A LUCKY ESCAPE.
OUR three friends presented a sorry spectacle in the streets of Oxford,
but Miles was known at a small hostelry near his college, and to this
he took Rankin and Reuben, bidding the landlord supply them with a good
meal, and the means of making themselves decent.
He then went in search of some of his own friends, and, as it was still
early, had little difficulty in finding them.
They laughed at his sorry appearance, and his story of falling among
thieves on his way, but they were ready enough to help him, for he
was very popular, both with students and teachers, and they were glad
enough to see him back among them.
In the quiet of his own room, however, Miles began to think of the
graver difficulty that beset him now, for he feared his father would
not send him any money; and, as he had not entered the college as a
poor student, money was needed at every turn.
Fortunately the robbers had not taken his Greek New Testament, but had
put it back into the inner pocket when they took his money, probably
thinking it was safest there and of no value to them; and as Miles
laid this precious treasure on the table while he changed his clothes,
it suddenly occurred to him that he might perhaps earn a little money
by translating this, or some portion of it, into English. Many of the
students, who were not sufficiently masters of the Greek tongue, had
openly wished that someone would translate it into English for them,
and as he was a pretty good Greek scholar he thought he might be able
in his leisure time to translate one or two of the Gospels, and, having
made one fair copy, it would not take long to copy it again, and he
resolved to sit down to his task that very day and try what he could
do, before mentioning it to any of his friends.
Then he had to consider what was to be done for Reuben and Rankin.
Without money to help himself, it was a sore perplexity to know what
to do for them. Reuben would go back to Woodstock, of course, and tell
his father what had happened, and the sooner he set out the better. But
there was also the farmer, who had risked his life to save him, he also
must be thought for, and, if possible, provided for, though how it was
to be done it was hard to say; and Miles was so long considering the
subject that two of his friends came in search of him an hour or two
later.
"Why did you not come to the lecture?" said one. "We made sure we
should see you there."
"Well, I must go and see my tutor, and ask him a few questions before
I can do anything," said Miles, "and I was hardly fit for lecture this
morning, having had no sleep all night." And then by degrees he told
these friends something of the difficulties in which he found himself
placed, and the uncertainty whether his father would send him any more
money, even when his servant got back to Woodstock.
"Why, you are trying to work out More's 'Utopia,'" said one of his
friends, laughing.
"What is that?" asked Miles. "Another new book from the Greek?"
"Oh, no; it is in simple English that anyone can read, and so I suppose
it is beneath the notice of you Greek scholars."
"But you said I had been trying to practice it."
"Well, it seems like it from what you say, for the dwellers in
'Nowhere'—More's grand republic—must all have set to work in your way,
and tried to do to others as they would be done by."
"But, man alive, that is not in the 'Utopia,' but in the New Testament,
and one of the commands of Christ Himself," said Miles, quickly. "That
is why it would be such a good thing if we could get the New Testament
translated into English, that men may learn what the mind of Christ
is in such matters. That was why Dean Colet was so anxious that all
Oxford students should study Greek—that each might find for himself a
rational and practical basis for religion—one fit to help a man in the
every-day concerns of life, and not for a monastery. Monasteries might
have been all very well a few hundred years ago, but we want a religion
for farmers, and landlords, and workpeople, in this year of grace and
new light 1520."
"So you've begun the practice of it as a landlord's son," said one
of his friends, a little derisively. "I think I should have done my
father's bidding, and let him take the responsibility," he added.
"But none could take that for me when I had once learned the truth
of the Gospel in such matters," answered Miles. "It is my father who
cannot take the responsibility, because he has not learned what I have.
The light of the new learning had not dawned when he was at Oxford, and
so he can but walk in the old darkness, as it seems to me. But for me
to follow, because the light makes my path a little harder, is to brand
myself as a coward, and unworthy of the new learning. Could I be a true
Grecian, do you think, and not do what I can to save the poor from
further wretchedness?"
"Oh! you are one of More's Utopians. I will bring you the book and
let you read it," he said, laughing, "if you can condescend to read
anything so simple as English."
Miles felt a little disturbed by this talk with his friend, for there
was a touch of irony in his tone, and a want of sympathy that hurt
the lad's sensitiveness, and he wondered whether his tutor would pour
ridicule on his proposed plan to help himself.
But before going to see this older and more experienced friend he went
in search of Reuben, whom he found still at the hostelry. But Rankin
had been too impatient to go in search of work, to stay longer than was
necessary to make himself look more like a decent workman.
"Well, you must abide here to-night, and then set off on your journey
to Woodstock early in the morning. It may be you will find travellers
going in the same direction, and who will be glad for you to join them.
My father will be angry over the loss of the horses, I am sure, but
you must do what you can to smooth matters for me, Reuben. And for
the rest, tell my father I was very sorry to depart from home in such
haste, but his commands left me no choice. If he will send me such
moneys to Oxford as I need, to pay the cost of my learning, I shall be
truly thankful; but if he will not, then I must seek such employment
as I can get, to enable me to finish that which has been well begun.
