CHAPTER SEVEN.
VIA DOLOROSA.
"We bless Thee for the quiet rest Thy servant taketh now, We bless Thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; For every weary step he trod in faithful following Thee, And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly."
The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin was filled to overflowing, but itwas not the church we know as such now. That more ancient edifice hadbeen built in the days of Alfred, and its nave was closely packed withthe clergy of Oxford and the neighbourhood, save a circle of curulechairs reserved for the members of the Council. Into the midst of theexcited crowd of clergy--among whom were sprinkled as many laymen,chiefly of the upper class, as could find room to squeeze in--filed animposing procession of dignitaries--priests, archdeacons, bishops--allrobed in full canonicals; the Bishop of the diocese being preceded byhis crucifer. There was as yet no bishopric of Oxford, and the diocesewas that of Lincoln. It was a point of the most rigid ecclesiasticaletiquette that no prelate should have his official cross borne beforehim in the diocese of another: and the standing quarrel between the twoarchbishops on that point was acute and long lasting. The clericalprocession was closed by the Dean of Saint Mary's--John de Oxineford--awarm opponent of Becket, the exiled and absent Primate. After theclergy came a number of the chief officers of state, and lastly, KingHenry the Second, who took his seat in the highest of the curule chairs,midmost among the others.
The first of the Plantagenets was no common man. Like most of his race,he was a born statesman; and also like most of them, he allowed his evilpassions and natural corruption such free scope that his talents weresmothered under their weight. In person he was of middle stature,somewhat thickly built, with a large round head covered by curly hair,cut square upon the forehead. Long arms ended in large hands, the careof which he entirely neglected, never wearing gloves save when hecarried a hawk. His complexion was slightly florid, his eyes small butclear and sparkling, dove-like when he was pleased, but flashing fire inhis anger. Though his voice was tremulous, yet he could be an eloquentspeaker. He rarely sat down, but commonly stood, whether at mass,council, or meals. Except on ceremonial occasions, he was extremelycareless in his attire, wearing short clothes of a homely cut, andrequiring some persuasion to renew them. He detested every thing thatcame in the way of his convenience, whether long skirts, hangingsleeves, royal mantles, or boots with folding tops. He was (for histime) a great reader, a "huge lover of the woods" and of all sylvansports, fond of travelling, a very small eater, a generous almsgiver, afaithful friend--and a good hater. The model example which he setbefore him as a statesman was that of his grandfather, Henry First. TheEmpress Maud, his mother, was above all things Norman, and was nowliving in Normandy in peaceful old age. Perhaps her stormy and eventfullife had made her _feel_ weary of storms, for she rarely emerged fromher retirement except in the character of a peacemaker. Certainly shehad learnt wisdom by adversity. Her former supercilious sternness wasgone, and a meek and quiet spirit, which earned the respect of all, hadtaken its place. She may have owed that change, and her quiet close oflife, instrumentally, in some measure to the prayers of the good QueenMaud, that sweet and saintly mother to whom Maud the Empress had in herchildhood and maturity been so complete a contrast, and whom she nowresembled in her old age. Her son was unhappily not of her later tone,but rather of the earlier, though he rarely reached those passionatedepths of pride and bitterness through which his aged mother hadstruggled into calm. He did not share her Norman proclivities, butlooked back--as the mass of his people did with him--to the old Saxonlaws of Alfred and of Athelstan, which he called the customs of hisgrandfather. In a matter of trial for heresy, or a question ofdoctrine, he was the obedient servant of Rome; but when the Pope laidofficious hands on the venerable customs of England, and strove todictate in points of state law, he found no obedient servant in Henry ofAnjou.
This morning, being a ceremonial occasion, His Majesty's attire hadrisen to it. He wore a white silken tunic, the border richlyembroidered in gold; a crimson dalmatic covered with golden stars; amantle of blue samite, fastened on the right shoulder with a goldenfermail set with a large ruby; and red hose, crossed by golden bands allup the leg. The mantle was lined with grey fur; golden lioncelsdecorated the fronts of the black boots; and a white samite cap, adornedwith ostrich feathers, and rising out of a golden fillet, reposed on theKing's head.
When the members of the Council had taken their seats, and the Bishop ofLichfield had offered up sundry Latin prayers which about one in ten ofthe assembled company understood, the King rose to open the Council.
"It is not unknown to you, venerable Fathers," he said, "for whatpurpose I have convened this Council. There have come into my kingdomcertain persons, foreigners, from the dominions of the Emperor, who havegone about the country preaching strange doctrines, and who appear tobelong to some new foreign sect. I am unwilling to do injustice, eitherby punishing them without investigation, or by dismissing them asharmless if they are contaminating the faith and morals of the people.But inasmuch as it appertains to holy Church to judge questions of thatnature, I have here summoned you, my Fathers in God, and your clergy,that you may examine these persons, and report to me how far they areinnocent or guilty of the false doctrines whereof they are suspected. Ipray you therefore so to do: and as you shall report, so shall I knowhow to deal with them."
