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April 23.
OUR people have come home, with a fine budget of news, to be sure. First the Pope hath sent a Cardinal named Campeggio, or some such name, to join with Cardinal Wolsey, in a commission to try the lawfulness of the King's marriage with the Queen, and there is to be a court held for that purpose. Then the Cardinal's favor with the court is said to be decidedly waning, while that of Mrs. Anne Bullen is constantly growing. She is now made Marchioness of Pembroke, forsooth, and her levees are attended by the nobles of the court, as if she were already queen; and nobody has any doubt that she will be made queen if the marriage with her Grace can be dissolved. The viper! I remember well the mocking tone in which she besought her Grace not to betray her to the King! My poor, dear mistress! No wonder she brought her troubles to the shrine of St. Ethelburga, where I fear, however, she found little comfort.
I will never believe that was the true book of the Gospel which Mistress Anne gave Amice. It was some work of the devil, meant to deceive and destroy souls. And yet, when I recall that last night with my friend, can I think all that courage, and peace, and assurance, and triumphant joy was the work of the devil? And if so, who is safe? And where is Amice now? I dare not think of it! Whichever way I turn all is confusion, doubt and dread!
The last piece of news is, that my Lord is coming home next week, and of course Richard with him. It seems a long, and weary journey for my Lady, with her young son, and the roads are terribly unsafe. They must be well on their way now. I must say an additional Hail Mary every day for their safe arrival. It would be such a terrible misfortune if any harm should happen to my Lady and her boy.
I don't exactly know what I am to do about meeting Dick. Doubtless he will be in and out with Harry as usual, and of course I must meet him. I have no excuse now for keeping my chamber, and if I try to seclude myself, as Mother Superior desired, I shall annoy my father and mother, cause a break in the family, and make everybody uncomfortable. I don't quite like to speak to my mother about it. It might give her a false notion that there have been really some love passages between me and Dick, and make her think it a serious matter, which it is not.
Besides, I know just what she would say. She does not like to think or speak of my being a nun, and indeed I think my father is coming to mislike the notion. I believe I will let matters take their course. Perhaps if Dick has grown the fine court Squire that Mistress Bullen said, he will not care to pay me any attention. I do not believe it any the more for her saying so.
The poor Queen! My heart aches to think of her sitting alone and forlorn, while her husband goes junketting about with Mistress Anne. His conscience, forsooth! Methinks a retreat—say among the monks of La Trappe for him, and the Poor Clares, or the silent Carmelites for her, would be good for both of them. If I had the ordering of their haircloth and parched pease, methinks both would be of the hardest. Father says it is so with every one in London. The women are all for the Queen, and the men take the part of the King, or Mistress Bullen.
This morning the men went to Biddeford with the wagons, to bring up some goods of my father's and mother's, which have been sent round by sea, from London. My father and Harry went with them, to see all safe, and hearing that there was a great chest of books among the things, Master Ellenwood must needs go too. I was standing at the door watching to see the last of them, when my stepmother came to me.
"Rosamond!" said she, after she had asked after my health, and found that I was feeling as well as usual. "There is a certain thing, which needs to be done, and this day of your father's absence is a good time to undertake it; but I do not wish to move in the matter, unless you feel able to help me. I mean the opening, airing, and ordering of your mother's room and clothes. They must needs be attended to, or the moths and damp will ruin them. Moreover, Alice thinks that she should have her share of the clothes and jewels, and maybe she is right."
(I forgot to say, in the right place, that my step-dame had refused to occupy my mother's private apartment, but had chosen one on the other side of the house, where she had her dressing room, and her private closet, in which she spent an hour every morning.)
I was moved at first, which my step-dame saw.
"I know it will be hard for you, my child," said she, "but think what your mother would wish in the matter."
"It must be done, of course," said I, recovering myself, "and I will help you. Dear Madam, how kind you are to me."
"And why should I not be kind, sweetheart?" she asked me, smiling. "You are my dear home daughter, and it would sure be an unnatural mother who did not love her child."
"And you are my dear mother," I whispered, kissing her hand, whereat she embraced me tenderly, and we went together to open my mother's room.
All was just as it was left the day of her funeral; even the flowers I had gathered, lay dried, and cobwebbed on her toilet-table.
"And where does this door lead?" asked my lady, after we had unbarred the shutters, and opened the windows.
"That was my mother's closet," I answered, "where she used to spend many hours, specially when my father was away. I suppose we had better open and air that also."
And I found the key where I knew she kept it, in a box on the chimney. We opened the door of the little turret room, not without difficulty, for the lock was rusted and moved stiffly, but open it we did at last. It was but a small place. There was an altar and crucifix, of course, and before them on the floor lay a rough hard mat, rough enough of itself, and strewed with sharp flints to make it the harder. On the step lay a discipline of knotted cords, mingled with wire, and stained here and there, as if by blood. I had never thought of my dear mother as using such penances, and my blood ran cold at the sight of these things. I glanced at my step-dame, and saw her face full of indignation and pity.
