CHAPTER FOUR.
BENEATH BLUE SKY.
"Ere suns and moons could wax and wane Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled The heavens, God thought on me His child, Ordained a life for me, arrayed Its circumstances every one To the minutest; ay, God said This head this hand should rest upon Thus, ere He fashioned star or sun."
Robert Browning.
The 24th of October brought the expected letter from Simon Pendexter tothe master of Bradmond, and another from Marian to the mistress.Simon's epistle was read first; but it proved to require both an Englishdictionary and a Latin lexicon. Simon wrote of "circumstances," [then anew and affected word], of the "culpable dexterity" of the rebels whohad visited Bradmond, of their "inflammatory promulgation," of the"celerity" of his own actions in reply, and of his "debarring fromdilation the aforesaid _ignis_." He left them in a cloud of words, ofwhich Dr Thorpe understood about half, and Isoult much less. John,being a little wiser, was called upon for a translation. "Hang me if Iknow what the fellow is a-writing about!" testily cried Dr Thorpe."Jack, do thou put this foolery into decent English!"
"The enclosure men burnt your house, old friend," said John. "Havethere the English."
"Plain enough at last, by my troth!" cried he.
A little more progress was made with Mr Pendexter's missive, when Isoultinterrupted it by exclaiming--
"Do tell me what he meaneth, Jack!"
"They set our house afire, dear heart, but he soon put it out,"translated John.
"It was likely afeard of his big ruffling words!" said Dr Thorpe.
The letter concluded thus:--"With the which considerations, I do commityour Honour to the tuition of God. Inscribed at Bodmin, _die Veneris_,the fourth in the month of October. By the hand of your Honour's mostundemeritous and obeisant _paedagogus_, Simon Pendexter."
"This companion is clean out of his wits!" exclaimed Dr Thorpe.
"Isoult, read thy little letter," said John. "Metrusteth it shall bemore clear than Simon's, and, at all charges, 'tis shorter."
"Unto Mistress Avery, At the Minories in London."
"Mistress,--This shall be to advertise you (my lowly duties firstremembered), that the fourteenth of July come unto Bradmond the ill menyou wot of, and after casting mine husband and me forth of the housewith little gentleness, did spread themselves thereabout, drinking upthe wine in the cellar, and otherwise making great bruit and disorder.And in the end they set fire thereto, and departed. God helping us, weshortly had the fire under, for it began to rain; but the whole house isruinated, and a deal of mischief done. Mistress, all the hangings beburned or torn, and the furniture is but splinters; and the very wallsso knocked about, and the garden all trampled and desolated, that I amwell assured, were you this minute on the ground you should not findconveniency to enter and abide for many a long day yet. And in goodsooth, 'twill lack a mint of money spent thereon ere the house be meetfor any, let be a gentleman and gentlewoman of your honourableness.Mistress, they tare away all the shutters, and tare up the planks ofsome of the floors: and they left not a latch nor an andiron whole inall the house. Mine husband hath writ to Mr Avery. From Bodmin, thisfourth day of October. Mistress, I do beseech you of your gentleness togive my poor sister to know that I do fare well, and trust so doth shelikewise.
"By the rude hand of her that is your servant, Marian Pendexter."
"Rude hand!" said John. "Commend me to Marian Pendexter for the writingof a letter. 'Tis one-half so long as Simon's, and tells us twice somuch as he; and her round letters be as clear as print, while his be allquips and flourishes. Well, I account we shall needs abide hither forsome time, Isoult; but methinks I must ride home, and see how mattersstand; and if the garden be truly desolated as for roses and the like,well, the ground may as well be set with carrots and cabbages, that canbe sold. And on my return hither, I must set me, as fast as I may, untothe making of _pecunia_, as Simon hath it, in my calling. Metrusteththe house shall not need to be pulled down and built up again; for thatshould take, methinks, some years to raise. Howbeit, 'tis no goodlooking forward too far."
Dr Thorpe said, when he had sat for a time in silence, "Ah, well! thewill of the Lord be done! I trow they shall scantly burn mine otherhouse, in that city which hath foundations."
