CHAPTER FOUR.
THE ROOT OF THE MATTER.
"My Christ He is the Heaven of Heavens-- My Christ what shall I call? My Christ is first, my Christ is last, My Christ is all in all."
_John Mason_.
As Agnes toiled home with her weary burden, she met her own specialfavourite, little Will.
"Look you, Mistress Agnes!" cried little Will, triumphantly holding uphis horn-book.
"I can say all my Christ-Cross-Row [alphabet]--every letter!"
"Dear heart!" returned Agnes, sympathising in her little friend'spleasure.
"And as to-morrow I am to join the letters!" exclaimed little Willagain, in high exultation.
"I trust thou wilt be a good lad, Will, and apply thee diligently."
"Oh, ay," said Will, dismissing that part of the question somewhatcurtly. "And look you, I met, an half-hour gone, with the Black Friarthat preached at the Cross th' other morrow; and he saw my horn-book,and asked at me if I knew the same. And when I said I so did, what didhe, think you, but sat him down of a stone, and would needs have me forto say it all o'er unto him. And I made but one only blunder; I said,`Q, S, R,' in the stead of `Q, R, S.' And he strake mine head, and saidI was a good lad, and he would I should go on with my learning till Imight read in the great Bible that lieth chained in the Minster."
"Well-a-day! did he so?" responded Agnes.
"Ay, so did he. But wot you what Christie Marvell saith? He saith 'tisrare evil doing that any save a priest should read in yon big book, andhe hath heard his father for to say the same. And he saith old FatherDan, the Cordelier, that is alway up and down hereabout, he said untohim that he would not for no money that he should learn to read theEvangel, for that it should do him a mischief. What think you, MistressAgnes?"
"Methinks, Will, thou shalt do well to give good heed unto the BlackFriar, and to thy master at the school, and leave Christie Marvell a-bewith his idle talk."
"Nay, go to, Mistress Agnes! 'tis Father Dan's talk."
"Then tarry till Father Dan tell thee so much himself. It may well bethat Christie took not his words rightly."
"Ay," said the child, doubtfully. "But what manner of mischief, thinkyou, meant he? Should it cast a spell on me, or give me the ague?"
Little Will, as we have already seen, was the child of a superstitiousmother. To hear the tap of a death-watch was sufficient to makeMistress Flint lose a night's sleep; and a person who disbelieved infairies she would have considered next door to a reprobate. But Agneswas remarkably free from such ideas for her time, when few were entirelydevoid of them; and she laughed at little Will's fancy.
"Well," said he, "any way, when I can read in the great Bible, MistressAgnes, then will I read unto you, and you shall come to the Minster andhear me. Christie's mother saith there be right pretty storiestherein."
Like many another in those days, into the household of Henry and CicelyMarvell, the Gospel had brought not peace, but a sword. The husband, astern, morose man, was fondly attached to the beggarly elements of Romanceremonials; while the wife had received and hidden the Word in herheart, and though too much afraid of her husband to venture far,contrived now and then to drop a word for Christ's Gospel. Christie,the troublesome boy, cared for none of these things, and made game ofthe views of each parent in turn.
Agnes smilingly bade good-bye to her ambitious little friend Will, forthey had now reached Mistress Winter's door. A scolding awaited her, asusual, first for "dawdling," and then for spilling a few drops of wateron the brick floor as she set down the heavy pails. But Agnes scarcelyheeded it, for her mind was full of a new project. It would be sometime before little Will could read, and longer still before he could seeover the Minster desk, where the great Bible lay chained. But whyshould she wait for that? She dimly remembered, in long past days, whenher aunt was living, having several times gone with her on Sundayafternoons to vespers in the Cathedral, and heard some one reading atthe desk in the nave. Then she had not cared to listen. Why should shenot go to hear it now?
Of political events Agnes knew little, and thought less. She couldbarely have told who was on the throne, had she been asked. She hadwatched alike tumult and pageant without any intelligent notion of whatwas passing. Nor had she any idea that during those past days, whensuch things had no interest for her, the opportunity of using them hadbeen passing away; and that in a very few weeks the public reading ofthe Bible would be perilous to those who had the courage to dare it.Imprisonment would soon await any layman who should dare to read toanother the Word of Life.
It often occurred that projects had to dwell in Agnes's mind for sometime before she had an opportunity to put them into execution. Thatsuch should be the case with this one gave her no surprise. Generallyspeaking, after mass on Sunday, Joan and Dorothy donned their finestclothes, and went out on a merry-making expedition, while MistressWinter, also in grand array, preferred to entertain her neighbours athome. She considered Agnes on these occasions as one too many, andusually contrived to send her on some errand to a distance; but now andthen, when no errand was forthcoming, she had the Sunday afternoon toherself. Five Sundays passed after the project had taken shape in hermind, and no leisure had yet come to Agnes. The Saturday arrived, theeve of the sixth Sunday, and she was still in expectation of fulfillingher hopes in some happy future. The hope was communicated to CicelyMarvell, whom Agnes met in returning from the pump, with certainty ofsympathy on her part.