"Woe unto them, for they have made sorrowful the souls of the righteous, whom God hath not made sorrowful!" she murmured, as if she had forgotten my presence. "Woe to the false shepherds who oppress the sheep! 'Lord, how long, how long shall the ungodly triumph?'" Then seeming to remember me—"Rosamond, we will leave these things as they are, for the present, at least. Let the moles and bats prey on them, if they will. The day may come, when we will clear them away."
I saw she was greatly moved, as was I myself, but I could hardly understand her expression. It seemed to be anger, not at my mother, but for her sake. She recovered herself presently, locked the door and gave me the key, bidding me keep it carefully. Then we summoned Prudence and one of the maids, and my Lady had all the hangings taken down and brushed, the floors scrubbed and polished anew, all the linen and garments taken from the drawers and chests, shaken and refolded, with plenty of rose leaves and lavender, and sweet woodroofe, and all put in the nicest order.
"I suppose my new Madam means to take all my dear sainted lady's clothes to herself, as she has taken all the rest," grumbled Prue, as my Lady left us to seek some essence of roses, which she said some one had brought her from Turkey. "I have ever looked for such a move, but I did not expect to see you, Mistress Rosamond, abetting her in doing dishonor to your dear dead mother's memory."
Before I had time to answer, my Lady returned with two little chrystal and gilded glasses, which, though tightly closed with glass and vellum, exhaled a most delicious perfume, as if they held the very soul of the summer roses.
"You say your mother loved roses?" she said, after I had admired them. "We will lay one of these in her drawers, and you shall have the other. And now tell me, Rosamond, would you like to have this room for your own? I have spoken on the matter to your father, and he says you may, if you choose."
I could not help casting a glance of triumph at Prue. To my surprise and vexation she answered sharply, before I had time to speak:
"Mistress Rosamond is going to be a nun, and pray for her mother's soul in the convent, instead of flaunting in the world. She will want no room in this house, since she is to live in the house of God."
My Lady gazed steadily at Prudence for a moment, till the woman's sharp eyes fell before hers. Then she said very gravely, and even gently, as she might have checked a wayward child:
"Methinks you forget yourself, strangely."
"I beg your pardon, Madam," answered Prue, sullenly, and as if the words had been as it were forced from her.
"Pardon is granted for this time," answered Lady Corbet, with quiet dignity: "but beware that such a thing does not happen again. I have borne much from you for the sake of your former mistress; but the time may come when I shall forbear no longer."
Prue choked and swallowed, but remained silent, and my step-dame repeated her question to me, adding: "you see, my child, the house is not large, and with Alice and her babe coming home as often as we hope she may, and the need of entertaining your father's friends in the country, we can scarce afford to keep this room closed up. Still we will make shift to do so, if the using thereof will grieve you."
I saw there was reason in what she said, and though in truth I would rather have kept my mother's room closed, I told my Lady with thanks that I would take it for my own, and give up mine to be a guest chamber instead. No sooner had my Lady left the room, than Prudence burst forth:
"So this is my reward for my long years of faithful service—yea, of slavery in this house—to be kicked out like a dog—to be insulted in my sainted Lady's own room—the very room you were born in, Mistress Rosamond; and more's the pity, I say, if you are to disobey your mother's commands and bring the guilt of sacrilege on this house a second time! Alack, alack! That ever I should have lived to see a step-dame set over this house, to tyrannize over my Lady's children and faithful servants, and turn the house upside down without any reason than her own will, forsooth!"
"How can you say that, Prue?" I asked, as she stopped for lack of breath. "Did not my Lady give her reasons for the change, and were they not wise enough? I am sure I thought so."
"Yes—she and her reasons;" returned Prue. "I think I see my old Lady condescending to reason, as you call it, with a child or servant. These are new times indeed, when a young lady is to be reasoned with, forsooth. In my day they were taught to obey."
I could not help laughing. "O Prue, Prue! What think you my mother would have said, if you had taken up her words as you did my Lady's this morning? And how easily you eat your own words. First you rail at my Lady for turning the house upside down, at her own will, and then for condescending to render a reason for her doings. Which is right?"
"And you, Mistress Rosamond, that was as good as a veiled nun," pursued the old woman, paying no heed to my words. "She must needs drag you from your convent into the world again, and give you cordials and wind, and what not, while you were ill, as if every one did not know that a fever ought to be starved. Doubtless the next thing you will be fitted with a bridegroom, and flaunting in silks and satins—in the court itself maybe, to catch the eye of the King."
"And then you will wish to go and keep house for me, as you did for Alice," said I; "but I don't think I shall want you, unless you learn to be better natured, any more than she did."
Whereat Prudence began noisily to weep, and to exclaim, "that ever she had lived to see the day," and so on, till my Lady coming back, she rushed away to her own dominions.
"Was that woman a favorite with your mother, Rosamond?" asked my Lady, after we had settled that I should remove immediately to my new quarters.
"She was so, though I could never understand why," I answered; "but I think she blinded my mother to her faults by affecting an excessive devotion."
"Maybe so," said my Lady. "For myself I like her not. She seems to me both false and cruel—two faults I cannot abide. But she is an old servant of the house, and we will have patience with her. And now, sweetheart, I have another matter to mention to you, by your father's desire. But you are standing too long, and we shall have the ague coming back upon us, if we let you get over busy. Come you to my room and rest."
