AT THE CHURCH OF ST. DUNSTAN'S.
THE refusal of the Commons to grant more than a five per cent
income-tax, and that for only two years, had been a great blow to the
Cardinal, and the King too, for money must be had from somewhere to
carry on the war against France; and so there was a meeting of all the
principal ecclesiastics at the Palace of Placentia just now to devise
plans for getting an additional tax out of the people.
It was not the most propitious moment perhaps to propose to the Bishop
of London that he should help forward a plan to put the Bible into the
hands of the people, when they had just refused to tax themselves at
the bidding of the Cardinal, for it would inevitably compel the clergy
to dip their hands into their own pockets to supply the King's need.
While King, cardinals, and bishops were debating how they should levy
a new benevolence upon the nation, Miles Paton and William Tyndale
were walking in the shady avenues of Greenwich Park, talking over the
dream that had come to each of them, and devising plans for making it a
blessed reality through the art of printing.
Miles did not think his friend would get much help from the English
bishops,—he even feared that his master might oppose the plan if he
heard of it,—and so he advised that if it could be done in no other way
that Tyndale should take it to some of the foreign printing presses and
get it done there; and he promised to make cautious enquiries from some
of the Cardinal's agents, for these were often coming and going between
London and the principal cities of Flanders, and from some of these men
he would be able to learn where the best printers could be found.
But Tyndale did not think he should need to take all this trouble. Sir
John Walsh knew Dr. Tunstall, and would not have recommended him to
seek his help if he had not felt sure that he would give it; and Sir
Harry Guildford thought it was certainly worth a trial, and took the
first favourable opportunity of speaking to the Bishop about his guest,
telling him that he was an ordained priest, and had received a licence
to preach, and, being a man of vast learning, he would be of great
service to the Church if the Bishop would kindly give him a helping
hand in the project he had at heart.
Sometimes, as the two students were walking in some lonely glade in
the park, or passing through its gates, they would see the stately
procession of the Cardinal and Bishop of London; for not even in the
semi-retirement of Greenwich Park would Wolsey walk without a princely
retinue of gentlemen being in attendance upon him.
"He is the most pompous and vainest man I ever heard of," said Tyndale
one day, as he watched this gorgeous procession of clerics, as they
gravely stalked up the broad avenue; the keepers of the park meanwhile
hustling everybody else out of the way, for Wolsey could not endure the
sight of a common person. But at the first sound of the ecclesiastical
trumpet that was blown to let the keepers know the Cardinal was
approaching, our friends got out of sight, though they were by no means
in a hurry to do this when one of the King's hunting or hawking parties
crossed their path.
Henry was at this time a good-tempered, merry-hearted man, who, so
long as he could have his own way, and was not troubled about anything
beyond the pleasure of the hour, did not trouble himself to keep the
people of Greenwich out of the park. In fact he rather liked to see
them, and the pleasant smile with which they bowed before him; and he
used to think if all his subjects were like these men of Greenwich
he would not have much trouble in persuading them to give him a
"benevolence," which his Chancellor had proposed should now be levied
on the laity. The King had agreed to this, but at the same time had
insisted that the clergy should also give of their wealth, and, after a
good deal of discussion, the Cardinal and Bishop had consented to tax
themselves to the extent of four per cent.
When this agreement had been arrived at the conclave broke up, and the
Bishop of London returned home before Master William Tyndale had an
opportunity of speaking to him, but Sir Harry Guildford having spoken
on his behalf to Dr. Tunstall they all thought it would be best for
Master Tyndale to follow him to London and seek an audience with him at
his palace.
From what he knew of the prelate Miles was not very sanguine about help
being obtained from him, and so, before he returned to Westminster with
the Cardinal, he wrote a letter to the curate of All Hallows Church at
the corner of Honey Lane.
In his letter Miles asked Master Garrett to let his friend share his
lodging if it was necessary, and he would defray all the cost of his
entertainment, for he knew that the curate was poor and had many calls
upon his slender purse from the poor of the neighbourhood.
He was, however, very thankful that he could make this provision for
his new friend in case he should need it, and he also knew it would
cheer the heart of Master Garrett to have such a man us Master Tyndale
to stay with him.
For himself he expected to be very busy when they got back to York
House.
It was arranged between them, during their walks in Greenwich Park,
that Miles should look over and correct the sheets as they were
translated, and if there was any word or sentence that seemed less
clear in the English than he thought it might be made, the friends
should meet and talk the matter over, and compare the difficulty with
the best Greek and Latin books he could borrow from the Cardinal's
library.
