CHAPTER SIX.
SET FREE.
As Bertha came back, carefully carrying her jar of honey, she heard aconsiderable tumult in a street on her left hand, which led to the Jews'quarter of the city. In every town, the Jews were shut up in aparticular part of it; and after London itself, the towns in which thegreatest number of Jews lived were Lincoln, York, Norwich, Oxford, andNorthampton. Since the dreadful persecution arising from the (real orsupposed) murder of little Hugh, Lincoln had been comparatively quietfrom such tumults; and Bertha was too young to know anything about itbut from hearsay. Wondering if some fresh commotion was going to arise,and anxious to be safe at home before it should begin, Bertha quickenedher steps. There were only three more streets to cross, one of whichwas a dark, narrow alley leading directly to the Jews' quarter. AsBertha crossed this, she heard a low, frightened call upon her name, anda slight figure crept out and crouched at her feet.
"O Bertha!" said a girl's voice, broken by sobs and terrified catchingof the breath, "you are kind-hearted; I know you are. You saved alittle dog that the dreadful boys were trying to drown. Will you saveme, though I am beneath a dog in your eyes?"
"Who are you?" asked astonished Bertha.
"I am Hester, the daughter of Aaron," said the girl, "and there is adeadly raid on our quarter. They accuse us of poisoning the wells. OBertha, they lay things to us that we never do! Save me, for mywomanhood's sake!"
"Poor soul!" said Bertha, looking down at her. "Come with me to AuntAvice. Maybe she will let thee tarry in some corner till the tumult isover. I dare say it will not be much."
Bertha spoke in rather contemptuous tones, though they were not wantingin pity. Everybody in England was taught then to rank Jews with vermin,and to look upon it as a weakness to show them any kindness.
The two girls reached the door in safety, and Bertha led Hester in.
"Aunt Avice," she said, "there is a commotion in the Jews' quarter, andhere is a Jew maiden that wants to know if we will shelter her. Isuppose she won't hurt us much, will she?"
The very breath of a Jew was fancied to be poisonous.
Avice looked at the pale, terrified face and trembling limbs of the girlwho had cast herself on her mercy.
"Well, I dare say not," said she; "at any rate, we will risk it.Perhaps the good Lord may not be very angry; or if He is, we must saymore prayers, and beg our Lady Saint Mary to intercede for us. Come in,child."
Poor Avice! she knew no better. She had been taught that the Lord whodied for her was a stern, angry Judge, and that all the mercy rested inHis human mother. And the Jews had crucified Christ; so, thought Avice,He must hate them! Perhaps, of such Christians as she was, He may havesaid again, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."
Hester came in quietly. "May God bless you!" she said. "I will try notto breathe on you, for I know what you think." And she sat down meeklyon the floor, in a dark corner, not daring to offer any help, lest theyshould imagine that she would pollute anything she touched. Avice threwher a cake of bread, as she might have done to a dog; and Hester knewthat it was a kinder act than she would have received from most of theChristians around.
It was not yet quite bed-time, and Bertha sat down again to her work,begging her aunt to finish the tale. They took no notice of Hester.
"It is almost finished," said Avice; "there is little more to tell. Thewinter got over, but spring was scarcely begun when our little Lady'shealth failed again. The Lord King was so anxious about her that whenhe was away from Windsor, he bade the Lady Queen to send him a specialmessenger with news of her; and so delighted was he to hear of herrecovery, that he commanded a good robe to be given to the messenger,and offered in thanksgiving an image of silver, wrought in the form of awoman, to the shrine of Saint Edward."
"Then she did recover, Aunt?"