My Lady would have me sit down in the great cushioned chair, and sent her own maid for some cream and bread for me. Then she opened her matter, which was this, that my father desired I would leave off the plain black stuff robe and thick coif, veil and pinners I had worn ever since I came home, and dress like other young ladies of my degree. I never was more surprised in my life, for when I have been at home before, my father has seemed to wish to keep the veil always before mine eyes, as it were.
"Your father does not lay his commands on you, in this matter," said my step-dame. "He does not wish to force your inclination, but he says you would do him a pleasure if you would attire yourself according to your rank. Take time and think about it. Your father will not be at home till to-morrow evening."
That afternoon the change was accomplished, and I lay down to sleep in my dear mother's room and bed. Just as I was undressing, who should look in upon me, but Prudence herself.
"So you are here!" said she, with an ominously solemn face. "You are not wanting in courage, that must needs be said of you. I have not slighted my dead Lady's commands, nor done despite to her memory, nor broken my convent vows, and yet I would not pass a night here for all my Lady's jewels. I hope all may be well with you in the morning, that's all."
"And so do I!" I answered. "Why not?"
"And suppose you are waked in the night by the touch of a cold hand, and should see your mother's ghost, surrounded by the flames of purgatory or worse, and should hear her voice reproaching you for your breach of your vows! Or suppose you should see the demon which haunts yon woods—which carried off the Lady Elgitha from her lover, and—"
"Or suppose you should shut the door and mind your own business!" said I, all the more vexed because I was a little scared. "In the first place, I have broken no vows, because I have made none. If my dear mother should come to visit me, it would be to bless, or at worst to reprove, and not to curse; and she would come surrounded, not by flames of purgatory, but by airs from Paradise, and I should rejoice to see her. And as for the demon out yonder, he has no power save over those who venture into his domains after nightfall, nor then, unless they go on a bad errand. Methinks you were best to depart before my Lady comes to see me in bed," (as she has always done since my illness.)
Prue took the hint, and was departing, when she nearly ran over my Lady.
"What are you doing here?" says my Lady, not without some sharpness.
"If it please you, Madam, I meant no offence!" said Prudence, demurely. "I came but to see that Mistress Rosamond had a night light, in case anything should happen before morning;" and casting a parting glance full of anger at us both, she courtesied and departed.
"Was that really her errand?" asked my Lady.
"Hardly, I think," said I. "I believe she only came to scare me, if she could;" and then I recounted what she had said. My Lady seemed much moved.
"Aye, that is always the way—flames, and devils, and all kinds of things, to scare the little ones whom He bade come to himself," she murmured, as if to herself; then to me, "Dear child, be not you scared by these fables. Think not of your mother as tormented in flames of purgatory, or worse, because she married a worthy man and lived and died a faithful Christian wife and mother. Believe as I do, that they who put their trust in the Lord shall never taste the bitterness of death, but that being absent from the body they are at home with the Lord. 'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb shall lead them to fountains of living water, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'"
I had heard these words before, from one who found comfort in them when she was void of all human consolation, and they came to me like an echo of her voice.
"I do not fear, dear Madam!" I answered her, and then I told her how I had before been comforted concerning my mother in my night watch. After she had bade me good-night, with a kiss and a blessing, I said my prayers once more, repeated the ninety-first Psalm, and lay down to rest. I wont deny that I felt a little shiver of fear when I woke once in the night and saw the waning moon shining in at the casement, and heard the mournful calling of the sea, and the sighing of the wind in the trees, while an owl whooped dismally in the wood; but I remembered my Psalm, said my prayers, and falling asleep, did not wake till dawn.
Touching this change of dress—I have been considering the matter, and it does seem to me as if I ought to pleasure my father therein. I can honestly say the change will be no pleasure to me. I was never fond of dress. I care not the trouble of it, and am quite content with my stuff gown and linen pinners, which cost me but little time and thought. Moreover, it was the dress in which my dear mother liked best to see me. I know Mother Superior would say 'twas my duty to cast aside all considerations of earthly affection, like that woman she told me of who left her children to go to the convent. But my mother herself was wont to please my father in all things, and she taught us children to do so. I am quite sure Father John would say the same, but I can't ask him, because he is in Exeter, and will not be at home till night. My Lady has had my dress made all ready for me—a gown of fine brown woolen stuff, such as she wears herself, with large sleeves and linen undersleeves, garnished with French lace, a petticoat of blue damask and a hood of the new fashion, made of blue silk and garnished with lace like the sleeves; also a long tasseled girdle and wide-falling band of lace or lawn, but no mufflers or pinners, and no veil. It lies on my bed at this moment, and I must decide, because my Lady would have me put it on to meet my father.
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I HAVE really put on my dress, my Lady's gentlewoman, Mistress Warner, arranging it for me, which she did with many exclamations at the improvement in my appearance. I must needs own that it is very becoming, but I do not as yet feel at home therein. When all was complete, I went to my Lady's room. She was much pleased.