"Mr Edward Underhill, the Hot Gospeller."
Isoult Avery looked up and rose when John made this announcement, to theevident amusement of the person introduced.
The Hot Gospeller's age was thirty-seven; of his personal appearance wehave no trustworthy account. It may safely be asserted that hisfeelings were strong, his affections warm, his partisanship fervent, andhis organ of humour decidedly developed. I picture him lithe and quick,with ready tongue and brilliant eyes; but perhaps I am as much mistakenas Isoult was concerning Alice Wikes. If the mania "_de faire sonportrait_" which was so much the fashion in France in the reign of Louisthe Fourteenth had pervaded England in the sixteenth century, we mighthave obtained much curious information which is now lost to us.
When all the members of our little group were gathered round thedinner-table,--which was not until eleven a.m., for the Averys dinedunusually late that day--Dr Thorpe laid the subject which had beendiscussed before Mr Underhill, and requested his opinion on the matter.Could he find a man for the time?
Isoult shook her head dubiously.
"With whom take you part?" said Dr Thorpe.
"With both of you," answered Mr Underhill. "I lean to Mistress Avery'sthought that there is no man for the time; but I do partly share youropinion, in that methinks there may be a woman."
"A woman, Mr Underhill?" cried Isoult, in amazement.
"What woman?" said Dr Thorpe. "My Lady Duchess of Suffolk, I ween.Nay, Master; she is good enough as may be, but her money-bags are asight scantier than when my Lord Duke was in life."
"My Lady of Suffolk! not she, forsooth," replied he. "Nay, good Doctor;mine hopes are anchored (under God) on none other than the King's `sweetsister Temperance'--my young Lady Elizabeth's Grace."
"The Lady Elizabeth!" repeated Dr Thorpe, in a voice which intimated hismeaning. "A child at her book and needle, Master Underhill!"
"She will not alway be so," answered he. "Nor shall she be such long."
"And afore her standeth another," continued the doctor.
"Afore her standeth another," repeated Mr Underhill. "Nor shall any manalive ever see me to do evil that good may come. But I scantlysignified all you would make me to say. I did but point to my LadyElizabeth's power with the King, not to her being one to stand in herown power, which God long defend!"
Dr Thorpe shook his head in turn, but did not further explain himself.
"You have friends at Court," said John to Mr Underhill. "Which of theseladies is commonly thought to stand best with the King her brother?"
"The Lady Elizabeth, by many a mile," answered he. "And to go by what Ihear from her tutor Mr Ascham, a fair and ready wit enough she hath.The Lady Frances [Note 1] her daughters, likewise, be great with theKing, and are young damsels of right sweet nature and good learning, sofar as their young age may show the same."
"What say men of the King's wedding?" quoth Dr Thorpe. "Is it yet theQueen of Scots?"
"The friends of my Lord Protector say 'tis a Princess of France; and hisfoes will have it that had he not fallen too soon, it should have been--the Lady Jane Seymour."
"What, my Lord Protector his daughter?" inquired Isoult.
"She," said Mr Underhill.
"That hath an ill look, an' it were so," remarked John, thoughtfully.
"`Less like than Paul's steeple to a dagger sheath,'" quoted Dr Thorpe,who was rather fond of proverbs.
"Go to, Jack! we are all for ourselves in this world," responded MrUnderhill philosophically. "As to like, it may be no more like thanchalk to cheese, and yet be in every man's mouth from Aldgate to theBarbican. My Lord Protector is neither better nor worse than other men.If you or I were in his shoes, we should do the like.
"
"I trust not, friend," said John, smiling.
"A rush for your trust!" laughed Mr Underhill. "I would not trusteither of us."
"But I would so!" said Isoult warmly. "Mr Underhill, you surely thinknot that if Jack were Lord Protector, he should strive and plot for theKing to espouse our Kate?"
"Of course he would," said Underhill coolly. "And so would you."
"Never!" she cried.
"Well, I am sure I should. Think you I would not by my good will see myNan a queen?" answered he.
"With a reasonable chance of Tower Hill?" suggested Avery. "You and Ihave seen queens come to _that_, Ned Underhill."