The full pails were only just set down on the kitchen floor, when inbustled Mistress Flint, with a dish-cloth in her hand, which she had notwaited to lay down, so eager was she to utter what she came to say.
"Go to, Gossip Winter! Heard you the news?"
"News, gramercy! Who e'er hath the grace to tell me a shred thereof?"returned Mistress Winter crustily. "What now, Gossip?"
"Forsooth, the King's Grace is departed."
"Alack the day! Who saith it?"
"Marry, my Lord Mayor himself hath proclaimed it at the Cross, and asMonday are my Lords of the Council to ride unto the Tower for to salutethe new Queen."
"The new Queen! Who is she, belike?" demanded Mistress Winter, who didnot usually trouble her head with politics. She was standing by thefire with a frying-pan in her hand, arrested in her occupation bysurprise and curiosity, as Mistress Flint had been in hers.
"Why, what think you? Folk say that heard the same, that the King'sHighness hath left the Crown by will to his cousin, my Lady Jane Dudley,and hath put by his own sisters; and she shall be proclaimed asto-morrow in Cheapside."
"Dear heart alive!" cried Mistress Winter. "And what say my Ladies theKing's sisters, that be thus left out in the cold?"
"That is as it may be," replied Mistress Flint mysteriously. "My goodman saith, if the Lady Mary suffer all tamely, then is she not the maidhe took her to be."
"Lack-a-day! but I do verily hope siege shall be ne'er laid to London!It should go ill with us that dwell in the outskirts."
"You say well, Gossip, in very deed. The blessed saints have a care ofus! as metrusteth they shall."
"Not they belike!" growled Mistress Winter, resuming her suspendedproceedings with the frying-pan. "They shall be every one a-looking outfor the Lady Jane."
Mistress Flint came nearer, and replied in a mysterious whisper.
"Scantly so, as methinks, Gossip, when she is of the new learning, iffolk speak sooth touching her. The saints and angels shall trouble themrare little about her. Trust me, they shall go with the Lady Mary,every man of them."
"Say you so?" demanded Mistress Winter. "Why, then shall the oldlearning come in again, an' she win."
"Ay, I warrant you!" responded her neighbour.
Mistress Winter fried her rashers with a meditative face.
"Doll!" said she, when Mistress Flint and her dish-cloth had departed,"whither is become Saint Thomas of Canterbury?"
"Go to! what wis I?" returned Dorothy. "He was cast with yon old lumberin the bac
k attic, when King Edward's Grace come in. He hath been o' nocount this great while."
"Fetch him forth," said Mistress Winter; "and, Agnes, do thou cleansehim well. If my Lady Jane win, why, 'tis but that we love not to haveno dirt in the house: but if my Lady Mary, then shall he go to thegilder, and I will set him of an high place, for to be seen. Haste theeabout it."
Half an hour later, Agnes (to whom Dorothy deputed the dusty search)came down from the attic, carrying a battered wooden doll on a stand,which had once been gaudily painted, but was now worn and soiled,deprived of an arm, and gashed in sundry places, having been used as achopping-block for a short time during the palmy days of theReformation.
"He'll lack a new nose," remarked Mistress Winter, thoughtfullyconsidering the poor ill-used article. "And an arm must he have, and beall fresh painted and gilt, belike. Dear heart! it shall be costlymatter! Howbeit, we must keep up with the times, if we would swim andnot sink."
Keeping up with the times is a very costly business. It costs many mentheir fortunes, many their reputations, and some their souls. Yet menand women are always to be found who will pay the full price, ratherthan miss doing it.
The struggle was sharp, but short. On the tenth of July, Lady Jane madeher queenly entry into the Tower, in anticipation of that coronationwhich was never to be hers in this world; and on the twentieth, her ninedays' reign was over, and Mary was universally acknowledged Queen ofEngland. The first important prisoner made was the Duke ofNorthumberland, hurled down just as he touched the glittering prize tothe winning of which he had given his life; the second was BishopRidley. Events followed each other with startling rapidity. The LadyElizabeth, with her customary sagacity, kept quiet in the backgrounduntil the succession of her sister was assured, and then came openly toLondon to meet the Queen. Peers were sent to the Tower in a longprocession. Bonner was restored to the See of London, Gardiner sworn ofthe Council, Norfolk and Tunstal released from prison. The Queen madeher triumphal entry into her metropolis, and the new order of things wassecured beyond a doubt.
Business was very brisk, for some weeks afterwards, with the carver andgilder at the bottom of Hosier Lane. Quantities of idols, thrown sixyears before to the moles and to the bats, were now searched for,mended, cleaned, regilt, and set up in elevated niches. Every houseshowed at least one, except where those few dwelt who counted not theirlives dear unto them for the Master's sake. Henry Marvell went to theexpense of a new Virgin, which he set up on high in his kitchen; butCicely did not put her hand to the accursed thing, and quietly ignoredits existence. Christie, as usual, made himself generally disagreeable,by low reverences to the image in the presence of his mother, and makingfaces at it in that of his father--a state of things which lasted untilhe was well beaten by the latter, after which occurrence he reserved hisgrimaces for other company.