"Be sure, maiden, you will lose nothing by thus giving up your will to your father," said she, kissing my cheek: "I know very well, that there is no vanity in your heart, but that 'tis a real taking up of the cross, for you to leave off the dress you liked, to pleasure your parents, and the self-denial will have its reward."
"I never thought of any self-denial!" said I.
"I dare say you did not," she answered, smiling, and arranging my hood.
I hope I shall not dislike to leave off all this finery when the time comes for me to return to the convent. I am afraid I have begun to dread that return already; but as my Lady says, "Sufficient unto the time is the evil thereof." That seems to me a wondrous wise saying. I wonder where she found it, or whether it is her own?
When I met Prudence she raised up her hands and eyes: "Lo, did I not say as much? The silks and satins have come already—next thing my Lady will find some needy kinsman of her own to whom my Lady Rosamond's portion will be a convenience, and then comes a wedding—and then—Well, well, when it comes, maybe my words will be believed."
"Maybe so!" I answered. "And maybe we shall catch larks when the sky falls, but I doubt it."
"Mrs. Prue hates weddings because she could never get a goodman herself!" said Master Lee, our old house steward, between whom and Prudence is perpetual war. "For my part, I ever said Mistress Rosamond was too good for a cloister. There are plenty of sallow cheeks and vinegar faces, that would be all the better for a veil!"
Whereat Prudence turned on him like a fury, and I retreated from the war of words to mine own room.
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April 25, Sunday.
MY father and brother came home safely, and my Lady and I met them in the hall.
"Heyday, what lady have we here?" cried my father, cheerily. "Here, let me look at you. I must say she becomes her change of dress well, does she not, Harry?"
"She is liker my mother than ever," said Harry in his blunt way, and then to mend the matter, "I crave your pardon, Madam."
"For what?" asked my Lady, smiling on him kindly; whereat Harry blushed worse than ever, and retreated behind my father.
"Well, well, child, you are a good maid, and shall lose nothing by thus pleasuring your parents," said my father, patting my cheek as he spoke. "Your new ornaments show fairly on you, and as Harry says, make you more like than ever to your mother."
"Mistress Rosamond has inherited one of her mother's ornaments, worth more than gold or jewels," observed Master Ellenwood: "even that ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is beyond all price."
I could not but be pleased and pained too, for I knew very well that I did not deserve my tutor's praise. I know that I have anything but a meek spirit.
This morning we all went to church as usual, in the village. Father John has come home, and a strange priest with him—a Franciscan friar. I tried to think of nothing but my duty, but, truth to tell, my mind was a little distracted by my change of dress, and the thought that people were observing me. I was presently, however, effectually diverted by an announcement made from the altar by Father John—namely, that 'twas the King's pleasure that for the better instruction of the people in faith and duty, the Credo and the Ten Commandments should henceforth be said in English! This is a change indeed! I saw my Lady and Master Ellenwood exchange glances, and many wondering looks passed among the congregation. I thought Father John had no great love to his task, and the strange priest looked black as night. There was no sermon, and we were presently walking home again over the green.
My father stopped to speak to some one, and Harry gave his hand to my Lady to lead her, blushing like a rose as he did so, but as usual she put him at his ease presently, and he walked by her side in silence, till she said playfully:
"A groat for your thoughts, my fair son!"
Harry answered without any of his usual hesitation:
"I am thinking, Madam, about that second commandment—about the images, I mean. Why then do we have images in the churches?"
"Master Ellenwood, you are the scholar," said my Lady, turning to him. "Will you resolve us our doubt? Why do we have images in the churches?"
"The doctors would say that it is to excite our devotion by the presence of visible representations—not for that the image should be worshipped," answered Master Ellenwood; "but it may perhaps be doubted how far this distinction is kept in mind—specially among the more ignorant."
"But the command says, 'Thou shalt not bow down to them,'" persisted Harry; "and every one does that. I don't understand it, for my part."
"There are more than you, in the same puzzle, my boy," said Master Ellenwood, smiling rather sadly.
"And you, Master Ellenwood, what think you of this new move of the King?" asked my Lady.
"I think, Madam, that the man who would keep out the sea, does not well to make a hole in the dyke—no, though the hole be no larger than his little finger," said Master Ellenwood, gravely.
I think Master Ellenwood much changed since I have been away. He seems graver than his wont, and his face hath oftentimes a deep shade of sadness. He is absent-minded also, even at our lessons, and will sometimes let Harry make the most dreadful mistakes in his quantities, without taking any notice of them.
But Harry's Latin will soon come to an end. It is quite settled now that he is to sail from Plymouth with Captain Will Hawkins, who is going to the Brazils, on an exploring and trading voyage. Harry is wild with delight. He has the true Corbet love of sea-wandering, and has already been two voyages, one to the Levant, and one to the North seas; so it is not mere ignorant longing for he knows not what. It seems hard to me, and scarcely right, that the only son of our house should be exposed to such perils as that of a voyage to an unknown and savage coast, where he may be taken and held in lifelong bondage by the barbarians, or still worse by the Spaniards, or devoured by wild beasts, or stricken by fever. But my father hath given his consent, so I suppose there is no help. My father kindly condescended to give me his reasons.