"Well, there is better air at the Lime Hurst," replied Underhillsententiously.
A long conference was held concerning the repairs at Bradmond. Theresolution finally adopted was that John should ride home and ascertainwhat the state of affairs really was. Hitherto the family had beenliving on their rents, with little need for professional work on John'spart unless it pleased him. Slight repairs, however, would entailsaving; and serious ones might keep them in London for years, until hehad laid up sufficient money to defray them.
"'Tis all in the day's work," he said lightly, to cheer his wife. "Imust have a factor to see unto the place, and for that Simon Pendextershall serve, if he affright not the poor tenants with his long words;and I myself must needs set to work hard. 'Twill do me good, dearheart; (for he saw Isoult look sad) I have hitherto been lazy, and onlyhave played at working."
So John left London on the first of November, along with a convoy oftravellers bound for Exeter; charging Isoult to make acquaintance in hisabsence with Mrs Rose and Mrs Underhill, with the object of giving hersomething to do.
"And think not, sweet wife," said he, "that we be all going a-begging,because of what I said touching money. I cast no doubt to make morethan enough thereof in my calling to keep all us, and that comfortably;only if there lack much outlay at Bodmin, it shall need time to gatherwherewith to pay it. Above all, I would not with my good will have anystint in mine hospitality, specially unto them that be of the householdof faith. Leave us not turn Christ our Master out at the doors, at theleast unless we need go there ourselves with Him."
A week after John's departure, Isoult put his advice into action, ratherbecause he had given it, than with any real hope of dispelling theintense loneliness she felt. Robin went with her, and Kate, all ridingupon Bayard, to West Ham, where they were directed to a small house nearthe church as the residence of the parson. For in those days parson hadnot lost its original honourable meaning, whereby the clergyman wasspoken of as _par excellence_ "the person" in the parish. The trioalighted, and Isoult rapped at the door. A girl of fifteen answered theknock.
She was tall for her age, but slenderly built. Her hair was of thefairest shade of golden--the pale gold of our old poets--and her eyeswere brown. Not a bright, shining brown; this brown was deep and misty,and its light was the light given back from a lake, not the light of astar. In her face there was no rose at all; it was pure and pale as asnowdrop; and her look, Isoult thought, was like the look of an angel.Her smile was embodied sweetness; her voice soft and low, clear as asilver bell. There are few such voices out of England, but thecombination of fair hair with dark eyes is the Venetian style of beauty.Rare in any land, yet there are occasional instances in each. Forsuch, in Italy, was Dante's Beatrice; such, in Germany, was Louise ofStolberg, the wife of the last Stuart; and such, with ourselves, was"England's Elizabeth."
"Doth Mistress Rose here dwell, and may one have speech of her?"inquired Isoult of the vision before her.
"Will it please you to take the pain to come within?" answered the sweetvoice. "I am Thekla Rose."
Wondering at a name which she had never heard before, Isoult sufferedThekla to lead her into a small, pleasant parlour, where Mrs Rose satspinning. She was a comely, comfortable-looking woman of middle height,round-faced and rosy, with fair hair like her daughter's, but grey eyes.Isoult had forgotten her foreign origin till she heard her speak. HerEnglish, however, was fluent and pleasant enough; and she told hervisitors that she came from a town in Flanders, close to the Germanborder.
"Where," pursued Mrs Rose, "people are bred up in their common life tospeak four tongues; which shall say, Flemish--that is the language ofFlanders; and Spanish--the Spaniards do rule over us; and Low Dutch[German],--because we have much to do with the Low Dutch; and the betterbred women also French. And I teach my Thekla all these tongues, savingthe Flemish; for they speak not Flemish only in Flanders; it should doher not much good. But in all these four tongues have I kinsfolk; formy father was a true-born Fleming, and to him I alway spake Flemish; andmy mother was a Spanish woman, and I spake Spanish with her; and myfather's brother was wedded unto a dame of Low Dutchland (for whom mydaughter is named Thekla, which is a Low Dutch name); and his sister didmarry a Frenchman. So you shall see I am akin to all this world!"