His Majesty reseated himself, and the Bishop of the diocese rose, todeliver a long diatribe upon the wickedness of heresy, the infallibilityof the Church, and the necessity for the amputation of diseased limbs ofthe body politic. As nobody disagreed with any of his sentiments, theharangue was scarcely necessary; but time was of small value in thetwelfth century. Two other Bishops followed, with long speeches: andthen the Council adjourned for dinner, the Earl of Oxford being theirhost.
On re-assembling about eleven o'clock, the King commanded the prisonersto be brought up. Up they came, the company of thirty--men, women, andchildren, Gerhardt the foremost at the bar.
"Who are thou?" he was asked.
"I am a German named Gerhardt, born in the dominions of the Duke ofFrancia, an elector of the Empire."
"Art thou the leader of this company?"
"I am."
"Wherefore earnest thou to this land?"
"Long ago, in my childhood, I had read of the blessed Boniface, who,being an Englishman, travelled into Almayne to teach our people thefaith of Christ. I desired to pay back to your land something of thedebt we owed her, by bringing back to her the faith of Christ."
"Didst thou ignorantly imagine us without it?"
"I thought," replied Gerhardt in his quiet manner, "that you couldscarcely have too much of it."
"What is thy calling?"
"While in this country, I have followed the weaver's craft."
"Art thou a lettered man?"
"I am."
"Try him," said one of the Bishops. A Latin book was handed up toGerhardt, from which he readily construed some sentences, until theCouncil declared itself satisfied on that point. This man before them,whatever else he might be, was no mere ignorant peasant.
"Are the rest of thy company lettered men?"
"No. They are mostly peasants."
"Have they gone about preaching, as thou hast?"
"The men have done so."
"And how can ignorant peasants teach abstruse doctrines?"
"I do not think they attempted that. They kept to the simpledoctrines."
"What understandest thou by that?" Gerhardt was beginning to answer,when the Bishop of Winchester interposed with another question. He wasPrince Henry of Blois, the brother of King Stephen, and a better warriorthan a cleric. "Art thou a priest?"
"I am not."
"Go on," said the Bishop of Lincoln, who led the examination. "Whatmeanest thou by the faith of Christ? What dost thou believe aboutChrist?"
Gerhardt's reply on this head was so satisfactory that the Bishop
ofWorcester--not long appointed--whispered to his brother of Winchester,"The man is all right!"
"Wait," returned the more experienced and pugnacious prelate. "We havenot come to the crux yet."
"You call yourselves Christians, then?" resumed Lincoln.
"Certainly we are Christians, and revere the doctrines of the Apostles."
"What say you of the remedies for sin?"
"I know of one only, which is the blood of Christ our Lord."
"How!--are the sacraments no remedies?"
"Certainly not."
"Is sin not remitted in baptism?"
"No."
"Is not the blood of Christ applied to sinners in the holy Eucharist?"
"I utterly refuse such a doctrine."
"What say you of marriage? is that a sacrament?"
"I do not believe it."
"Ha! the man is all right, is he?" whispered old Winchester satiricallyto his young neighbour, Worcester.
"Doth not Saint Paul term marriage `_sacramentum magnum_'?"
"He did not write in Latin."
This was awkward. The heretic knew rather too much.
"Are you aware that all the holy doctors are against you?"
"I am not responsible for their opinions."
"Do you not accept the interpretation of the Church?"
What his Lordship meant by this well-sounding term was a certain bundleof ideas--some of them very illiterate, some very delicatehair-splitting, some curious even to comicality,--gathered out of thewritings of a certain number of men, who assuredly were not inspired,since they often travesty Scripture, and at times diametricallycontradict it. Having lived in the darkest times of the Church, theywere extremely ignorant and superstitious, even the best of them beingenslaved by fancies as untrue in fact as they were unspiritual in tone.It might well have been asked as the response, Where is it?--for noChurch, not even that of Rome herself, has ever put forward anauthorised commentary explanatory of holy Scripture. Her"interpretation of the Church" has to be gathered here and there byabstruse study, and so far as her lay members are concerned, ispractically received from the lips of the nearest priest. Gerhardt,however, did not take this line in replying, but preferred to answer theBishop's inaccurate use of the word Church, which Rome impudently deniesto all save her corrupt self. He replied--
"Of the true Church, which is the elect of God throughout all ages,fore-ordained to eternal life? I see no reason to refuse it."
The Scriptural doctrine of predestination has been compared to "a redrag" offered to a bull, in respect of its effect on those--whethervotaries of idols or latitudinarianism--who are conscious that they arenot the subjects of saving grace. To none is it more offensive than toa devout servant of the Church of Rome. The Bishop took up the offenceat once.