"The boy hath the salt drop in his blood, like all his race. You could no more keep him at home, than you could keep a duck from the water; and if you could he would be good for naught. Not but Harry is a dutiful son, and would give up his longing to please me, if I insisted; but he would be unhappy and restless. As for danger, I reek not so much of that, since danger lurks everywhere. The merchant who never laid hand to sword, may be slain by robbers in his own shop, and the lazy monk may die of a surfeit in the cloister. I know Will Hawkins well, for an honest, faithful and good-natured gentleman—albeit something of the roughest, as these sea dogs are apt to be. He hath been my friend of many years standing, and I doubt not will do well by Harry, and I shall feel far safer about the boy than if he were in the Court, like poor Dick."
All this is true without doubt, nevertheless, it will be hard to let Harry go. Prudence will have it that the scheme is of my Lady's concoction; whereas my Lady hath been against it from the first; though since my father decided, she has done her best to forward Harry's preparations. Harry, for his part, adores his stepmother with a kind of dumb worship, and hangs about her as his old deerhound Oscar does about them both. He hath formally presented Oscar to my Lady, and she hath promised to care for him. Only that I think her influence so good, I could almost find it in my heart to be jealous.
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April 30.
MY Lord and Lady have come, with all their train, and we have been up to the great house to pay our visit. Having never seen my Lady Stanton, I was naturally curious about her. My mother told me that she was very beautiful, and gentle, and highly accomplished; but I was as much amazed at her beauty as if I had never heard a word. Truly I never saw anything so lovely. She made me think of nothing so much as of a white musk rose, fairest of flowers to look upon, and shedding sweetness around; but alas, too soon fading and easily shaken to pieces, even in its freshest bloom. She was overjoyed to see my stepmother, and welcomed me with a grace and warmth which made me feel at home with her directly. She would have us stay and spend the day with her, and sent for my father and Harry to come to supper.
Of course she and my mother had a hundred matters to discuss, of which I knew nothing; but I was quite content to listen while they talked over the news of the Court, especially when the matter of the King's divorce came up. It seems quite decided that there is to be a divorce by some means or other, though the Pope throws difficulties in the way. Meantime my dear Mistress is no more treated by the King as his wife, and hardly hath she honor as Queen, while Mistress Anne, forsooth, hath her ladies in waiting, and her levees, with the King dining with her and making hunting and hawking parties with her, and all paying their court, as though she were already Queen. It made my blood boil but to hear of her, and my mother was sterner than ever I saw or heard her, in reprobation of Mistress Anne's treacherous and light conduct.
"Yet they say my Lady Marchioness is well affected toward the new doctrines, and those who hold them!" said my Lady.
"So much the worse for the doctrines," answered my mother. "The truth hath no such enemies as they who hold it in unrighteousness. But what of the new doctrines?"
"They spread wondrously, no one knows how!" answered my Lady. "Copies of Master Tyndale's New Testament make their way in all quarters, even in the Court itself; and all men's minds are in a ferment. The Greek learning is more in favor than ever in some quarters, and more bitterly opposed in others. We heard a furious sermon against it in Salisbury, where we stayed a few days. The preaching friar said that Hebrew was the language of unbelieving Jews, and Greek of idolatrous infidels and schismatics; while Latin was the tongue of the Church and the Pope, and more fit to hold the Holy Scriptures than the vulgar tongue, which was used for all base purposes."
"I suppose Latin must have been the vulgar tongue with the Romans," I ventured to say. "Doubtless the Roman ladies scolded their maids and their children, and gave orders about meat, and wine, and spinning, just as we do in English."
"You are right, cousin," answered my Lady; "and when St. Jerome translated the Scripture into Latin, he put it in the vulgar tongue, as its name signifies."
"But by what means do the Testaments come into this country?" I asked.
"Chiefly by means of the Hamburg and other German merchants. 'Tis said there is an association called the Christian Brothers, composed of the richest and best traders of London, who make it their business to disperse the new Gospels in all directions throughout the land."
"And what says the Cardinal to all this spread of heresy?" asked my mother.
"The Cardinal is full of other matters, and like to be fuller," answered my Lady. "The Lady Anne hates him venomously, because he will pay her no court, and all men predict his speedy downfall. Wolsey himself, men say, grows weary of his life. 'Tis said he told the French embassador, that could he once see this marriage question settled, the peace accomplished, and the laws and customs of the kingdom reformed, he would retire and serve God the rest of his days."
"Alack, poor man!" said my mother. "He would finish his worldly gear first, and then serve God afterward. But surely his downfall must make great changes."
"Yes, and for that reason many are fain to see him fall. His unbounded pride, and display, and his lust of power, make him enemies, especially among the nobles, who can ill brook to see a clerk, the son of a butcher, set over all their heads. Yet there are others, and those far-seeing men, who dread his downfall. He is certainly a check on his Majesty, and has more than once crossed his humor as no other man dare for his life. Then with all his faults, he is neither mean nor cruel, and his own household are devoted to him."
