CHAPTER TWO.
HOW THINGS CHANGED.
"Open the door, Avice, quick!" said Agnes, as a rap came upon it."Yonder, methinks, must be the holy Bishop."
Avice ran to the door, and opened it, to find two priests standing onthe threshold. They entered, the foremost with a smile to the child,after which he held up his hand, saying, "Christ save all here!" Thenhe held out his hand, which both Agnes and her mother kissed, and satdown on one of the forms by the table. Every priest was then lookedupon as a most holy person. Some of them were a long way from holiness.But there were some who really deserved the title, and few deserved itso well as Robert Copley, Bishop of Lincoln, whom, according to thefashion of that day, people called Grosteste, or Great-head.
For surnames were then only just beginning to grow, and very few peoplehad them--I mean, very few had received any from their fathers. Theyhad, therefore, to bear some name given to them. Sometimes a man wasnamed from his father--he was Robert John-son, or John Wil-son.Sometimes it was from his trade; he was Robert the Smith, or John theCarter. Sometimes it was from the place where he lived; he was Robertat the Mill, or John by the Brook. But sometimes it was from somethingabout himself, either as concerned his person or his ways; he was RobertRed-nose, or John White-hood, or William Turn-again. This is the way inwhich all surnames have grown. Now, as Bishop Copley's soul lodged well(as Queen Elizabeth said of Lord Bacon), in a large head and massivebrow, people took to calling him Great-head or Grosteste; and it is asBishop Grosteste, not as Bishop Copley, that he has been known down tothe present day.
I have said that he was a peculiar man. He was much more peculiar, atthe time when he lived, than he would have been if he had lived now.Saint Peter told bishops that they were not to be lords over God'sheritage, but to be ensamples to the flock; but when Bishop Grostestelived, most bishops were very great lords, and very poor examples.Bishops, and clergymen too, were fond of going about in gay clothes ofall colours, playing at games, and even drinking at ale-houses. Many ofthem were positively not respectable men. But Bishop Grosteste and hischaplain were dressed in plain black, and they were of the few who walknot according to the course of this world. To them, "I like" was of nomoment, and "I ought" was of great importance. And what other peoplewould say, or what other people might be going to do, was a matter of noconsequence whatever.
Such men are scarce in this follow-my-leader world. If you are sofortunate as to be related to one of them, take care you make much ofhim, for you may go a long way before you see another. With most people"I like" comes up at the top; and "What will people say?" comes next,and often pretty near; but "What does God tell me to do?" is a long wayoff, and sometimes so far off that they never come to it at all!
Bishop Grosteste lived in one of the darkest days of Christianity.Thick, dense ignorance, of all kinds, overwhelmed the masses of thepeople. Books were worth their weight in gold, there were so few ofthem; and still worse, very few could read them. When we know thatthere was a law by which a man who had been sentenced to death couldclaim pardon if he were able to read one verse of a Psalm, it gives usan idea how very little people can have known, and what a precious thinglearning was held to be. Even the clergy were not much wiser than therest, and they were generally the best educated of any. Most of themcould just get through the services, not so much by reading them as byknowing what they had to say; and they often made very queer blundersbetween words which were nearly alike. A few, here and there, werereally learned men; and Bishop Grosteste was one of them. He hadlearned "all that Europe could furnish," and he knew so much that thepoor ignorant people about him fancied he must have obtained hisknowledge by magic. But far better than all this, Bishop Grosteste wastaught of God. His soul was like a plant which grew up towards thelight, and Jesus Christ was his Sun.
In this day of full, brilliant Gospel light, we can hardly imagine thestate of affairs then. Perhaps one fact will help us to do it as wellas many. In every house there was an image set up before which allprayers were said. Sometimes it was a crucifix, sometimes an image ofthe Virgin Mary, sometimes of some other saint--for the saints, male andfemale, were a great crowd. But the crucifix or the Virgin Mary weregenerally preferred; and why? Because the poor worshippers fancied thatthe crucifix had more power than the image of a saint, and that theVirgin was able to look after her own candle! A torch, or in latertimes a candle, was always burning in front of the image; and of courseif the image could keep it alight, it was much less trouble to theworshipper!