Mistress Rose entreated her guests to stay for four-hours, when shehoped Mr Rose would be at home; but Isoult was somewhat afraid of losingher way in the dark, and declined. So she called her maid, and bade herbring cakes and ale, and take Bayard to the shed where their nag wasstabled, and give him a mess of oats; begging them at least to stay anhour or two. Then Robin came in, and talked to Thekla and Kate, whileIsoult was occupied with Mrs Rose. Mr Rose they did not see; his wifesaid he was in his parish, visiting the people. So at two o'clock theydeparted, and reached home just as the dusk fell.
The next day Isoult rode to the Lime Hurst, to see Mrs Underhill. Shefound her a pleasant motherly woman, full of kindness and cordiality.As they sat and talked Mr Underhill came in, and joined theconversation; telling Isoult, among other matters, how he had once savedLord Russell from drowning, the heir of the House of Bedford. The boyhad been thrown into the Thames opposite his house, in a bitterly coldwinter; and Underhill, springing in after him, rescued him, carried himto his own house, and nursed him back to life. Since that time the Earlof Bedford had been the attached friend of his child's preserver.[Underhill's Narrative, Harl. Ms. 425, folio 87, b.]
When Isoult returned home, she found a letter from Annis Hollandawaiting her. It contained an urgent invitation from the Duchess ofSuffolk to visit her at her little villa at Kingston-on-Thames. Isoulthesitated to accept the invitation, but Dr Thorpe, who thought shelooked pale and tired, over-ruled her, chiefly by saying that he wassure John would prefer her going; so she wrote to accept the offer, andstarted with Robin on the following Monday.
Skirting the City wall, they passed through Smithfield and Holborn, andturned away from Saint Giles into the Reading road, the precursor ofPiccadilly. The roads were good for the time of year, and they reachedKingston before dark. The next morning Robin returned home, with strictcharges to fetch Isoult in a week, and sooner should either of thechildren fall ill.
After Robin's departure, Isoult waited on the Duchess, whom she foundsitting in a cedar chamber, the casement looking on the river and theterrace above it. As the friends sat and talked in came a small whitedog, wagging its tail, but with very dirty paws.
"Get out, Doctor Gardiner!" cried her Grace, rising hastily, as thesoiled paws endeavoured to jump upon her velvet dress. "I cannot abidesuch unclean paws. Go get you washed ere you come into my chamber!--Bertie!"
Mr Bertie came in from the antechamber at her Grace's call; and smilingwhen he saw what she wanted, he lifted the dog and set it outside.
"Have Dr Gardiner washed, prithee!" said the Duchess. "I love a cleandog, but I cannot abide a foul one."
Isoult could not help laughing when she heard her Grace call her dog byBishop Gardiner's name.
"He is easier cleansed than his namesake," she resumed, shaking herhead. "If my Lord of Winchester win again into power, I count I shallcome ill off. As thou wist, Isoult, I have a wit that doth at timesoutrun my discretion; and when I was last in London, passing by theTower, I did see Master Doctor Gardiner a-looking from, a li
ttle window.And `Good morrow, my Lord!' quoth I, in more haste than wisdom; `'tismerry with the lambs, now the wolves be kept close!' I count he willnot forgive me therefor in sharp haste."
Mr Bertie smiled and shook his head.
"Now, Bertie, leave thine head still!" said her Grace. "I know whatthou wouldst say as well as if I had it set in print. I am allindiscreetness, and thou all prudence. He that should bray our soulstogether in a mortar should make an excellent wit of both."
"Your Grace is too flattering, methinks," said Mr Bertie, still smiling.
"Am I so, verily?" answered she. "Isoult, what thinkest thou? 'Twasnot I that gave the dog his name; it was Bertie here (who should be'shamed of his deed, and is not so at all) and I did but take up thename after him. And this last summer what thinkest yon silly maidLucrece did? (one of the Duchess's waiting-women, a fictitious person).Why, she set to work and made a rochet in little, and set it on thedog's back. Heardst thou ever the like? And there was he, a-runningabout the house with his rochet on him, and all trailing in the mire. Iknow not whether Annis were wholly free of some knowledge thereof--norBertie neither. He said he knew not; I marvel whether he spake truth!"