"You hold that heresy--that men are fore-ordained to eternal life?"
"I follow therein the Apostle Paul and Saint Austin."
This was becoming intolerable.
"Doth not the Apostle command his hearers to `work out their ownsalvation'?"
"Would it please my Lord to finish the verse?"
It did not please my Lord to finish the verse, as that would have put anextinguisher on his interpretation of it.
"These heretics refuse to be corrected by Scripture!" he cried instead,as a much more satisfactory thing to say.
Gerhardt's quiet answer was only heard by those near him--"I have notbeen so yet."
This aggravating man must be put down. The Bishop raised his voice.
"Speak, ye that are behind this man. Do ye accept the interpretation ofScripture taught by the Church our mother, to whom God hath committedthe teaching of all her children?"
Old Berthold replied. "We believe as we have been taught, but we do notwish to dispute."
"Ye are obstinate in your heresy! Will ye do penance for the same?"
"No," answered Gerhardt.
"Let them have one more chance," said King Henry in a low voice. "Ifthey are unsound on one point only, there might yet be hope of theirconversion."
"They are unsound on every point, my Lord," replied Lincoln irascibly;"but at your desire I will test them on one or two more.--Tell me, do yebelieve that the souls of the dead pass into Purgatory?"
"We do not."
"Do you pray for the dead?"
"No."
"Do you invocate the blessed Mary and the saints, and trust to theirmerits and intercession?"
"Never. We worship God, not men."
At this point Winchester beckoned to Lincoln, and whispered something inhis ear.
"I am told," pursued the latter, addressing Gerhardt, "that you hold thepriests of holy Church not to be validly consecrated, and have so saidin public. Is it so?"
"It is so. The temporal power of the Pope has deprived the Church ofthe true consecration. You have only the shadow of sacraments, and thetraditions of men."
"You reject the holy sacraments entirely, then?"
"Not so. We observe the Eucharist at our daily meals. Our Lord bade us`as oft as we should drink,' to take that wine in remembrance of Him.We do His bidding."
"Ye presume to profane the Eucharist thus!" cried Lichfield in pioushorror. "Ye administer to yourselves--"
"As Saint Basil held lawful," interposed Gerhardt.
"Saint Basil spoke of extraordinary occasions when no priest could behad."
"But if it be lawful at any time to receive without priestlyconsecration, it cannot be unlawful, at every time."
It did not occur to the Bishop to ask the pertinent question, in whatpassage of Scripture priestly consecration of the Eucharist wasrequired,--nay, in what passage any consecration at all is evermentioned. For at the original institution of the rite, our Lordconsecrated nothing, but merely gave thanks to God [Note 1], as it wascustomary for the master of the house to do at the Passover feast; andseeing that "if He were on earth, He should not be a priest." [Note 2.]He cannot have acted as a priest when He was on earth. We have evendistinct evidence that He declined so to act [Note 3]. And in anysubsequent allusions to this Sacrament in the New Testament [Note 4],there is no mention of either priests or consecration. It did not,however, suit the Bishop to pursue this inconvenient point. He passedat once to another item.
"Ye dare to touch the sacred cup reserved to the priests--"
"When did Christ so reserve it? His command was, `Drink ye all of it.'"
"To the Apostles, thou foolish man!"
"Were they priests at that time?"
This was the last straw. The question could not be answered except inthe negative, for if the ordination of the Apostles be not recordedafter the Resurrection [John twenty 21-23], then there is no record oftheir having been ordained at all. To be put in a corner in this mannerwas more than a Bishop could stand.
"How darest thou beard me thus?" he roared. "Dost thou not know whatmay follow? Is not the King here, who has the power of life and death,and is he not an obedient son of holy Church?"
The slight smile on Gerhardt's lips said, "Not very!" But his onlywords were--
"Ay, I know that ye have power. `This is your hour, and the power ofdarkness.' We are not afraid. We have had our message of consolation.`Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake; fortheirs is the kingdom of the heavens.'"
"Incredible folly!" exclaimed Lincoln. "That was said to the earlyChristians, who suffered persecution from the heathen: not to heretics,smarting under the deserved correction of the Church. How dare you somisapply it?"
"All the Lord's martyrs were not in the early Church. `We are thecircumcision, who worship God in spirit, and glory in Christ Jesus, andhave no confidence in the flesh.' Do to us what ye will. `Whether welive, we live unto the Lord; or whether we die, we die unto the Lord.Living or dying, we are the Lord's.'"
"We solemnly adjudge you false heretics," was the stern reply, "anddeliver you up to our Catholic Prince for punishment. Depart in peace!"
Gerhardt l
ooked up. "`My peace I give unto you; not as the worldgiveth, give I unto you!' Be it so. We go in peace; we go to peace.Our suffering will soon be over. Already we behold Jesus our Lord atthe right hand of God, and we are ready to partake of His sufferings,that we may reign with Him."
