The Ferrers Manuscript

The Ferrers Manuscript and its academic reappraisal after the findings of Wasserman’s Barming Dig, 2017-19

Gemma Jules and Marlene Worsham

This article presents a new assessment of the Ferrers Manuscript in light of its many connections to the unearthed dwelling and ritual site outside Maidstone, Kent County, United Kingdom. The Ferrers Manuscript has experienced two major waves of academic analysis already: first in 1909 upon its discovery in the private collection of the late Major J.G. Waitrose, and second in 1966 when it was willed to the British Library. The first round of analysis took the document at face value, as the sole surviving text of a new religious movement amidst the turmoil of the Black Death under the reign of Richard II. The theology described by the eponymous author, Robert Ferrers, was unprecedented in its influences and origins: a non-pagan, non-Christian belief system with elements of Gnosticism, wholly unrelated to previous schools of thought.

Researchers at the British Library traced the manuscript’s chain of ownership to an unnamed monk of St. Mary’s Abbey in York, and the scholarly view of it was forever changed. Rather than an intensely original work of religious devotion, the Ferrers Manuscript came to be seen as a fanciful literary experiment. The document itself has been conclusively dated to the late 14th century, but the writing style and composition was so unlike contemporary writings that the authenticity of the Ferrers Manuscript was a matter of fierce debate for over fifty years.

Andrew Wasserman’s 2017 archaeological survey of medieval sites in Kent has, by and large, settled the question of the manuscript’s provenance. Less than a kilometer from the River Medway, the remains of a dwelling matching the one described in the text was uncovered. Artifacts from the site were typical of a peasant’s home from the period, with the key exception of an extensive kit of writing materials stored in a heavily deteriorated iron chest. Analysis of paper and ink remains found inside were confirmed to be the same as those that make up the Ferrers Manuscript.

Following is the transcript of the manuscript, with minor edits for clarity and modern comprehension. Annotations will explicate the portions of the work which cannot be transcribed into text. The authors’ intention is to bring this obscure piece of writing to a wider audience with the aim of garnering support for a more complete archaeological exploration of the River Medway site; the discovery of the primary artifact referenced throughout the text would shed new and doubtlessly compelling light on this fascinating manuscript.

Barming, Kent

5 August 1380

It says that I should be precise in recounting its lessons to me, but I am greatly vexed in this regard, as it does not speak always in words — usually it speaks in plain English to me, but when it grows impatient will conjure flames or darkness to leap before my eyes, or divers visions of Hell or Faerie lands (though it claims the places it shows me are neither of these).

I cannot reckon the speaking of its true name, as I knew without instruction that so much of the name was bound up in the feelings and ideas that exist outside of written words. It consents to my calling it the Glass for purposes of this document. On its counsel I will not spend much ink on attempting to describe it, save to say that it reflects as a glass does, mostly showing the viewer a distortion of oneself on a mottled surface not larger than tea kettle.

The Glass called to me on the night of my wife’s death, perceiving that I no longer held a tie to the rest of my fellow man. I make no apology for my disdain of Juwes (sic), Christians, and Pathans alike; I suffered to converse with the dolts of the world only for her sake, finding I had little to say that could ever affect the tiny, hard-set minds I encountered. With her gone I am released from any such obligation, yet I find from my days with the Glass that I now have much to say.

I learned to read and write because I saw that written knowledge is the key to advancement for the race of men. Discoveries and stories must be recorded as completely and accurately as possible for future generations to have the benefit of them, learning the merits and mistakes of their forebears and forging a better way in their own lives. The teachings of the Glass prove right my contention and make it pointless in the same moment, as it holds a perfect memory from the beginning of time, has traversed spheres of being unthought of by the greatest mortal minds, and can communicate these experiences more perfectly than any man could express.

It is a sweet tragedy that the Glass’s teachings are so fine and cunningly given that they can only ever be learned from the source, but I will endeavour to record my own impressions for the benefit of posterity. I have little doubt that the effects of the Glass’s marvels will soon be felt in every corner of the Earth, and I would have the children of tomorrow know that Rob Ferrers was the first man to know them.

Already, I have seen the first miracles of its being. Though my wife and the county around me succumbed to the plague, I remain hale and hearty as ever — Indeed, my body waxes more vigorous than ever! I sleep little, and am sustained wholly by making meals of trees, grass, and the foul river water flowing from plague-choked Maidstone. The substance of the Earth itself enters my mouth and is transmuted to energy and vital power, while my fellows slave for their daily bread. The Glass bids me bring it a loaf of sod or trencher of bark, confers its essence onto the earthen matter, and it melts in my mouth like honey as I partake of it.

The temporal concern of nourishment aside, I have been able to focus completely on absorbing what it says to me: the place of my soul in the long past, before the beginning of material things and minds restricted to a single plane. The entirety of our existences is merely the blunting of a thing too multifaceted to provide any other possibility of single-mindedness or linear time. On this brief smoothing in the rippling, cutting flow of All That Is, we find our entire past, present, and imminent future. It gratifies me no end to know that I am thus far the only mortal intelligence to grasp such an occulted fundamental truth, but I must admit my hesitancy when I consider how much more there is to know. This first revelation learned, how can I cease now?