Give my reverent love to my mother, and assure her that I shall not
do anything to disgrace the name of my father and mother. If you can
obtain speech of my sister, or her maid, ask her to send me somewhat
from her store, by the hand of any faithful messenger, that I may be
able to pay your score here, for the rogues left me without a penny,
and I shall have to sell some of my books to supply my own wants until
I can earn a little money."
He bade Reuben farewell, rather ruefully, and then decided to walk
round the town, and see how the new college was progressing.
"I wonder what name they will give it when it is finished?" he said,
half aloud, as he paused in front of the building that was now well on
its way to completion.
"Oh, it will be 'Cardinal College' or 'Wolsey College,' of course, as
it is being built for the honour and glory of our great Chancellor,"
remarked a stranger who stood near.
But before Miles could reply he was pushed aside by a party of workmen,
bearing some heavy slabs of stone, which they seemed to be very careful
should not be damaged, and to his great surprise he recognised Rankin
as one of the party.
The man was too intent upon preserving from damage the stone that he
was carrying to notice Miles, but he saw that already the man's whole
aspect had undergone a change, and he followed until the stone was
set down, and Rankin was free to stretch himself and say a word as he
walked back to fetch the next load.
"Why, Rankin, how is this?" asked Miles, in a tone of pleased surprise.
"Aye, Master Miles, you may well say, 'How is this?' God and the
Blessed Virgin be thanked! for I never expected such good luck would
come to me, I can tell you."
"Aye, you have got work I can see. But will it last beyond the day?"
"Oh, yes, I hope so. You see they are pulling down the monastery away
yonder to build this new college, and some of the stones they are
moving now are delicately carved, and need careful handling, as well as
a strong man to do it. This morning there was an accident—one of the
stones got damaged, and one of the men hurt, and, as I was near, I lent
a hand to save the poor fellow from being crushed. One of the master
masons saw me do it, and when the injured man had been carried to the
convent for the monks to nurse him, he asked if I would take his place,
as I seemed a strong man and able to handle the stones. So here I am,
and I hope I shall stay here, and be able to help my poor wife and
children to something better than a home in a cave before the winter
quite settles down upon us."
"Aye, that would be a blessing indeed," said Miles, warmly, "worth
being taken prisoner and robbed," laughed he. "I wonder you have not
tried to get work before, Rankin," he added.
"Tried! Master Miles, I have almost gone down on my knees when I have
been asking for work," said the man, earnestly. "I suppose the Lord
sent it just now, because He knows I can't go back to the woods for a
living. But there's my poor wife to be thought of still."
"Yes, but I thought she had gone to stay with her sister for a few
weeks," said Miles. "Now, couldn't Reuben take a message to her on his
way back to Woodstock? Let him carry the good news that you have found
work at last, and it may be she can stay where she is for the present,
as you will be able to pay something of her charges when a messenger
can be found to carry it; or one of us can journey thither ourselves."
"Master Miles, that is a wise thought, and if Reuben will only carry
the news I shall be thankful. I cannot stay to talk longer," he added,
and he ran off after his fellow-workmen, for fear he should be thought
to be idling if he was not ready with the rest to shoulder the slab
that should be given into his charge.
It was heavy work, but the landlord of the hostelry had given him a
good meal, and he could pay for the next himself, and hope gave him
strength and courage too.
It also cheered Miles, and, as he took his way to his tutor's room, he
thought his mischance of being taken prisoner was not such a grievous
calamity after all if it helped poor Rankin into a settled mode of
living.
He was so full of this that he told his friend all about this first,
and then spoke of his own changed prospects unless his father would
forgive him and send him the needful means to continue his studies
until he could take his degree.
"You are a very good Greek scholar I know, Paton, but whether you could
earn anything by translating is another matter. There is also the law
of the Church to be considered, for what you propose to do is in direct
contravention of it. We have this beautiful Testament of Erasmus, and
we cannot be too thankful for it, but although our present Archbishop
Warham, and many others, approve of it, many see in it a great danger
to the Church, and what they would say or do, if it was known that
anyone dared to do it into English, I cannot tell."
Miles opened his eyes in astonishment. "If it is so good for us who
have learned the Greek tongue, why should it not be good for those who
can only read English, but yet desire to find a rational practical
religion such as the New Testament teaches?"
"Because it is not considered safe to put the Bible into the hands of
the unlearned. While it is in Greek and Latin only it is safe from the
simple folk; but, if it is rendered into English, they would be able to
read it for themselves."
"And wherefore should they not have this great gift for which, you say,
we ought to be thankful?"
But his friend only smiled, and shook his head cautiously. He would not
encourage the lad in such a dangerous project, and he told him so, at
the same time warning him that if he did undertake such a task he must
go about it very carefully, or he would involve himself and his friends
in a good deal of trouble.