King Henry now rose to pronounce sentence. The condemned criminalsbefore him were to be branded on the forehead with a mark of ignominy,to be scourged, and cast forth out of the city. No man might receivethem under his roof, relieve them with food, nor administer to themconsolation of any sort. And this was the sentence of the King and ofholy Church, to the honour and laud of God, and of Mary, His mostglorious Mother!
The sentence was carried out even more barbarously than it waspronounced. The foreheads of all were branded with hot irons, they werewhipped through the city, and their clothes having been cut short to thegirdle [John twenty 21-23], they were turned into the snow-coveredfields. One of the men appointed to use the branding-irons had justlost a daughter, and moved by a momentary impulse of pity (for which heafterwards blamed himself and did penance), he passed two or three ofthe younger women--Ermine among them--with a lighter brand than therest. No such mercy was shown to the men or the elder women, nor wouldit have been to Ermine, had it not been the case that her extremefairness made her look much younger than she really was.
Gerhardt, being regarded as the ringleader, was also branded on thechin.
"Courage, my children!" he said to the shivering, trembling littlecompany, as they were marched down High Street. "We are countedworthy--worthy to suffer shame for Him who suffered dire shame for us.Let us praise God."
And to the amazement, alike of the officials and the crowd ofspectators, the song was set up, and echoed into the sidestreets--"Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, for the Son ofMan's sake!" varied every now and then by a joyous chorus of "Glory toGod in the highest! on earth peace, goodwill towards men!"
The song was heard clearly enough in the Walnut Tree: so clearly, thatFlemild even fancied she could distinguish Ermine's voice from the rest.
"Mother, will you go and look?" she asked, tears running down her face.
"I'll not go near," said Isel, in a tone of defiance very unusual withher. "I'll not get your father and you into trouble. And if I were togo, much if I didn't tear somebody a-pieces."
"O Mother! you wouldn't touch our old friends? They've enough to bear,surely."
"I said _somebody_! child!" was the growl in answer: and Flemild did notventure to reply.
Fainter and fainter grew the sounds; only strengthened for a minute whenthe higher notes of the chorus supervened. Then came a great roar ofapplause from the crowd, as the East Gate was reached, and the hereticswere cast out from the priest-ridden city. But they scarcely heard thatin Kepeharme Lane.
At the window of the anchorhold stood Derette, having sent Leuesa tobring her word what happened. She could see nothing, yet she heard thejoyous chant of "Glory to God in the highest!" as the crowd and thecondemned swept down the street just beyond her ken. Leuesa did noteven try to hide her tears when she reached the shelter of theanchorhold: before that, it would have been perilous to shed them.
"Oh, it was dreadful, Lady! Gerard never looked at any one: he walkedfirst, and he looked as if he saw nothing but God and Heaven. Agnes Icould not see, nor the child; I suppose they were on the other side.But Ermine saw me, and she gave me a smile for you--I am sure she meantit for you--such as an angel might have given who had been a few hourson earth, and was just going back to his place before the Throne."
Manning and Haimet, who had joined the crowd of sightseers, had notreturned when the latch of the Walnut Tree was lifted, and Anania walkedin.
"What, both stayed at home! O Aunt Isel, you have missed such a sight!"
"Well, you've got it, then, I suppose," muttered Isel.
"I shall never forget it--not if I live to be a hundred."
"Umph! Don't think I shall neither."
"Now, didn't I tell you those foreigners were no good? Osbert alwayssaid so. I knew I was right. And I am, you see."
"You're standing in my light, Anania--that's all I can see at present."
Anania moved about two inches. "Oh, but it was grand to see the Councilcome out of Saint Mary's! All the doctors in their robes, and theBishops, and last the King--such a lovely shade his mantle was! It's apity the Queen was not there too; I always think a procession's halfspoiled when there are no ladies."
"Oh, that's what you're clucking about, is it? Processions, indeed!"
"Aunt Isel, are you very cross, or what's the matter with you?"
"She's in pain, I fear," said Flemild quickly.
"Where's the pain? I've gathered some splendid fresh betony andholy-thistle."
"Here!" said Isel, laying her hand on her heart.
"Why, then, holy-thistle's just what you want. I'll send you some downby Stephen."
"Thank you. But it'll do me no good."
"Oh, don't you say that, now.--Flemild, I wonder you did not come to seeall the sights. You'll find you've not nearly so much time for pleasureafter you're married; don't look for it. Have you settled when it's tobe?"
"It was to have been last month, you know, but Father wanted it putoff."
"Ay, so as he could know Raven a bit better. Well, when is it to benow?"
"March, they say."
"You don't say it as if you enjoyed it much."
"Maybe she takes her pleasure in different ways from you," said Isel."Can't see any, for my part, in going to see a lot of poor wretchesflogged and driven out into the snow. Suppose you could."