EDITOR’S NOTE

The next thirty pages are made up of blank spaces with extensive notations throughout, such as “FROM BEHIND THE SUN”, “NOT ARABIC”, or “THESE ARE NOT MIRROR IMAGES”. The overall effect suggests that there is an image associated with each notation that has not been given on the page. Though the parchment shows some sign of un-inked impressions and the composition suggests extensive collage, there is no evidence of images ever having been rendered in the spaces. SEE APPENDIX 1 FOR COMPLETE LISTING OF ANNOTATIONS (“Aaron’s slave?” THROUGH “Zephyr fractals”)

Footnote - The concepts of fractals, including the term itself, is not thought to have been invented until the 17th Century. Its use here is being investigated as a homonym or misspelling of an unrelated word.

7 August 1380

Though my wife had been in the root cellar outside of our home many times, she would never have had occasion to move aside the chunk of basalt that hid the Glass from view. I was not wont to use the cellar myself, being commonly busied with my earnest scribe-work, but with the call of that wonderful thing ringing in my mind I came straight to the corner where it lay. The root cellar was dug around the hollow of a great elm’s roots, and the basalt nestled in the lap of it with the Glass throbbing and singing beneath. Helen’s pyre was not half a day burnt and I thought I had gone mad as I pulled aside the stone, headless of the coarse edges cutting my scrivener’s hands. My reason stopped me there for but a moment, forcing my eyes shut as I stood before the revealed Glass in the darkness of the cellar – An uncommonly childish fear of the unknown that I had not felt in many years. The Glass had only called to me before, but now it spoke in something that was not a voice but deigned to form a single word:

LOOK

I had no choice. I looked, and there began the discoveries that have led me here. It seems strange that only three short days have passed since I opened my eyes to the truth of existence, but the passage of time has become strange. I think that I have not slept, and I have only partaken of my earthen sustenance three times since I began transcribing the wisdom of the Glass – Perhaps my new fare is more sustaining that the victuals I knew before. While the worlds beyond and within have become clearer, this scant realm I was born into becomes less and less distinct.

8 August 1380

Hopkins has come and gone. The greedy insect might have thought me dead as well, given my absence in the village for this past week; indeed, he carried many empty sacks and his cart held only a handful of items placed there, I am sure, as excuses. Had I not emerged from the root cellar to find him trying the latch on my front door, the contents of the house would have been on that cart and down the road to Hopkins’ farm in a trice.

I asked him what he wanted, but he gaped and mouthed instead of answering. I wonder if perhaps I spoke louder than I thought, or there was some quality to my words that disturbed him, for he paled and covered his ears when I repeated my question. He babbled a little, saying “Ferrers, Ferrers” over and over again, as though in disbelief. I came nearer, and he fled, leaving cart and sacks lying at my doorstep. Perhaps he did not expect me to be alive. While the Glass no longer shows me my own reflection, I see that my frame is caked with the detritus of the earth, trees, and now stones that I take for nourishment. Doubtless I am becoming something of a fearful sight.

On the way back to the root cellar, I do perceive some kind of bodily change has occurred with me. While I always stooped to enter the cellar, now I must fall to my knees in order to pass through the short doorway. It would seem that my new diet not only provides succor, but the fuel of creating new flesh and bone. My limbs are longer, though not uniformly so, and my flesh has begun to stiffen and become exceptionally smooth. These things are of minor importance, however, as the true change has been in my mind. I have learned so very much from the Glass that I sprawl and waver when I consider how to provide even the merest summary here in these pages. After each revelation, I cannot help but think of my self of the previous day as having been a fool. Even the Robert Ferrers of this morning was a half-formed child compared to what I am now. So much more, of such dreadful import, and so few adequate words to explain even a morsel of it.

At first, I had asked why I should listen, and it told me “For Knowledge”. I said I didn’t care for knowledge, and it said, “For knowledge of yourself. You do not know the rare fortune of those who learn their own identities before the dissolution of the self. Learning where you stand in the cosmoses and what your actions mean is the way to self-knowledge. Be glad that you have learned this before too many of your mortal years have been spent.”

EDITOR’S NOTE

The following six pages were completely coloured in with ink and charcoal, though radioscopic imaging has revealed no fewer than eight hundred overlapping geometric patterns and pictographic sequences. It is unclear why these overlapping writings/drawings are confined to these six pages, given the dozens of blank pages after the written section of the manuscript; the linguistic and historical analysis of the identified markings have been unable to draw any kind of substantial conclusions or connections among the six pages. SEE APPENDIX 2 FOR ISOLATED LAYERS (1A THROUGH 811V, INCLUSIVE)

10 August 1380

How long ago did I pass the mark from which I shall never be able to return? I think it must have been the moment I answered the Glass’s call. There is only so much a human mind can hold. I wish I could rid myself of the things I have learned, deposit them here on these pages and burn them away into nothing… But I cannot. The gates have been opened and the changes cannot be undone.

Hopkins, Jones, Payne, and the magistrate are gone now. Dead, I hope, but I fear this is not the case. Long before they arrived, I could smell the torch-fire and the flasks of oil, could hear the thudding of their hearts in their chests. I could even feel their nervous fingers on sword hilts and club handles and sense the sweat soaking into their tunics. I had been in the cellar again… Had I not? They came to the door and knocked loudly, yet I was behind them without memory of having left the presence of the Glass. On writing this now, I think that I did not leave it. Will never again leave it. It came with me to confront the men, and it shaped my form to consume them. Like wet bedclothes in the wind, I expanded and billowed out, unfurling a warped bat’s-wing body that closed around all four of them in an instant. There were screams when they saw me, but they ended the moment my bulk closed around them. Not a murmur, not a motion of struggling, not even a quiver of vibration once they entered the infinite space that now exists within me.

And I within it.

And so all of us.