"Ay, but it was for the last time. As the summer drew on, the LadyQueen asked Master Thomas if he thought it well that the little Ladyshould have change again, and be sent into the country till the heat waspast. Master Thomas answered that he reckoned it unnecessary; and theLady Queen departed, well pleased. But as soon as she was gone, MasterThomas said to me and Julian the Rocker, who were tending our littleLady--`She will have a better change than to Swallowfield.' QuothJulian, `Say you so, Master? Whither do you purpose sending her?' Andhe said, looking sadly on the child, `_I_ purpose sending her? Truly,good Julian, no whither. But ere long time be over, the Lord our Godwill send for her, by that angel that taketh no bribe to delay executionof His mandate.' And then I knew his meaning: my darling was to die.But the steps of the angel were very slow. The autumn came and went.The child seemed languid and dull, and the Lord King offered a chasubleof samite to the blessed Edmund of Pontigny at his altar at Canterbury."
Edmund Rich, afterwards called Saint Edmund of Pontigny, was anArchbishop of Canterbury with whom King Henry the Third was at varianceas long as he lived, much in the same way as Henry the Second had beenwith Becket. Now he was dead, a banished man, the Pope had declared hima saint, and King Henry made humble offerings at his shrine. But it isamusing to find that with respect to this offering at least, hisMajesty's instructions were to buy the samite of the lowest price thatcould be found!
"It was all of no use," pursued Avice sorrowfully. "The angel hadreceived the mandate. Great feasts were held at Easter--there weretwenty beeves and fifty muttons, fifteen hundred pullets, and sixhundred shillings' worth of bread, beside many other things--but ere onemonth was over, the feast became a fast. When Saint Philip's day dawnedmy darling lay in her bed, with her fair eyes turned up to heaven andher hands folded in prayer; and who may know what she said to God, oryet more what He told to her? She had never been taught to pray; shecould not be." Avice's only notion of prayer was repeating a form ofwords, and keeping time by a string of beads. "But I shall always thinkthat in some way beyond our comprehension, my darling could speak toGod. And on the evening of the Invention of the Cross"--which is May3rd--"she spoke to Him in Heaven."
"And did the Lady Queen sorrow very much, Aunt? I suppose, though,great ladies like her would not care as much as poor people."
"Wouldst thou, child? Ah, a mother is a mother, let her be a cottageror a queen. And she sorrowed so sorely that for weeks afterwards shelay ill, and all the skill of her physicians could avail nothing. TheLord King, too, fell sick of a tertian fever, which held him many days,and I believe it was out of sheer anguish for his dearest child. Hecommanded a brass image of her to be placed on the tomb, but ere it wasfinished he would have one of silver: and he gave fifty shillings a yearto the hermit of Charing, for a priest to pray daily for her in thechapel of the hermitage."
"Do you think she is still in Purgatory, Aunt?"
Avice's religion, as taught not by the Word of God, but the traditionsof men, led her to be doubtful on that point. But her heart broke itsway through the bonds.
"What, my white dove? my little unspotted darling, that never wilfullysinned against God and holy Church? Child, if our holy Father the Popewere to tell me himself that she was there, I would not believe him. Dothe angels go to Purgatory? Nay, I do verily believe that, seeing herinfirmity, Christ our Lord did all the work of salvation for her, andthat she sings now before our Father's face."
Poor Avice! she could get no further. But we, who know God's Word, knowthat there is but one Mediator between God and man, and that He hasoffered a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice for the sins of thewhole world. Before Bertha could reply, an answer came unexpectedlyfrom the dark corner.
"Your God must be hard to propitiate," said the young Jewess. "In oldtimes, after the sacrifice was offered, a man was cleansed from sin. Hehad not to cleanse himself by his own pain."
"But you are heathens," said Avice, feeling it a condescension to arguewith a Jew. "Our religion is better than yours."
"How?" was Hester's rejoinder.
"Because we have been redeemed by our Lord, who died to sav
e us fromHell."
"It does not sound like it. Then why had the little child to go there?"
"She did not go there! She went to Purgatory."
"She went to pain, if I understood you rightly. Why did your Messiahnot finish His work, and keep her from going to pain altogether?"
"I cannot answer such wicked questions," said Avice. "The Churchteaches that God's love purifies His servants in Purgatory, and as soonas their souls are clean they go to Heaven."
"Our God does better for us than that," was Hester's quiet answer. "Ido not know what `the Church' is. But I suppose God's love is not forGentiles."