"O Aunt!--when they were heretics?"
"No, _nor murderers neither_--without they'd murdered me, and then Ireckon I shouldn't have been there to look at 'em."
"But the priests say they are worse than murderers--they murder men'ssouls."
"I'm alive, for aught I know. And I don't expect to say my Paternosterany worse than I did seven years gone."
"How do you know they haven't bewitched you?" asked Anania in a solemntone.
"For the best of all reasons--that I'm not bewitched."
"Aunt Isel, I'm not so sure of that. If those wretches--"
"O Anania, do let Mother be!" pleaded Flemild. "It is her pain thatspeaks, not herself. I told you she was suffering."
"You did; but I wonder if her soul isn't worse than her body. I'll justgive Father Dolfin a hint to look to her soul and body both. They saythose creatures only bewitched one maid, and she was but a poor villeinbelonging to some doctor of the schools: and so frightened was she tosee their punishment that she was in a hurry to recant every thing theyhad taught her. Well! we shall see no more of them, that's one goodthing. I shouldn't think any of them would be alive by the end of theweek. The proclamation was strict--neither food nor shelter to begiven, nor any compassion shown. And branded as they are, every bodywill know them, you see."
Stephen came in while his sister-in-law was speaking.
"Come, now, haven't you had talk enough?" said he. "You've a tongue aslong as from here to Banbury Cross. You'd best be going home, Anania,for Osbert's as cross as two sticks, and he'll be there in a fewminutes."
"Oh dear, one never has a bit of peace! I did think I could have sat awhile, and had a nice chat."
"It won't be so nice if you keep Osbert waiting, I can tell you."
Anania rose with evident reluctance, and gathered her mantle round her.
"Well, good-day, Aunt Isel! I'll send you down the holy-thistle.Good-day, Flemild. Aren't you coming with me, Stephen?"
"No; I want to wait for Uncle Manning."
"Stephen, I'm obliged to you for ever and ever! If she'd stayed anotherminute, I should have flown at her!"
"You looked as if you'd come to the end of your patience," said Stephen,smiling, but gravely; "and truly, I don't wonder. But what's this aboutholy-thistle? Are you sick, Aunt Isel?"
Isel looked searchingly into her
nephew's face.
"You look true," she said; "I think you might be trusted, Stephen."
"Oh, _if_ you're grieving over _them_, don't be afraid to tell me so. Idid my best to save Gerard, but he would not be warned. I'd have caughtup the child and brought him to you, if I'd had a chance; but I washemmed in the crowd, a burly priest right afore me, and I couldn't havelaid hand on him. Poor souls! I'm sorry for them."
"God bless thee for those words, Stephen! I'm sore for them to the verycore of my heart. If they'd been my own father's children or mine, Icouldn't feel sadder than I do. And to have to listen to those hard,cold, brutal words from that woman--."
"I know. She is a brute. I guessed somewhat how things were going withyou, for I saw her turn in here from the end of Saint Edward's; and Ithought you mightn't be so sorry to have her sent off. Her tongue's notso musical as might be."
Manning and Haimet came in together. The former went up to Isel, whileHaimet began a conversation with his cousin, and after a moment the twoyoung men left the house together. Then Manning spoke.
"Wife and children," said he, "from this day forward, no word is to beuttered in my house concerning these German people. They are heretics,so pronounced by holy Church; and after that, no compassion may be shownto them. Heretics are monsters, demons in human form, who seek the ruinof souls. Remember my words."
Isel looked earnestly in her husband's face.
"No," said Manning, not unkindly, but firmly; "no excuses for them,Isel. I can quite understand that you feel sorry for those whom youhave regarded as friends for seven years: but such sorrow is now sin.You must crush and conquer it. It were rebellion against God, who hasjudged these miscreants by the lips of His Church."
Isel broke down in a very passion of tears.
"I can't help it, Manning; I can't help it!" she said, when she couldspeak. "It may be sin, but I must do it and do penance for it--it's nota bit of use telling me I must not. I'll try not to talk if you bid mebe silent, but you must give me a day or two to get quieted,--till everyliving creature round has done spitting venom at them. I don't promiseto hold my tongue to that ninny of an Anania--she aggravates me while itisn't in human nature to keep your tongue off her; it's all I can do tohold my hands."
"She is very provoking, Father," said Flemild in an unsteady voice; "shewears Mother fairly out."
"You may both quarrel with Anania whenever you please," replied Manningcalmly; "I've nothing to say against that. But you are not to makeexcuses for those heretics, nor to express compassion for them. Nowthose are my orders: don't let me have to give them twice."
"No, Father; you shall not, to me," said Flemild in a low tone.