"That did I, an't like your Grace," replied Mr Bertie, laughing. "I sawnot the rochet, neither knew of it, afore yourself."
"Well, I count I must e'en crede thee!" said she.
It struck Isoult that the Duchess and her gentleman usher wereuncommonly good friends; rather more so than was usual at that time.She set it down to their mutual Lutheranism; but she might have foundfor it another and a more personal reason, which they had not yetthought proper to declare openly. The Duchess and Bertie were privatelyengaged, but they told no one till their marriage astonished the world.
Isoult reached home on the sixteenth of December; and on Twelfth Day,1550, John returned from Cornwall. He brought word that the repairsneeded were more extensive than any one had supposed from the Pendexterepistles. Part of the house required rebuilding; and he was determinednot to begin before he could finish. The result was, that they wouldhave to remain in London, probably, for five or six years more.
Shortly after John's return, a gentleman called to see him. His namewas Roger Holland, and he was a merchant tailor in the City, but ofgentle birth, and related to the Earl of Derby. Isoult wished to knowif he could be any connection of her friend Annis. John thought not:but "thereby hung a tale."
"This gentleman," said John Avery, "was in his young years boundapprentice unto one Master Kempton, of the Blade Boy in Watling Street:and in this time he (being young and unwary) did fall into evil company,which caused him to game with them, and he all unskilfully lost untothem not only his own money, but (every groat) thirty pounds which hismaster had entrusted unto him to receive for him of them that ought it[owed it]. Moreover, at this time was he a stubborn Papist, in whichway he had been bred. So he, coming unto his master's house alldespairing, thought to make up his bundle, and escape away out of hismaster's house, (which was a stern man) and take refuge over seas, inFrance or Flanders. But afore he did this indiscreet thing, he wasavised [he made up his mind] to tell all unto a certain ancient anddiscreet maid that was servant in this his master's family, by nameElizabeth Lake, which had aforetime showed him kindness. So he gat upbetimes of the morrow, and having called unto her, he saith--`Elizabeth,I would I had followed thy gentle persuadings and friendly rebukes;which if I had done, I had never come to this shame and misery which Iam now fallen into; for this night have I lost thirty pounds of mymaster's money, which to pay him, and to make up mine accounts, I am notable. But this much I pray you, desire my mistress, that she wouldentreat my master to take this bill of my hand that I am this muchindebted unto him; and if I be ever able, I will see him paid; desiringhim that the matter may pass with silence, and that none of my kindrednor friends may ever understand this my lewd part; for if it should comeunto my father's ears, it would bring his grey hairs over-soon unto hisgrave.'
"And so would he have departed, like unto Sir Richard at the Lea, in thefair old ballad--
"`Fare wel, frende, and have good daye-- It may noo better be.'
[From "A Litel Geste of Robyn Hode."]
"But Elizabeth was as good unto him as ever Robin Hood unto the Knightof Lancashire; yea, and better, as shall be seen. `Stay,' saith she,and away went she forth of the chamber. And afore he was well over hissurprise thereat, back cometh she, and poured out of a purse before himon the table thirty pound in good red gold. This money she had by thedeath of a kinsman of hers, but then newly come unto her. Quoth she,`Roger, here is thus much money; I will let thee have it, and I willkeep this bill. But since I do thus much for thee, to help thee, and tosave thy honesty, thou shalt promise me to refuse all wild company, allswearing, and unseemly talk; and if ever I know thee to play onetwelve-pence at either dice or cards, then will I show this thy billunto my master. And furthermore, thou shalt promise me to resort everyday to the lecture at All Hallows, and the sermon at Poules everySunday, and to cast away all thy books of Papistry and vain ballads, andget thee the Testament and Book of Service, and read the Scriptures withreverence and fear, calling unto God still for His grace to direct theein His truth. And pray unto God fervently, desiring Him to pardon thyformer offences, and not to remember the sins of thy youth; and ever beafraid to break His laws, or offend His majesty. Then shall God keepthee, and send thee thy heart's desire.'