But had they no common sense in those days? Well, really, it lookssometimes as if they had not. When men once turn aside from God's Word,it is impossible to say to what folly or wickedness they will not go."The entrance of Thy words giveth light; yea, it giveth understandingunto the simple."
Very few bishops then living would have taken any notice of the humblefoster-sister who lived in that tiny house, and worked: for her living--she and her daughter being both widows, and the child dependent on them.It was hard work then, as now, for such people to get along. It isoften really harder for them than for the very poor.
The guests being now come, Agnes dished up the four-hours--if that canbe called dishing up when there were no dishes! She lifted a great panoff the hook where it hung over the fire--for it must be rememberedthere were no bars, and pans had to be hung over the fire by a handlelike that of a kettle--and poured out into the bowl a quantity of soup.She then served out a cake of white bread to the Bishop--a rare dainty--black bread to the chaplain and her mother, and hard oat-cake forherself and Avice. They then began to eat, after the Bishop had madethe sign of the crossover the bowl, which answered to saying grace; allthe spoons going into the one bowl, the Bishop being respectfullyallowed to help himself first.
"And how goes it now with thee, my sister Muriel?" asked the Bishop.
The Grandmother gave a little shake of her head, though she answeredcheerfully enough.
"Things go pretty well, holy Father, I thank you. Work is off and on,as it may be; but we manage to keep a roof over our heads, as you see,and we can even find a bowl of broth and a wheat-cake for our friends.The Lord be praised for all His mercies!"
"Well said, my sister. And what do you intend to make of your littlemaid here?"
"Marry, I intend to make a good worker of her," said Agnes in her turn,"and not an idle giggling good-for-nought, as most of the lasses be.She shall spin, and weave, and card, and sew, and scour, and wash, andbake, and brew, and churn, and cook, and not let the grass grow underher feet, or else I'll see!"
"Truly a goodly list of duties for one maid," replied the Bishop, with asmile. "And yet, good Agnes, I am about to ask if thou canst find roomfor another on the top of them."
"Verily, holy Father, I am she that should work my fingers to the boneto pleasure you," was the hearty answer.
"I thank thee, good my daughter. How shouldst thou like to go toLondon?"
"To London, Father!" And Agnes's eyes grew as round as shillings.
To go to London was then looked on as a very serious matter. Peoplemade their wills before they started. And to ignorant Agnes, who hadnever in her life been ten miles from Lincoln, it sounded almost astremendous an idea as being asked to go to the moon.
The Bishop smiled. He had been to Paris and Lyons.
"Ay, even to London town. I do indeed mean it, my daughter. There is,methinks, a career open to thee, which most should reckon rarepreferment, and good success. Ah, what is success?" he added, as if tohimself. "Howbeit, thou shalt hear. The Lady Queen lacketh nurses forher children, and reckoning thou shouldst well fill such a place, I madebold to speak for thee. And she thus far granted me, that thou shouldstgo up to Windsor, where the King's children are kept, and she herself isat this present, there to talk with her, and let her see if thou art fitfor the post. If on further acquaintance she be pleased with thee, thenshalt thou be made nurse to one of the children; and if not, then theLady Queen will pay thy charges home.
What sayest, my daughter?--andthou also, Muriel, my sister?"
Both Muriel and Agnes felt as if their breath were taken away. As toAvice, she was listening with those large ears for which little pitchersare proverbial. The Bishop had spoken quietly, as if it were anevery-day occurrence, of this enormous change which would affect theirwhole lives.
"Verily, Father, you are too good to us," said Muriel gratefully.
"And I will try to thank you, Father," added Agnes, "when I get back mysenses, and can find out whether I am on my head or my heels."
The Bishop and his chaplain laughed; and Agnes, recalled to her dutiesby seeing the soup-bowl empty, jumped up and took down the spit on whicha chicken was roasting at the fire. Chickens were dear just then, andthis one had cost three farthings, having been provided in honour ofcompany. People helped themselves in those days in a very rough andsimple manner. Agnes held the chicken on the spit to the Bishop, whocut from it with his own knife the part he preferred; then she servedthe chaplain and Muriel in the same way, and lastly cut some off forherself and Avice. Finally, when little was left beside the carcase,she opened the back door, and bestowed the remains on Manikin theturnspit dog, a little wiry, shaggy cur, which, released from hislabours, had sat on the hearth licking his lips while the process ofhelping went on, knowing that his reward would come at last. Manikintrotted off into the yard with his treasure, and Agnes came back to thetable and the subject.