Poor Miles went back to his rooms feeling very much perplexed. Here
was the great Chancellor Wolsey building a new college to extend the
new learning, which everybody extolled, and for the want of which his
father was acting so unjustly towards his poor, helpless tenants. And
yet when he proposed to extend the most notable outcome of this, by
translating the Greek New Testament into English, he was told that
he should be breaking one of the fundamental laws of the Church! And
the Church itself was believed to be founded on the very truths and
doctrines he wanted to make known to the unlearned, as well as those
who could read Greek, that they might form their lives upon the truth
of Christ Himself!
Life was a dreadful puzzle, he thought, as he sat down in his little
room to try and think out the problem that had been forced upon him.
He had enrolled himself among the Grecians of his college without
thinking much about it, beyond its being a good rallying cry when
there was a fight among the students and the town lads, or among the
students themselves over some knotty point that could not be solved by
logic, and until he went home and saw the depopulated village this had
satisfied him.
There, however, while his injured ankle compelled him to keep within
the shelter of his own room, he had time to think of many things, and
what he heard and saw during this last visit to his home had brought
him face to face with the stern realities of life in a fashion he had
never dreamed of before. Now, for the first time, his public profession
of being a "Grecian"—a follower of the new learning—had brought
him into conflict with that which, to his mind, the word "Trojan"
represented; and he clung most tenaciously to the thought that if his
father had only had the opportunity of learning Greek, and reading the
New Testament in that language, he would never have turned Rankin and
the rest of the poor folks off the land as he had done.
This being so, was it not the duty of those who had been enlightened
to do what they could to extend its influence, so that men like his
father, who were too old to learn a new language, or Rankin, who
would never have time to do so, might yet be able to learn these
all-important truths, which, if carried out, would make life for all
mankind a fairer, sweeter, holier thing than men had ever dreamed it
could be?
In the midst of these reflections his friend came in who had promised
to lend him a book written in English by an Englishman; and he was
almost as eager to hear about it as his friend was to tell him of its
wonders.
Sir Thomas More, it seemed, on one of his journeys abroad, had met with
a sailor who had seen the new world beyond the great sea, and this had
set Sir Thomas More thinking of what this new land of "Nowhere" or
"Utopia" ought to be.
"Let me read you a little bit about the houses in 'Utopia,'" said his
friend, after he had related some of its wonders. "'The houses in the
beginning were very low,'" he read, "'and like homely cottages, or poor
shepherd huts, made at all adventures of every rude piece of timber
that came first to hand, with mud walls and ridged roofs thatched over
with straw.'"
"Oh! we can see them any day here in Oxford or Woodstock," interrupted
Miles.
"Yes, of course, but wait a minute; whoever saw houses like these?" And
he read on, "'The streets were twenty feet broad; the houses backed by
spacious gardens and curiously builded, after a gorgeous and gallant
sort, with their stories one after the other. The outsides of the walls
be made either of hard flint, or of plaster, or of bricks, and the
inner sides be well strengthened with timber work. The roofs be plain
and flat, covered over with plaster that be so tempered that no fire
can hurt or perish it, and withstanding the violence of the weather
better than any lead. They keep the wind out of their windows with
glass, for it is there much used, and sometimes also with fine linen
cloth dipped in oil or amber, and that for two commodities, for by this
means more light cometh in, and the wind is better kept out.'"
"Then he would have us all live in palaces," remarked Miles. "But I do
not see how that is to make us better Grecians," he added.
"Oh, just hear what he says we are constantly trying to do at the
present time," said his friend, turning the pages of his book, "'The
rich are ever striving to pare away something further from the daily
wages of the poor by private fraud, and even by public law, so that
the wrong already existing (for it is a wrong that those from whom the
State derives most benefit should receive least reward) is made yet
greater by the law of the State. The rich devise every means by which
they may, in the first place, secure to themselves what they have
amassed by wrong, and then take to their own use and profit, at the
lowest possible price, the work and labour of the poor, and so soon as
the rich decide on adopting these devices in the name of the public
they then become law.'"
"I don't know whether it is as bad as that," said Miles, thoughtfully,
"but what does he propose should be the remedy for this state of
things?" he asked, eagerly.
"Listen—'In "Nowhere" the aim of legislation is to secure the welfare,
social, industrial, intellectual, religious, of the community at
large, and of the labour class, as the true basis of a well-ordered
Commonwealth. The aim of its labour laws was the benefit of the
labourer.'"
"Then in 'Nowhere' all men must be true Grecians," said Miles, after a
pause, "for if they were not they would not pass such laws, and they
would not be fit to live in its palaces. I wonder whether the new
learning will ever change our Merry England into such a kingdom as this
Utopia."
"Ah! I wonder," said his friend, and then the two young men began
talking of other matters, but he left his "Utopia" for Miles to
read. And Miles sat up until far into the night devouring this most
fascinating book, that gathered into itself all the hopes and dreams of
such men as Colet, Erasmus, More, Warham, and others like-minded with
them, and which he now fondly hoped he should see become a reality.