"So Mr Holland took her money, and kept his obligations unto her. Andin the space of one half-year, so mightily wrought God's Spirit withhim, that of a great Papist he became as fervent a Gospeller; and goinginto Lancashire unto his father, he took with him divers good books, andthere bestowed them, so that his father and others began to taste of thegospel, and to leave their idolatry and superstition: and at last hisfather, seeing the good reformation wrought in this his son, gave himfifty pounds to begin the world withal, and sent him again to London,where he now driveth a fair trade."
"And hath he met again with Mistress Lake," said Isoult, "and restoredunto her her thirty pounds?"
"That I cannot tell," returned John.
A letter came before long from Mr Barry, written at Christmas, andinforming his sister that matters were now settled and peaceable.Indeed, at Wynscote they had heard nothing of the rioters. ButPotheridge had been surrounded, and in answer to the rebels' summons tosurrender, Mr Monke had sent them a dauntless message of defiance: uponwhich they had replied with threats of terrible vengeance, but hadretired, discomfited at the first trial of strength, and never came nearthe place more.
Darker grew the clouds, meanwhile, over the prisoner in the Tower. Hisenemies drew up twenty-nine articles against him, and, going to him inhis captivity, read them to him, and informed the world that he hadhumbly confessed them.
"Well," said John Avery, "some of these be but matter for laughter. Towit, that the Duke did command multiplication [coining] and alcumistry,whereby the King's coin was abated. As though my Lord of Somersetshould take upon him to abate the King's coin!"
"Nay, better men than he have dealt with alcumistry," answered DrThorpe. "The former charge moveth my laughter rather,--That my saidLord hath done things too much by himself: to wit, without the knowledgeand sage avisement of these my Lords of the King's Council. Is there somuch as one of them that would not do the same an' he had the chance?"
"Why," said Avery, "he had the chance, and therein lieth his offence.They had not, and therein lieth their virtue."
From two poor innocent lambs cruelly pent up by the Protector, now thathe was himself in durance, there came a great outcry for relief. Thesewere the imprisoned prelates, Bonner and Gardiner. The latter said that"he had been in prison one year and a quarter and a month; and he lackedair to relieve his body, and books to relieve his mind, and good company(the only solace of this world), and lastly, a just cause why he shouldhave come thither at all." How well can the wolf counterfeit the lamb!Had none of his prisoners lacked air, and books?
And had my Lord Bishopof Winchester been so careful to see to a just cause in the case ofevery man he sent to Tower or Fleet?
On the 27th of January the leaders of the Devon riots were hanged atTyburn; the chief of whom was Humphrey Arundel. And on the 6th ofFebruary the Duke of Somerset was delivered from the Tower, and sufferedto go home; but four days before a change had been made in the Council,the Earls of Arundel and Southampton being dismissed and ordered to keeptheir houses in London during the King's pleasure.
Mrs Rose and Thekla came several times to visit Isoult, and she returnedthe compliment. And one day in February came Philippa Basset, who wasabout to go into Cheshire, to visit her sister, Lady Bridget Carden,with whom she passed nearly a year before Isoult saw her again. LadyBridget really was not her sister at all, she being Lord Lisle'sdaughter, and Philippa Lady Lisle's; but they had been educated assisters, and as sisters they loved. Not long afterwards, Sir FrancisJobson resigned his office at the Tower, and went home to his own estateof Monkwich, in Essex. His wife was the Lady Elizabeth, sister of LadyBridget; and with her Philippa had lived ever since she came to London.When she came back, therefore, she was forced to look out for anotherhome, for she did not wish to follow them into Essex: and she went toher own youngest brother, Mr James Basset, who had a house in London.
All this while the Reformation was quietly progressing. On the 19th ofApril, Bishop Ridley came to Saint Paul's Cathedral, in communion-time,and received the sacrament, together with Dr May, the Dean, and DrBarne; both the Dean and the Bishop took the consecrated bread in theirhands, instead of holding out the tongue, for the priest to put thewafer upon it. And before the Bishop would come into the choir, hecommanded all the lights that were on the Lord's Table to be put out.The Dean, who was a Lutheran, was well pleased at all this; but not soother men who were more kindly disposed towards Popery; and there wasmuch murmuring and disputing.