"Truly, holy Father, I know not how to thank you. But indeed I will domy best to deserve your good word, should it please God so to order thesame."
"I doubt not thou wilt do well, my daughter. Bear thou in mind thatChrist our Lord is thy Master, and thy service must be good enough to belaid at His feet. Then shalt thou well serve the Queen."
Agnes was a very ignorant woman. Bishop Grosteste, being himself a wiseman, could not at all realise how ignorant she was. She knew verylittle how to serve God, but she did really wish to do it. And that,after all, is the great thing. Those who have the will can surely,sooner or later, find out how.
When the guests were gone, Agnes threw another log of wood upon thefire, and came and stood before it. "Well, Mother, what must we dotouching this matter? Verily I am all of a tumblement. What thinkyou?"
"I think, my daughter," said old Muriel calmly from the chimney-corner,"that we are not going to set forth for London within this nexthalf-hour."
"Nay, truly; yet we must think well on it."
"We shall do well to sleep on it, and yet better to ask counsel of theLord."
"But we must go, Mother! It would never do to offend the holy Bishop!"
"Bishop Robert my brother is not he that should be angered because wepreferred God's counsel to his. But it may be that we shall find, afterprayer and thought, that his counsel is God's."
It was to that conclusion they came the next day.
After the Bishop's departure, for a long time all was bustle andconfusion. Agnes declared that she did not know where her head was, norsometimes whether she had any. Avice was at the height of enjoyment.Old Muriel went quietly about her work, keeping at it, "doing the nextthing," and got through more work than either.
The Bishop did all he could to help them. He found them a tenant forthe house, lent them money--all his money not spent on real necessarieswas either lent or given to such as needed it more than he did; and atlast he sent them southwards on his own horses, and in charge of threeof his servants. From Lincoln to Windsor was a five days' journey ofrather long stages; and when at last they reached the royal borough,simple--minded Agnes had begun to feel as if no further power ofastonishment were left in her mind.
"Dear, I never thought the world was so big!" she had said before theyleft Grantham; and when they arrived at Aylesbury, her cry was--"Eh,what a power of folks be in this world!"
Old Muriel took her journey, as she did everything, calmly. She, likeBishop Grosteste himself, lived too much with God to be easily startledor overawed by the grandeur of man. Avice was in a state of excitementand delight through the whole time.
They slept at a small inn; and the next morning, one of the Bishop'sservants, who had received his orders beforehand, took up to the Castlea letter from his master, and waited to hear when it would please theQueen to see them. He came back in an hour, with the news that theQueen would receive them that afternoon.
Agnes was in a condition of restless flutter till the time came. Thenthey dressed themselves in their very best, and Luke, the Bishop'sservant, took them up to the Castle.
If Agnes had felt confused at the mere idea of her interview, she foundthe reality still more overwhelming than she expected. The first thingshe realised was that she stood in an immense hall, surrounded by whatseemed to her a crowd of very smart gentlemen. Then they were ledthrough passages and galleries, upstairs and downstairs, till Agnes feltas though she could never hope to find her way back; and at last, in avery handsome room, where the walls were covered with painting, and thefurniture upholstered in silk, they came into the midst of a secondcrowd of very grand ladies. By this time poor Agnes had quite lost herhead; and when one of the fine ladies asked her what she wanted, shecould only drop a succession of courtesies and look totally bewildered.Old Muriel managed better.
"Under your leave, Madam, we have been sent for by my Lady the Queen."
"Oh, are you the people who come about the nurses' place?" said theyoung lady, who looked good-natured enough. "Follow me, and I will leadyou to the Queen's chamber."
How many more chambers can there be? was the wonder uppermost in themind of Agnes. But they walked through several more, each to her eyesgrander than the last, painted, with stained glass windows, andsilk-covered furniture. At length the young lady desired them to wait amoment where they were, while she took in their names to the Queen. Shedrew back a crimson silk curtain, and disappeared behind it; and thethree--for they had never thought of leaving Avice behind--stood lookinground them in admiring astonishment. They were not left to wonder long.The curtain was drawn back, and the voice of some unseen person badethem go forward.