By this time the babe was awake, and we went to the nursery to see him. He is a delicate little fellow, very lovely, and like his mother; but by no means so stout or fat as a babe of his age should be. My mother strongly counselled my Lady to give him no medicine, but to take him out in the air as much as might be. The mother and child together were a most beautiful sight; yet I heard my mother sigh, as she gazed, and my heart echoed the sigh, I hardly knew why.
When we went out to the gardens, as we did on leaving the nursery, we encountered my Lord and Richard. My Lord paid his compliments, with his usual easy grace, to my mother and myself, and then turned eagerly to my Lady, whom it seems he had left sleeping. It was pretty to see his earnestness to know whether she had slept well; was she refreshed, had she eaten, and so on. Even his boy seemed of little consequence beside his wife. Meantime Dick and I exchanged greetings in our old cousinly fashion. I had expected to see, I know not what change, and 'twas a real comfort to me when Dick dropped his beaver in his old clumsy fashion, as he saluted me. Presently, in walking through the maze, we found ourselves chatting as if we had not been parted a day. I felt as though I must needs take Dick to task for getting me into such a scrape by the means of Mistress Bullen, and was considering how best to begin, when himself saved me the trouble. His first words took me all aback.
"Rosamond, why did your Lady Abbess send back the packet of Venetian silks and beads I sent her? I don't think 'twas very gracious in her to reject my little offering."
I believe I stared at him like a fool. "What do you mean?" I asked, simply.
"Why, I mean the packet I sent her by Mistress Bullen," answered Dick, looking surprised in his turn. "I saw my Lady Latimer and my Lady Denny at work with these beads and silks, embroidering of stools and covers; and knowing how famous your house is for fine work, I thought the like materials would make an acceptable offering, please the Lady Abbess, and perhaps yourself. So I asked my Lady cousin to buy the things for me, and sent them by the hands of Mistress Bullen, as I said; and much amazed I was to have them returned on my hands by Master Griffith."
I saw it all in a minute; and despite my vexation I could not help laughing to think how dear Mother Superior had cheated herself.
"Mistress Bullen was a Corby messenger," I said, as soon as I could compose my face. "She made a great mystery of the matter, giving me the packet in secret, telling me that you had bidden her give it me privately. Only that dear Mother is so good and right-minded, I should have been in a serious scrape."
Dick looked vexed enough.
"Just what I might have expected!" said he. "Mistress Anne is a born mischief-maker! She said you told her you had nothing to say to any Court popinjay; even if you married, you looked for a higher match than the poor kinsman of a lord, but you would rather be Abbess of a good house than to be any man's house-dame."
"I never said such a word!" I told him. "It would ill become me to be talking of such matters!"
"It did not sound like you, and I did not believe her when she spoke," said Richard. "I could not think you so changed in a short time. But I cannot help laughing, now I know the right of the matter, to think how the good Mother cheated herself. And yet, since she did believe the packet to be yours, 'twas like a high-minded lady not to open it."
"She is a high-minded lady!" I said. "I wish she had opened the parcel, because then I should have been quite cleared in her eyes, and yet I respect her the more for not doing so. When I can write to her I will tell her how it was."
"Aye, and send the packet back at the same time, if you will," said Richard. "I have brought you some things of the same sort."
"Richard!" said I, presently, after we had walked in silence a little way. "I heard my mother and my Lady talking about the spread of the new doctrine, and the new English Testaments. Have you seen any of these books?"
"Aye, have I," said Richard: "they are falling about London and the Court as plenty as lady-birds."
"And what do the bishops and priests say to them?"
"They would like to burn the books and the readers with them, and 'tis a wonder if they don't have their will of some of them!" said Dick. "The preaching friars and the monks are as busy as the devil over Lundy in a gale of wind; but the smoke is out of the chimney and the cat out of the bag, and all the king's horses and all the king's men can't get them in again."
"But why are the priests so much opposed to the spread of these books?" I asked. "Do they say they are not the true gospel?"
"Aye, that is the pretext, of course!" answered Dick. "I heard one of them say that all Tyndale's books were printed, which showed plainly that they were not the true gospel, since the Church had always had the gospel, and every one knew that there were no printed books fifty years ago."
"Oh, Dick," said I, "you should not joke about such matters."
"'Tis no joke, but sober earnest," said Dick. "I heard him myself, and so did many others, who laughed in the preacher's face; for they can't make people swallow their words whole as they used to. What with the abolishment of the benefit of clergy and the new Greek learning, the poor old fellows are getting it on all sides. I myself heard a well learned gentleman say that Erasmus his Greek Testament had done more for the spread of the new doctrines than Tyndale his English book."
"I know Master Ellenwood's Greek Testament is never out of his hand when he has a moment's leisure," I said. "I would I knew Greek. But Richard, you only answered half my question. Have you looked into any of these books?"
"If I tell you I have read one from end to end, you will hold me for little else than a reprobate, I dare say," answered Richard.
"I shall certainly hold the book for something wonderful," I answered. "I don't believe you ever read through any book you were not obliged to, unless it were the 'Morte d' Arthur,' or some Canterbury Tale. But have you indeed read this book through?"