At this time the Princess Mary was hanging between life and death atKenninghall. We know now how all things had been changed had she died.But God could not spare her who was to be (however unwittingly orunwillingly) the purifier of His Church, to show which was the dross,and which the gold.
Some turmoil was also made concerning Joan Boucher, an Anabaptist girlwho had been condemned for heresy, and was burned in Smithfield on the2nd of May. The Papal party, ever ready to throw stones at theProtestants, cried that "the old burning days were come again," and thatArchbishop Cranmer was just as much a persecutor as Bishop Gardiner.They saw no difference between a solitary victim of the one (if JoanBoucher can be called so), and the other's piles of martyrs. Isoult,rather puzzled about the question, referred it to her husband--themanner in which she usually ended her perplexities.
"Dear heart," said he, "there be so few that can keep the mean. Whenmen take God's sword in hand, is it any wonder that they handle it ill?"
"But wouldst thou leave such ill fawtors unchastened, Jack?" exclaimedDr Thorpe rather indignantly.
"That were scantly the mean, I take it," quietly returned he.
Mr Underhill was just then busied in presenting before the Archbishop ofCanterbury his parish priest, Mr Albutt, Vicar of Stepney, for hisunseemly behaviour to the Lutheran clergy who came, by order of the Kingand the Archbishop, to preach in his church. For he disturbed thepreachers in his church (writes Underhill), "causing bells to be rungwhen they were at the sermon, and sometimes began to sing in the choirbefore the sermon were half done, and sometimes would challenge[publicly dispute his doctrines] the preacher in the pulpit; for he wasa strong stout Popish prelate. But the Archbishop was too full oflenity; a little he rebuked him, and bade him do no more so."
"My Lord," said Mr Underhill, "I think you are too gentle unto so stouta Papist."
"Well," said he, "we have no law to punish them by."
"No law, my Lord!" cried Mr Underhill; "If I had your authority, I wouldbe so bold as to un-vicar him, or minister some sharp punishment untohim and such other. If ever it come to their turn, they will show youno such favour."
"Well," said the Archbishop in his gentle manner, "if God so provide, wemust all bide it."
"Surely," answered Mr Underhill in his manner, which was blunt andfearless, "God shall never con you thanks [owe you thanks] for this, butrather take the sword from such as will not use it upon his enemies."[Note 2.]
Mr and Mrs Rose, Thekla, and Mr Underhill, dined at the sign of the Lambone day in June. Unfortunately, their conversation turned upon thesuccession: and owing to the warmth of the weather, or of Mr EdwardUnderhill, it became rather exciting. Mr Rose was unexpectedly found tohold what that gentleman considered heretical political views: namely,that if the King should die childless, it would be competent to theGospellers to endeavour to hinder the succession of the Princess Mary infavour of the Princess Elizabeth. This, Underhill hotly protested,would be doing evil that good might come.
"And," said he, "if it come to that pass, I myself, though I would athousand times rather have my Lady Elizabeth to reign, yet would I girdon my sword over my buff jerkin, and fight for the Lady Mary!"
Mr Rose shook his head, but did not speak.
"Right is right, Thomas Rose!" cried Underhill, somewhat hotly.
"Truth, friend," answered he, "and wrong is wrong. But which were theright, and which were the wrong, of these two afore God, perchance youand I might differ."
"Differ, forsooth!" cried Underhill again. "Be two and two come to makefive? or is there no variance in your eyes betwixt watchet [pale blue]and brasil [red]? The matter is as plain to be seen as WestminsterAbbey, if a man shut not his eyes."
"I have known men do such things," said Mr Rose, with his quiet smile.
"I thank you, my master!" responded Underhill. "So have I."
"Now, Ned Underhill, leave wrangling," said Avery. "We be none of usneither prophets nor apostles."
"`Brethren, be ye all of one mind,'" repeated Dr Thorpe.
