see I have good company. Robin's anger rose at the familiarity. Keep your filthy hands off me, lout, he shouted. Hound's meat? I am no more crookshank than you. But even as he spoke, Robin was considering the crutches and thinking how convenient they would be for himself. Then he remembered that even his legs would not support him for a moment. Brother Luke scolded the boy but laughed too at Robin's anger. Fie on thee for so impertinent lad. Still, crookshanks he is truly. His legs will be as good as thine one day, boy. and then he shall keep thee company right enough on his feet he went on toward the chapel speaking to robin over his shoulder as he went the lad meant no offense when he called the crookshanks master robin tis but the way we all are named for some oddity we have or for where we live or for what we do this boy is called joffrey atwater because he lives by the river fleet and tends the conduit there with his father He was so called before he limped as he does now. Oh, said Robin, I wonder why he is not called Joffrey Crookshanks. Now I understand. Brother Luke went on to speak of other names and how they began. Now, I was called Chaucer after my father was a shoemaker. But since I have taken a vow to be a monk and to serve our Lord wherever I am most needed, I have taken the name of Luke. physician in the gospel. And my father is Sir John de Beaufort because he came from that place. Is that the way of it? asked Robin. That's the right of it, agreed the friar. When Joffrey called the crookshanks, he did it because thy legs are thy legs and none others. Richard Smalltrout is he with the short step and not Richard Crowfoot whose feet splay out like fans. Robin laughed. They went into the chapel. It was empty, being between times for service. Brother Luke placed Robin on the stone seat bordering the wall, propping him against the column, which rose high to the vaulted roof. Say there thy prayers, he directed, and in thy mind know thou art on thy knees. Forget not to be thankful for all thou hast. Remember thy lady mother and Sir John, thy father, who is at the wars, and pray for us all. Then he left Robin and went apart to his own devotions. But what have I to be thankful for? Robin thought rebelliously. How will my father like a son who is called Crookshanks? But somehow, as he began his prayers, he felt better. Well, I hope you like this story. Please reach down, click like and subscribe. That tells YouTube that you like these sorts of videos and they'll put more on your feed. Come back next time we'll continue to read the door in the wall. So until then, as Tigger says, ta-ta for now. Love you guys. Bye-bye.