And she relapsed into silence. Avice sat and span--and thought. Bothof them were terribly ignorant; but Avice did honestly desire to knowGod's will, and such truth as was in Hester's words troubled her. Andas she thought, other words came to her, heard years ago from the pulpitof Lincoln Cathedral, and from the long silent lips of that holy BishopGrosteste whom she so deeply revered.
"By leaning on Christ," the Bishop had said, "every true Christian risesinto true life, peace, and joy; he lives in His life, sees light in Hislight, is invigorated with His warmth, grows in His strength, andleaning on the Beloved, his soul ascends upwards."
Then for those who loved Christ and leaned on Him, either He must bewith them in Purgatory, and then it would be no pain at all: or--Aviceshrank from the alternative that perhaps there was no Purgatory at all!It is hard to break free from trammels in which we have been held allour lives. Bertha did not follow the course of her aunt's thoughts, andwondered why she said, after long silence--
"Methinks God is enough for His people, wherever they are."
Hester also had been thinking, and to as much purpose.
"It is written, `In His name shall the Gentiles trust,'" she said. "AndI think, if He can love any Gentiles, it must be kindly and mercifulhearts like yours. Perhaps the Great Sacrifice--the Messiah Himself--ismeant for all men. But I think He will finish His work, and not leaveit incomplete, as your priests seem to teach you."
"He will do right by all men, if thou meanest our Lord," replied Avicegently. "And what was right for all, and best for us, we shall knowwhen we come to Him."
"Then the little Lady knows it now, Aunt," said Bertha.
"Yes, my darling knows it now. It may be she knows why her ears weresealed and her tongue bound, now that they are unstopped and loosed.And I marvel if any voice in the choirs of the angels can be so sweet ashers."
There was silence for a little while. Then Hester rose.
"I thank you very much for your kindness," she said. "I think I mightgo home. The streets seem quieter now."
Avice went to the door, unlatched it, and peered forth into the night.
"Yes, there seems to be no noise in the direction of your quarter now.I think you will be safe. But if you feel uneasy, you can stay thenight in this room."
"No, thank you," replied Hester gratefully. "I will not put you to thattrouble. You have been very good to me. May the God of Israel blessyou with His blessing!"
Avice felt rather uneasy. She had always been taught that Jews wereidolaters, and she never imagined that Hester could be blessing her inthe name of the one living God. She fancied that the benediction ofsome horrible Moloch was being called down upon her, and feared itaccordingly. But she answered kindly, for unkindness was not in hersimple, loving, God-fearing heart. Hester went out, and latched thedoor behind her.
"I am glad she is gone," said Bertha. "I could not feel easy while shewas here. Yet I could not have borne to turn her away without askingyou if you would take her in, Aunt. I hope we have not done wrong!"
"I hope not, indeed," replied Avice, who was not quite easy in her ownmind. "I wonder why it should be so wrong to pity Jews, and be kind tothem. It looks so different from all the other commands of our Lord."
Different, most truly! But such causes for wonder were likely to befrequent enough, so long as men allowed the traditions of men to runalongside of the infallible Word of God. And they had no power to readfor themselves the real words of the Lord, who had said to the father ofall Israel, "I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him thatcurseth thee."
But the influx of visitors was not yet over for the evening. Hester hadnot been gone long when a heavy rap came on the door. "Come in!" saidAvice; and Uncle Dan appeared.
"Could you spare a chap a seat, think ye?" said he. "I've come for abit o' peace. We've got thunder and lightning and rain up at smithy._She's_ thunder, and Ankaret's lightning, and Mildred's rain, for she'sa-crying: and El'nor and me, we 're wet to skin wi' 't. So I put my capon and come here to dry me a bit."
Avice laughed. "You're always welcome, Uncle Dan, and I hope you knowit," said she. "Bertha, my maid, bake a short-cake for thy father.There's enough warmth in the bake-stone."