"Indeed I have, dear heart, and more than once. Shall I show it you?" And therewith he drew from his bosom a small, well-worn volume, and put it in my hand. Almost mechanically I opened it, and the first words I read were these, which I had so often heard from my step-dame: "Sufficient unto the time is the evil thereof."
At this moment we were interrupted by a call, and one of the servants came to bid us to supper.
"Richard," said I, "will you lend me this book?"
"No," he answered, taking it from my hands. "I will take no such responsibility; but if you would read it, ask your step-dame to give it you. She is as great a favorer of the new doctrine as my Lady Denny herself. But, Rosamond, if you mean to go back to your convent, I rede you let the book alone."
"And why so?" I asked.
"Because, an you read and believe it, you will never go back there," answered Dick; and that was all I could get out of him.
Dick is changed, but not as Mistress Bullen said. He is far graver, and more manly than he used to be. He has lost most of his old blundering bashfulness, and seems indeed not to think of himself at all. The very expression of his face is changed, yet he has all his old kind ways, and is just as ready to do service to gentle and simple.
It is odd he never so much as noticed the change in my dress.
I am vexed when I think of the coil that was made about poor Dick's simple offering. If dear Mother had only opened it—but she will know when I write to her.
To-morrow is May-day, and is like to be fine. If so we shall go down as usual, and see the dances on the green, and perhaps join in them. My Lord and Lady have promised to grace us with their presence. I fear she will think our country ways but rude and boisterous, as she has lived all her life in town and about the Court; though in her manners she is as modest and simple as any country maid.
image044
May 12.
THE May games went off very well. We had all the usual sports—Robin Hood and Little John, Maid Marian and all the rest of them, and besides a Miracle play—the first ever seen in these parts, and for mine own part I should hope it might be the last. The players, it seems, were at Biddeford May games, and hearing that we were to have unusual festivities here, they sent a deputation hither, praying my Lord and my father to patronize them. The Prior also gave them his good word, so my Lord consented and won my father to do the same.
The old May pole having been shivered by lightning last year, my Lord gave a new one from his own woods, a fine, stately shaft, which was duly bedizened with flowers and ribbons, and drawn to its place on the morning of the games, with all the oxen that could be mustered, and a great noise of horns, hautbois and fiddles.
We walked down to the green about ten of the clock, and found the lads and maids dancing about the pole, and more than the usual crowd assembled. There was an Egyptian woman telling of fortunes, a travelling huckster or two with ribbons, toys and gingerbread, and another selling of books and ballads, who I fear made but a bad speculation. He was a sober, decent-looking man, and seeing him looking our way, my mother beckoned him, and began looking over his stock, which was made up mostly of tracts and primers, with some ballads and penny prints of saints and virgins.
"And have you no other wares than these?" asked my step-dame. "There are many new books going now-a-days?"
"And that is true, madam," answered the chapman, (and I could not but notice how well he spoke, respectfully, but with no fawning servility, such as chapmen commonly use). "The present time is, under your favor, like the householder in the scriptures, bringing forth out of his treasures things new and old. Aye, and the old have been so long forgot in these parts that they are the newest of all."
"And that is true!" answered my mother. "Well, this is but a public place. Come you to Corby End this evening, and we will look over your wares, and give you a night's entertainment."
The man gave her courteous thanks and turned away. Just then Harry came to tell us that the play was about to begin, and only waited our coming to the seats reserved for us.
"I have little fancy for these mummeries," said my Lady to us, as we took the stools which had been set for our accommodation; "but yet we must not mortify the poor players. I trust they will confine themselves in proper bounds."
"'Tis the Passion of our Lord they are about to play," said the Prior of Stanton, who had his seat near us. "No one can object to that, surely."
"With submission, reverend Father, such a subject seems to me hardly fitted for the day and the scene," answered my Lady, gently. "Besides, does it not seem to you to savor of presumption—to say no more—that a poor strolling player, and he often a lewd and profane person, as but too many of them are—should take upon himself to personate our suffering Lord, putting his own words in the mouth of one so unspeakably august and venerable?"
The Prior fidgetted on his scat, and looked somewhat uncomfortable as he answered:
"You know, my Lady, the Church path always sanctioned these things, considering them to be of the nature of pictures and images, which are called the books of the unlearned."
"But why not expend the time and treasure which these things cost, in teaching the unlearned?" asked my mother.
"Nay, Madam, that would never do," answered the Prior. "What, would you have Jack and Jill, and Hodge and Joan, leaving their ploughing and spinning to pore over books of divinity, and discuss questions of casuistry? What then would become of the work, and of the respect which they owe to their betters?"
The poor old fat priest got so red and did seem so disturbed, that I was glad my mother made him no reply, save a smile. Indeed, she had no time to do so, for the play began directly.
I had never seen such an one before, and I must say I was shocked. There were all the holy Apostles, our Lady (represented by a simpering boy with a crack in his voice) Pontius Pilate (a most truculent looking personage), the two thieves, and worst of all, our Lord himself, besides devils and angels in plenty. The people made their remarks freely enough, and I can't say they seemed greatly solemnized or edified. The part which pleased them most was when the devils thrust Judas down to the infernal pit, and were then kicked after him, without any ceremony, by the angels, who afterward ascended to heaven, one at a time, on the same cloud which had served our Lord, and which was worked in plain sight by a man with a rope and a winch.