"I can't promise you nothing," said Isel, wiping her eyes on her apron,"because I know I shall just go and break it as fast as it's made: butwhen I can, I'll do your bidding, Manning. And till then, you'll haveeither to thrash me or forgive me--whichever you think the properestthing to do."
Manning walked away without saying more.
Snow, snow everywhere!--lying several inches deep on the tracks ourforefathers called roads, drifted several feet high in corners andclefts of the rocks. Pure, white, untrodden, in the silent fields; buttrampled by many feet upon the road to Dorchester, the way taken by thehapless exiles. No voice was raised in pity, no hand outstretched forhelp; every door was shut against the heretics. Did those who in afteryears were burned at the stake on the same plea suffer more or less thanthis little band of pioneers, as one after another sank down, and diedin the white snow? The trembling hands of the survivors heaped overeach in turn the spotless coverlet, and then they passed on to their ownspeedy fate.
The snow descended without intermission, driving pitilessly in thescarred faces of the sufferers. Had they not known that it came fromthe hand of their heavenly Father, they might have fancied that Satanwas warring against them by that means, as the utmost and the last thingthat he could do. But as the snow descended, the song ascended asunceasingly. Fainter and less full it grew to human ears, as one voiceafter another was silenced. It may be that the angels heard it richerand louder, as the choristers grew more few and weak.
Of the little family group which we have followed, the first to give waywas Agnes. She had taken from her own shivering limbs, to wrap roundthe child, one of the mutilated garments which alone her tormentors hadleft her. As they approached Nuneham, she staggered and fell. Guelphand Adelheid ran to lift her up.
"Oh, let me sleep!" she said. "I can sing no more."
"Ay, let her sleep," echoed Gerhardt in a quivering voice; "she willsuffer least so. Farewell for a moment, my true beloved! We shall meetagain ere the hour be over."
Gerhardt held on but a little longer. Doubly branded, and more brutallyscourged than the rest, he was so ill from the first that he had to behelped along by Wilhelm and Conrad, two of the strongest in the littlecompany. How Ermine fared they knew not: they could only tell that whenthey reached Bensington, she was no longer among them. Most of thechildren sank early. Little Rudolph fared the best, for a young motherwho had lost her baby gave him such poor nourishment as she could fromher own bosom. It was just as they came out of Dorchester, that theylaid him down tenderly on a bed of leaves in a sheltered corner, tosleep out his little life. Then they passed on, still southwards--stillsinging "Glory to God in the highest!" and "Blessed are they which arepersecuted for righteousness' sake!" Oh, what exquisite music must havefloated up through the gates of pearl, and filled the heavenly places,from that poor faint song, breathed by those trembling voices that couldscarcely utter the notes!
A few hours later, and only one dark figure was left tottering throughthe snow. Old Berthold was alone.
Snow everywhere!--and the night fell, and the frost grew keen; andBensington had not long been left behind when old Berthold lay down inthe ditch at the road-side. He had sung his last song, and could go nofurther. He could only wait for the chariot of God--for thewhite-winged angels to come silently over the white snow, and carry himHome.
"The Lord will not forget me, though I am the last left," he said tohimself. "His blessings are not mere empty words. `Glory to God in thehighest!'" And Berthold slept.
"Rudolph!" The word was breathed softly, eagerly, by some moving thingclosely wrapped up, in the dense darkness of the field outsideDorchester. There was no answer.
"Rudolph!" came eagerly again.
The speaker, who was intently listening, fancied she heard the faintestpossible sound. Quickly, quietly, flitting from one point to another,feeling with her hands on the ground, under the bushes, by the walls,she went, till her outstretched hands touched something round and soft,and not quite so chillingly cold as every thing else seemed to be thatnight.
"Rudolph! art thou here?"
"Yes, it's me," said the faint childish voice. "Where am I?--and whoare you?"
"Drink," was the answer; and a bottle of warm broth was held to theboy's blue lips. Then, when he had drunk, he was raised from theground, clasped close to a woman's warm breast, and a thick fur mantlewas hastily wrapped round them both.
"Who are you?" repeated the child. "And where--where's Mother?"
"I am an old friend, my little child. Hast thou ever heard the name ofCountess?"
"Yes," murmured the child feebly. He could not remember yet how orwhere he had heard it; he only knew that it was not strange to him.
"That is well. Glory be to the Blessed that I have found thee in timeto save thee!"
They were speeding back now into the lighted town--not lighted, indeed,by out-door lamps, but by many an open door and uncovered window, andthe lanterns of passengers going up or down the street. Countesscarried the child to a stone house--only Jews built stone houses intowns at that day--and into a ground-floor room, where she laid him downon a white couch beside the fire. There were two men in the room--bothold, and with long white beards.
"Countess! what hast thou there?" sternly asked one of the men.
"Father Jacob!--a babe of the Goyim!" exclaimed the other.