"I am ready enough to be of one mind with Rose," said Underhill, "an' hewill listen to reason."
"That is," answered John, smiling, "an' he will come over to you, andlook through your spectacles."
"Man o' life! we can't be both right!" cried Underhill, striking hishand heavily on the table.
"You may be both wrong, Ned," gently suggested John.
"Come, Rose!" said Underhill, cooling as suddenly as he had heated, andholding out his hand. "We are but a pair of fools to quarrel. Iforgive you."
"I knew not that I quarrelled with you, friend," said Mr Rose, with hisquiet smile; "and I have nothing to forgive."
But he put his hand in Underhill's readily enough.
"You are a better Christian than I, methinks," muttered Underhill,somewhat ashamed. "But you know what a hot fellow I am."
"We will both essay to be as good Christians as we can," quietlyanswered Mr Rose; "and that is, as like Christ as we can. Methinks Hescantly gave hot words to Peter, whether the Emperor Tiberius Caesarshould have reigned or no."
"Ah!" said John, gravely, "he that should think first how Christ shouldanswer, should rarely indeed be found in hot words, and in evil, never."
"Well," replied Mr Underhill, "I am of complexion somewhat like Peter.I could strike off the ear of Malchus an' I caught him laying hands onmy Master (yea, I know not if I should stay at the ear); and it had beenmuch had I kept that sword off the High Priest himself. Ay, though Ihad been hanged the hour after."
"The cause seemeth to lack such men at times," said John, thoughtfully,"and then the Lord raiseth them up. But we should not forget, Ned, that`they which take the sword shall perish with the sword.'"
"Well!" cried Underhill, "I care not if I do perish with the sword, if Imay first mow down a score or twain of the enemies of the Gospel."
"Such men commonly do so," said Mr Rose aside to Isoult, by whom he sat.
"Do what?" broke in Underhill, who heard it.
"Do perish with the sword," answered he firmly, looking him full in theface.
/> "Amen!" cried the other. "I am abundantly ready--only, pray you, let mehave a good tilt with the old _mumpsimuses_ first." [Note 3.]
"I would I were a little more like you, Underhill," said Mr Rose. "Icould suffer, as methinks, and perchance fly, an' I had the opportunity;but resist or defend me, that could I not."
"Call me to resist and defend you," answered Underhill. "It were rightin my fashion."
"You may not be within call," said Mr Rose somewhat gloomily. "But Godwill be so."
"Mr Rose," said Isoult, "look you for a further persecution, that youspeak thus?"
Thekla's eyes filled with tears.
"As Jack saith, Mrs Avery," he answered, "I am neither prophet norapostle. But methinks none of us is out of his place upon thewatch-tower. There be black clouds in the sky--very blackthunder-clouds. How know I whether they shall break or pass over? OnlyGod knoweth; and He shall carry us all safe through them that havetrusted ourselves to Him. That is a word full of signification--`Someof you shall they cause to be put to death... _Yet_ shall not an hairof your heads perish.' Our Master may leave any of His servants to dieor suffer; He will never allow so much as one of them to perish. Obrethren! only let the thunder find us watching, praying always; andwhether we escape or no, we are assured that we shall be `counted worthyto stand before the Son of Man.' I would not like to `be _ashamed_before Him at His coming.'"
No one answered. All were too full of thought for words.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The Lady Frances was the eldest daughter of Charles Duke ofSuffolk by his fourth wife, the Princess Mary, and was therefore in theline of succession to the throne. Her daughters were the Ladies Jane,Katherine, and Mary Grey.
Note 2. Harl. Ms. 425, folio 93.--Underhill gives no date for thisincident beyond saying "In King Edward's time."
Note 3. In the reign of Henry the Eighth, an old priest was found whofor forty years had read the word _sumpsimus_ in his breviary as_mumpsimus_. On being remonstrated with, he retorted that "He would notleave his old _mumpsimus_ for their new _sumpsimus_." This story waslong popular with the Gospellers, who dubbed the Popish priests_mumpsimuses_.
Robin Tremayne Page 4