It seems to me almost profane to write these things down, and yet I don't know why I should feel so. We used to make little Christs of wax at the convent, and paint them to the life, and nobody thought any harm of that. And there were our Bethlehems, which practice was begun by Saint Francis himself, our holy founder, and at the first of which happened a wonderful miracle, for during the ceremony, the saint was seen caressing an infant of celestial beauty, who appeared to the astonishment of all beholders. The straw on which this apparition happened was preserved with great devotion, and worked many miraculous cures. We had some of it among our relics, and 'twas held almost as sacred as the glass containing the Holy Virgin's milk. But I am forgetting the May games.
After the play was ended, the dancing began anew. Several of the fathers were down from the convent, as usual, but methought they were not very cordially received. And when Father Jerome ventured to chuck Jan Lee's new wife under the chin, with what I must needs say was rather a broad jest, Jan gave him a look as black as thunder and drew his bride away. I too had an encounter which did not please me. I was standing by my father, and leaning on his arm, when the Prior came up to us with the same dark priest who had been in the church on Sunday, and presented him to my father as Father Barnabas of Glastonbury. Then turning to me:
"What, my fair Rosamond, is this you? I did not know the dove in her plumage!"
While I was thinking what to say in reply, the other priest broke in:
"Methinks neither the plumes nor the place are very well suited to the promised bride of Christ; how well soever they may beseem fair Rosamond!" with an emphasis on the name. It was now my father's turn to look black.
"My daughter, sir priest, is no nun; and being as yet under her father's roof and rule, she dresses to please him, like a dutiful maiden, and according to the words we heard last Sunday: 'Honor thy father and mother.'"
"Aye, there it is," said the prior. "Now may we see what comes of these innovations. Soon every man will be ready with his text and his commentary—according to the boast of that archfiend Tyndale, which I heard him make to myself, that he would so order matters that in a few years every ploughboy should know more of Scripture than I did. And what are we to do then!"
"Lackaday! I don't know," answered Will Paxton, my Lord's jester, putting in his word as usual—"'Tis an ill-ordered house where the man can write, though the master can't read."
Whereat the priest frowned, and my father laughed heartily, and gave Will a silver groat, bidding him go buy a fairing for his sweetheart. Then saying that I was standing too long and would be ill again, he led me away, and we presently went up to the Court to spend the day with my Lady, to whom I had promised instruction in the art of knitting. We passed a very quiet and pleasant day, and walking home together in the twilight, in a thoughtful mood, I suddenly bethought myself of Dick's little book, and asked my mother, saying:
"Madam, have you ever seen one of these same Testaments of Master Tyndale's?"
"Aye, daughter, that have I! I have both seen and read it!" she answered.
"And do you think 'tis really the true Gospel?" I asked again, remembering what Amice had told me about it.
"I have no doubt of it. Master Ellenwood, at my request, and for his own satisfaction, has been comparing it with the Greek and Latin text, and says 'tis marvellously well done."
"Oh, how I should love to read it!" I exclaimed.
"You would find many things to astonish you, my child," answered my mother. "Yea, to upset all your former notions, and mayhap lead you to renounce and contemn many things which you have been used to hold most sacred all your life long."
"Dick said I must not read it if I ever meant to go back to the convent," I said. "But mother—Madam, I would say—"
"Nay, dearest child, call me ever mother, if you will," said she, pressing my arm kindly. "'Tis very sweet to me to hear the name fall so naturally from your lips. But what would you say, dear heart?"
"I was going to say, that this difference seems very strange and sad to me," I went on. "If the Gospels are right—and the true Gospel must be right—then is the Church wrong!"
"Well, what then?" she asked. "Your reasoning is good, but what then?"
"Why, then we must follow the Gospel, as it seems to me," I answered. "But, mother, will you let me have this Gospel to read?"
"Yes, child! Since you ask it, I can do no otherwise," said she, after a moment's hesitation. "I dare not withhold the word of God from you—but alas, my child, have you considered that you may be taking in hand the torch to light your own funeral pile, withal? Shall I give you that which may be your death?"
"Why not, if it shall lead me to eternal life?" I said. "Besides, it may not be so bad as you say. Mistress Bullen favors the new teachings, my Lady says—not that I think any better of them for that, but she is very great with the King, as we all know."
"I build not at all on Mrs. Bullen's favor," answered my Lady. "She is indeed in the sunshine of his Majesty's countenance even now, but how long will she stay there, think you? She is beautiful and brilliant and fascinating, if you will—though I must say she never pleased me—but she hath neither principle nor prudence to guide her in her dangerous path. Ah, child, be thankful that you have grown up at home, and not in a Court."
"But as to this book!" I ventured to say.
"As to this book, you shall have it, if your father be willing to let you run the risk. But count the cost, my child, and pray for guidance to Him who has promised to give wisdom to them that ask. When you have done so, come to me in my closet, and I will put into your hands the word of God."