"Hush!" said Countess in a whisper, as she bent over the boy. "The lifeis barely in him. May the Blessed (to whom be praise!) help me to savemy darling!"
"Accursed are all the infidels!" said the man who seemed slightly theyounger of the two. "Daughter, how earnest thou by such a child, andhow darest thou give him such a name?"
Countess made no answer. She was busy feeding little Rudolph with bitsof bread sopped in warm broth.
"Where am I?" asked the child, as sense and a degree of strengthreturned to him. "It isn't Isel's house."
"Wife, dost thou not answer the Cohen?" said the elder man angrily.
"The Cohen can wait for his answer; the child cannot for his life. WhenI think him safe I will answer all you choose."
At length, after careful feeding and drying, Countess laid down thespoon, and covered the child with a warm woollen coverlet.
"Sleep, my darling!" she said softly. "The God of Israel hush theeunder His wings!"
A few moments of perfect quiet left no doubt that little Rudolph wassound asleep. Then Countess stood up, and turned to the Rabbi.
"Now, Cohen, I am ready. Ask me what you will."
"Who and what is this child?"
"An exile, as we are. An orphan, cast on the great heart of theAll-Merciful. A trust which was given to me, and I mean to fulfil it."
"That depends on the leave of thy lord."
"It depends on nothing of the sort. I sware to the dead father of thisboy that I would protect him from all hurt."
"Sware! Well, then--" said the elder Jew--"an oath must be fulfilled,Cohen?"
"That depends on circumstances," returned the Rabbi in Jesuitical wise."For instance, if Countess sware by any idol of the Goyim, it is void.If she sware by her troth, or faith, or any such thing, it may bedoubtful, and might require a synod of the Rabbins to determine it. Butif she sware by the Holy One (blessed be He!) then the oath must stand.But of course, daughter, thou wilt have the boy circumcised, and bringhim up as a proselyte of Israel."
The expression in the eyes of Countess did not please the Rabbi.
"Thus I sware," she said: "`God do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the child to you unhurt!' How can I meet that man at the day ofdoom, if I have not kept mine oath--if I deliver not the boy to himunhurt, as he will deem hurting?"
"But that were to teach him the idolatries of the Goyim!" exclaimed theRabbi in horror.
"I shall teach him no idolatry. Only what his father would have taughthim--and I know what that was. I have listened to him many a day onPresthey and Pary's Mead."
"Countess, I shall not suffer it. Such a thing must not be done in myhouse."
"It has to be done in mine," said Countess doggedly.
"I do not forbid thee to show mercy to the child. If he be, as thousayest, an orphan and an exile, and thou moreover hast accepted somefashion of trust with regard to him (however foolish it were to do so),I am willing that thou shouldst keep him a day or two, till he hasrecovered. But then shelter must be sought for him with the Goyim."
"Do you two know," said Countess, in a low voice of concentrateddetermination, "that this child's parents, and all of their race thatwere with them, have been scourged by the Goyim?--branded, and castforth as evil, and have died in the night and in the snow, because theywould _not_ worship idols? These are not of the brood of the priests,who hate them. The boy is mine, and shall be brought up as mine. Isware it."
"But not for life?"
"I sware it."
"Did the child's father know what thou hadst sworn? as if not, perchancethere may be means to release thee."
The black eyes flashed fire.
"I tell you, I sware unto him by Adonai, the God of Israel, and He knewit! In the lowest depths and loftiest heights of my own soul I sware,and He heard it. I repeated the vow this night, when I clasped the boyto my heart once more. God will do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the boy unhurt to his father and his mother at the Judgment Day!"
"But, my daughter, if it can be loosed?"
"What do I care for your loosing? He will not loose me. And the childshall not suffer. I will die first."
"Let the child tarry till he has recovered: did I not say so? Then hemust go forth."
"If you turn him forth, you turn me forth with him."
"Nonsense!"
"You will see. I shall never leave him. My darling, my whitesnow-bird! I shall never leave the boy."
"My daughter," said the Rabbi softly, for he thought the oil mightsucceed where the vinegar had failed, "dost thou not see that Leo'sadvice is the best? The child must tarry with thee till he is well; noman shall prevent that."
"Amen!" said Countess.
"But that over, is it not far better both for him and thee that heshould go to the Goyim? We will take pains, for the reverence of thineoath, to find friends of his parents, who will have good care of him: Ipromise thee it shall be done, and Leo will assent thereto."
Leo confirmed the words with--"Even so, Cohen!"
"But I pray thee, my daughter, remember what will be thought of thee, ifthou shouldst act as thou art proposing to do. It will certainly besupposed that thou art wavering in the faith of thy fathers, if even itbe not imagined that thou hast forsaken it. Only think of the horror ofsuch a thing!"
"I have not forsaken the faith of Abraham."
"I am sure of that; nevertheless, it is good thou shouldst say it."