They found themselves in a smaller room than the last, beautifullydecorated. The walls were painted a very pale blue, and large frescoesornamented each side of the chamber. Thick marble columns, highlypolished, jutted out into the room, and in the recess between each pairwas a marble bench, with cushions of crimson samite. Two walnut-woodchairs, furnished with crimson samite cushions, stood in the middle ofthe room. Small leaf-tables were fixed to the walls here and there.The floor was of waxed wood, very slippery to tread upon. At thefarther side of the room two doors stood open, side by side, the oneleading to a little oratory in the turret, the other to a balcony whichran round the tower. In one corner a young lady sat at an embroideryframe, and in another a little girl of seven years old, who deeplyinterested Avice, was feeding her pet peacock. In one of the chairs,with some fancy work in her hand, sat a lady whose age was abouttwenty-eight, and whose rich dress of gold-coloured samite, and the goldand pearl fillet which bound her hair, divided Avice's attention withthe child and the peacock. Agnes was dropping flurried courtesies toeverybody at once. Muriel, who seemed to have a much better notion ofwhat she ought to do, took a step forward, and knelt before the lady whosat in the chair.
"Lady," she said, "we are the Queen's servants."
Queen Eleanor, for it was she, looked up on them with a smile. She wasa beautiful brunette, lively and animated when she spoke, but with aneasy-going, lazy expression when she did not. It struck Avice, who hadeyes for everything, and was making good use of them, that her Majestymight have brushed her rich dark hair a little smoother, and havefastened her diamond brooch less unevenly than she had done.
It was the pleasanter side of Queen Eleanor which was being shown tothem. She could be very pleasant when she was pleased, and very kindand affable when she liked people. But she could be very harsh andtyrannical to those whom she did not like; and she was one of those manypeople wit
h whom out of sight is out of mind. Let her see a sufferingchild, and she would be sorry and anxious to help; but a thousandsuffering people whom she did not see, even if something which she didhad made them suffer, were nothing at all to her.
The Queen liked her visitors. She thought old Muriel looked reliable;she was amused with the bewildered reverence of Agnes; and as to Avice,a child more or less in Windsor Castle mattered very little. She woulddo to feed the peacock when Princess Margaret did not choose to attendto it. So the bargain was soon struck; and almost before she haddiscovered what was going to happen to her, Agnes found herself theday-nurse of the Lord Richard, the little Prince who was then in thecradle. Muriel was made mistress of the nurses; and even little Avicereceived a formal appointment as waiting-damsel on the PrincessMargaret, the little girl who was feeding the peacock. They were thendismissed from the royal presence.
"Thou hadst better go with them, Margaret Bysset," said the Queen, witha rather amused smile, to the young lady who had brought them in;"otherwise they may wander about all day."
Guided by Margaret Bysset, they retraced their steps through the suiteof rooms, down winding stairs, and across the hall, to the great doorwhich led into the courtyard of the Castle.
"Can you find your way now?" asked the young lady.
"Nay, we can but try!" said Agnes. "Pray you, my mistress, how manychambers be there in this Castle?"
"Truly, I have not counted them," was the laughing answer.
"Eh, dear, but I marvel if I can ever find mine own when we come todwell here!"
"That will you soon enough. Look, here cometh your serving-man. Giveyou good morrow!"
A few days saw them safely housed in the Castle, where two of them wereto dwell for ten years before they returned to their own home atLincoln. But old Muriel was never to return. She lived through halfthat time, just long enough to hear of the death of Bishop Grosteste,who passed away on the ninth of October 1253. He literally died weepingfor the sins of his age.
"Christ came into the world to save souls," were the words uttered withhis last breath. "He who takes pains to ruin them, shall he not becalled Antichrist? God built the universe in six days; but it took Himthirty years to redeem fallen man. The Church can never be deliveredbut by the sword from the Egyptian bondage in which the Popes hold her."
The good old Bishop could say no more. His voice broke down in tears;and with one great sob for England he yielded up his soul.
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