"Short-cake's good," said Dan, "and I'll not go to deny it; but love andpeace are better. _She_ can make short-cake wi' anybody. It's th' jamas goes wi' 't I don't like. She makes it so tart, and puts so much on.Sure, if th' fire had went out, she'd easy bake a cake a-top of hertemper, and so could Ankaret. Eh, it do take a whole hive of honey tosweeten some folks. There's bees in this world, for sure; but there'smany a waps to every bee."
In the present day, "waps" is considered a vulgar way of pronouncing theword; but it was correct English at the time of which I am writing."Wasp" is really the corrupt pronunciation. In the same way, they said"claps" where we say "clasp."
"Uncle Dan, I sometimes wonder you do not come and live in Lincolntown."
"Dost thee? Think I haven't noise enough at smithy?"
"But I think you would make friends here, and find things pleasanter."
"Humph!" said Dan, laying a big, hardened brown hand upon each knee."It's very plain to me, Avice, as thou doesn't live in a house whereeverything thou does turns to hot water. Me make friends! She'd have'em out o' th' door afore they'd a-comed in. They wouldn't come twice,I reckon--nay, they wouldn't. That'd be end o' my friend-making,Avice."
"Uncle Dan, did you never try standing up to Aunt Filomena?"
"Did I never try _what_? Ay did I, once--and got knocked down as sharpas ninepins. Standing up! I'd love to see thee try it. Thou'd not beright end up long."
Bertha had gone upstairs, or Avice perhaps would not have spoken soplainly, though the smith himself had long passed the stage of ignoringhis wife's failings in the presence of her children.
"But you are her husband, Uncle Dan."
"I reckon I know that Thou would, if she'd plucked as much of thywhiskers out as she has o' mine."
"And wives ought to obey their husbands."
"Thou'll oblige me by saying so to her, and I'll be glad to know if thoulikes what thou'll get."
"You think she cannot be managed?"
"Not without one o' th' archangels likes to try. I'll not say hewouldn't be sorry at after."
"It does seem such a sad way for you to live," said Avice pityingly.
"Grin and bide," said Dan philosophically. "Grin while I can, and bidewhen I can't. But I'll tell thee what--if some o' them fighting fellowsas goes up and down a-seeking for adventures, 'd just take off Ankaretand Mildred--well, I don't know about El'nor: she's been better o'late--and eh, but they couldn't take Her, or I'd ha' given th' cow intoth' bargain, and been right glad on't--and if me and Emma and Berthacould ha' settled down in a bit of a house somewhere, and beenpeaceable--Come, it's no use hankering over things as can't be.Elsewise, I'd ha' said a chap might ha' had a bit o' comfort then."
"Uncle Dan, did you ever think of praying that Aunt Filomena might havea better temper?"
"Ever think of what?" demanded Uncle Dan in the biggest capitals everseen on a placard.
"You know God could make her temper sweet, Uncle Dan."
"Thou believes that, does thou?"
"I do."
"So will I--when I see't. I reckon I'll have a rare capful o' larks byth' sky falling, first."
"The sky will fall some day, my son," said the voice of Father Thomas,behind Dan. His soft rap had been unheard through Dan's bass voice, andhe had entered unperceived.
"Well, Father, you should know the rights on't," was Dan's answer, witha pull at his hair. "Being a priest, I reckon you're good friends wi'th' angels and th' sky and all that sort of thing; but--I ask yourpardon, Father, but She belongs to t'other lot, and you don't know her.Eh, you don't, so!"
And with an ominous shake of his head, and a good-night to Avice andBertha, Dan passed out.
"Our Lord could do that, Father?" said Avice softly.
"Certainly, my daughter. `Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He--inthe heavens, and in the earth, and in the sea, and in all depths.'"
Father Thomas had not much of the Bible--only one Gospel and a Book ofPsalms--but what he had he studied well. And one page of the Word ofGod will do a great deal for a man, with the Spirit of God to bring ithome to a willing ear and a loving heart.
"May I pray for Aunt Filomena? I am so sorry for Uncle Dan. He is nota bad man, and she makes his home unbearable."
"God forgive her! By all means pray for both."
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