"If the Cohen agree," said Leo, stroking his white beard, "I am willingto make a compromise. As we have no child, and thou art so fond ofchildren, the child shall abide with thee, on condition that thou take alike oath to bring him up a proselyte of Israel: and then let him becircumcised on the eighth day after his coming here. But if not, somefriend of his parents must be found. What say you, Cohen?"
"I am willing so to have it."
"I am not," said Countess shortly. "As to friends of the child'sparents, there are none such, save the God for whom they died, and inwhose presence they stand to-night. I must keep mine oath. Unhurt inbody, unhurt in soul, according to their conception thereof, andaccording to my power, will I bring the boy to his father at the comingof Messiah."
"Wife, wouldst thou have the Cohen curse thee in the face of allIsrael?"
"These rash vows!" exclaimed the Rabbi, in evident uneasiness."Daughter, it is written in the Thorah that if any woman shall make avow, her husband may establish it or make it void, if he do so in theday that he hear it; and the Blessed One (unto whom be praise!) shallforgive her, and she shall not perform the vow."
"The vow was made before I was Leo's wife."
"Well, but in the day that he hath heard it, it is disallowed."
"There is something else written in the Thorah, Cohen. `Every vow of awidow, or of her that is divorced, shall stand.'"
"Father Isaac! when didst thou read the Thorah? Women have no businessto do any such thing."
"It is there, whether they have or not."
"Then it was thy father's part to disallow it."
"I told him of my vow, and he did not."
"That is an awkward thing!" said Leo in a low tone to the Rabbi.
"I must consult the Rabbins," was the answer. "It may be we shall finda loophole, to release the foolish woman. Canst thou remember the exactwords of thy vow?"
"What matter the exact words? The Holy One (blessed be He!) looketh onthe heart, and He knew what I meant to promise."
"Yet how didst thou speak?"
"I have told you. I said, `God do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the child to you unhurt!'"
"Didst thou say `God'? or did the man say it, and thy word was only`He'?" asked the Rabbi eagerly, fancying that he saw a way of escape.
"What do I know which it was? I meant Him, and that is in His eyes asif I had said it."
"Countess, if thou be contumacious, I cannot shelter thee," said Leosternly.
> "My daughter," answered the Rabbi, still suavely, though he was not farfrom anger, "I am endeavouring to find thee a way of escape."
"I do not wish to escape. I sware, and I will do it. Oh, bid medepart!" she cried, almost fiercely, turning to Leo. "I cannot bearthis endless badgering. Give me my raiment and my jewels, and bid medepart in peace!"
There was a moment's dead silence, during which the two old men lookedfixedly at each other. Then the Rabbi said--
"It were best for thee, Leo. Isaac the son of Deuslesalt [probably atranslation of Isaiah or Joshua] hath a fair daughter, and he is richerthan either Benefei or Jurnet. She is his only child."
"I have seen her: she is very handsome. Yet such a winter night! Wewill wait till morning, and not act rashly."
"No: now or not at all," said Countess firmly.
"My daughter," interposed the Rabbi hastily, "there is no need to berash. If Leo give thee now a writing of divorcement, thou canst notabide in his house to-night. Wait till the light dawns. Sleep maybring a better mind to thee."
Countess vouchsafed him no answer. She turned to her husband.
"I never wished to dwell in thy house," she said very calmly, "but Ihave been a true and obedient wife. I ask thee now for what I think Ihave earned--my liberty. Let me go with my little child, whom I lovedearly,--go to freedom, and be at peace. I can find another shelter forto-night. And if I could not, it would not matter--for me."
She stooped and gathered the sleeping child into her arms.
"Speak the words," she said. "It is the one boon that I ask of you."
Leo rose--with a little apparent reluctance--and placed writingmaterials before the Rabbi, who with the reed-pen wrote, or ratherpainted, a few Hebrew words upon the parchment. Then Leo, handing it tohis wife, said solemnly--
"Depart in peace!"
The fatal words were spoken. Countess wrapped herself and Rudolph inthe thick fur mantle, and turned to leave the room, saying to the manwhose wife she was no longer--
"I beseech you, send my goods to my father's house. Peace be unto you!"
"Peace be to thee, daughter!" returned the Rabbi.
Then, still carrying the child, she went out into the night and thesnow.
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Note 1. See Matthew 27 verses 26, 27; Mark fourteen verses 22, 23; Luketwenty-two verses 17, 20; One Corinthians eleven verse 24, when it willbe seen that "blessed" means gave thanks to God, not blessed theelements.
Note 2. Hebrews Seven verse 14; Eight verse 4.
Note 3. Matthew Eight verse 4.
Note 4. Acts two verse 46; twenty-seven verse 11; One Corinthianseleven verses 20-34.
Note 5. Diceto makes this barbarity a part of the sentence passed onthe Germans. Newbury mentions it only as inflicted.
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