Mistress Flint was entirely indifferent to the question; but since everybody else was setting up an idol, she followed in the crowd. If MrFlint cared, he kept his own counsel. Little Dickon clapped his handsat the pretty colours and bright gilding; and Will innocently asked,"Mother, wherefore had we ne'er Saint Christopher aforetime?"
"Come now, be a good lad, and run to Gossip Hickman for a candle!" washis mother's convincing answer.
But this is anticipating, and we must retrace our steps to that sixthSunday for which Agnes was waiting in patient hope. Very anxiously shewatched to see whether, when dinner was over, she would be despatched toAldgate or Bermondsey. But it happened at last as she desired; therewas nowhere to send her. Mistress Winter, in her usual consideratestyle of language, gave Agnes to understand that she had no wish to seeher again before dark; and, clad in the old patched serge which was herSunday dress, the poor drudge crept timidly into Saint Paul's Cathedral.
From the Lady Chapel, soft and low, came the chant of the Virgin'sLitany. The fashionable people, in rich attire, were promenading up anddown the aisle known as "Paul's Walk." In the side chapels a fewworshippers lingered before the shrines; and round a lectern, in onecorner of the nave, were gathered a little knot of men and women,waiting there in the almost forlorn hope that some priest, more zealousthan the rest, might come up and read to them. They could not nowexpect any layman to have the courage to do so. Agnes joined thisgroup.
"I misdoubt there'll be no reading this day," said a grey-headed man.
"Ne'er a priest in Paul's careth to do the same," responded aforlorn-looking woman. "They be an idle set of wine-bibbers, every manJack of them."
"Hush thee, Goody!" whispered a second woman, giving a friendly push tothe first. "Keep a civil tongue in thine head, prithee, as whatso thythoughts be."
"Thoughts make no noise," said the old man, smiling grimly.
All at once there was a little stir among the group, as the tall, gauntfigure of the Black Friar was seen climbing the steps of the desk.
"Brethren!" said the voice which Agnes so well remembered, "let us readtogether the word of God."
And, beginning just where he had opened the book, he read to them thestory of the raising of Lazarus. He gave no word of comment till hereached the end; then he shut the book and spoke to them.
"Brethren!" said the ringing voice, "this day is come Christ unto you,that He may awake you out of sleep. And if ye have not heretofore heardHis voice, your sleep, like Lazarus, is that of very death. Now, O yedead, hear the voice of the Son of God, and live. No man cometh untothe Father but by Him. Ye must come at God neither by mass, nor bypenance, nor by confessing, nor by alms-giving, but alonely by Christ.And him that cometh will Christ in nowise cast out. No thief will Heturn away; no murderer shall hear that he hath overmuch sinned forpardon; no poor soul shall be denied the unsearchable riches; no wearyheart shall seek for rest and find none. Yea, He is become Christ--thatis, God and man together--for this very thing, that He might give untoevery one of you that will have them, His pardon and His peace. Comeye, every one of you, this day, and put this Christ unto the test."
Without another word the Black Friar descended from the desk, and passedalong the nave to the western door with long, rapid strides. And Agneswent home with her heart full.
Full--with what strange and new thoughts! No masses, no penances, noconfessions, no alms-givings, to be the means of reconciliation withGod; but only Christ. And was it possible that the Friar meant oneother thing which, he had not said--no intercession of saints? IfChrist were so ready to receive and bless all who would come--if He wereHimself the Mediator for man with God--could He need a mediator in Histurn?
Yet if not, thought Agnes with a feeling of sudden terror as thesupposition came to her, what became of the intercession of Mary? Shewho was held up as the Lady of Sorrows--just as Isis, and Cybele, andHertha had been before her, but of that Agnes knew nothing--she who waspictured by the Church as the fountain of mercy and compassion--themaiden who could sympathise with the griefs of womanhood, the mother whohad influence with, yea, authority over, the divine Son--what place didFriar Laurence find for her in his teaching? The mere imagination of areligion without Mary, was like the thought of chaos. Hitherto she hadbeen the motive-power of all piety to Agnes Stone. A sermon without ourLady! It was shocking even to think of it.
Had Agnes been in the regular habit of attendance at Saint Paul's Cross,she would have heard many such sermons during the reign of Edward theSixth. But Mistress Winter's disapprobation, combined with her ownindifference, had been enough to keep her away, and the half-discourseof John Laurence at the Cross had been the only sermon she remembered tohave heard during the five years of her residence with that delectabledame. Many thoughts, therefore, now familiar to the church-goingpublic, were quite new to her.
If she could but once again come across Friar Laurence!
For the Master's Sake: A Story of the Days of Queen Mary Page 4