As the son of Sir Thomas Paton—a student of Oxford and a good Greek
scholar, Miles was not one of the common people in the Cardinal's eyes,
and so he was welcome to the use of any book his extensive library
contained; and it was one of the advantages of residence at York House
that this library was always at his disposal.
That he could make use of it now, to help Tyndale with his New
Testament translation, had a peculiar piquancy to Miles, who
nevertheless knew he would have to be very cautious how he went to work.
So the friends parted, Tyndale to take his letter to the Bishop, and
Miles to return to York House and write letters to the Commissioners
and Sheriffs of the various counties of England, about the forced loan
or "benevolence" that had to be levied in addition to the tax agreed to
by Parliament.
It was hoped that the House of Commons, having vindicated their right
to impose taxation, the benevolence would pass without much demur. But
opposition came from a most unexpected quarter. Wolsey had done what he
could to protect the shepherds while shearing the sheep almost to the
skin, but the shepherds did not see why they should contribute anything
to the king's demand, and for once they incited the sheep to resist
being shorn.
They preached from every pulpit that this benevolence demanded in the
name of the king was contrary to the liberties of the nation, and that
the king could take no man's goods but by regular process of law.
The keen instinct of the people had been sufficiently aroused now to
understand that in the question of self-taxation was involved that of
the very existence of freedom, and these pulpit orations drove it home
still further, and made the people determine to resist the chancellor's
demand, though they might be able to pay it ten times over.
Messengers rode to York House in hot haste to acquaint the chancellor
of the storm that had been raised in all the country districts, and
how the clergy themselves were leading the revolt against this illegal
taxation, and Miles was soon busy enough receiving and answering the
numerous letters. At first these were peremptory in their command to
carry out the Royal warrant at all costs; and not until news came
that Kent had driven the commissioners out of its bounds, and Suffolk
preparing for an armed resistance, were these commands withdrawn.
As long as it was possible to hold out, Wolsey would not yield; and not
until he had exhausted every political expedient, would he yield to the
popular demand and withdraw the royal warrant.
Then, and not till then, was Miles free to seek his friend William
Tyndale. They had caught, now and then, hasty glimpses of each other,
for Master Tyndale had called to see Miles; but when he understood
how closely he was engaged upon the Cardinal's business just now, he
resolved not to call again until the popular ferment had somewhat
subsided. But as soon as Miles was free to take an hour's rest in the
open air, he went in search of his friend's lodging in Honey Lane, to
learn how he fared, for he knew his plan to lodge with the Bishop had
failed.
"My Lord Bishop could not entertain me at his house," said Tyndale;
"but he has granted me leave to preach in the London pulpits, and
assures me that I shall not long lack a service; and Master Garrett
hath been my good friend, and I am to preach next Sunday at St.
Dunstan's in the West."
"It is not far from the village of Charing, and I shall be able to come
and hear you," said Miles eagerly; "and I shall bring a friend, who is
a wealthy citizen of London, with whom I have had many talks concerning
my own writing of the New Testament. He may be able and willing to help
us in our difficulty." And then he told Tyndale what a storm had been
raised throughout the country over the King's illegal demand, and how
busy it had kept him.
The two friends walked to Paul's Stairs, where they took boat to
Westminster, and went back to York House that way. Tyndale carried with
him all the sheets he had translated, that Miles and he might read them
over together, and any words that wanted further consideration might
be copied and compared; for now Miles was free for a few days,—the
Cardinal having gone to his house at Hampton.
But Miles had been left at home for a much-needed rest; and so he
invited Master Tyndale to share his lodging for a day or two, which
he gladly accepted, for his means were small, and the curate of All
Hallows was poor, and could ill afford the shelter he had so kindly
given him, even for a few days.
So it was arranged that Master Tyndale should go back to Honey Lane for
that night, and tell his friend that he was going to spend the next few
days with Miles, after preaching at St. Dunstan's on Sunday.
After he was gone, Miles turned to consider the words that had been
taken down as needing further consideration, and for which special
facilities for elucidation existed in the Cardinal's splendid library.
He was up at six o'clock the next morning, for Church service began at
eight, and many citizens who loved a country walk on Sunday went to St.
Dunstan's. It lay between Temple Bar and the village of Charing, near
the town houses of many of the nobility, so that William Tyndale had
been appointed to preach in one of the most fashionable of the London
churches.
In those days the most wealthy of London merchants lived over their
shops, and so city churches were well-filled, and this was a favourite
one to those who loved a walk, and could boast of rather an eclectic
congregation.
Miles had often been there in preference to attending mass in the
Cardinal's private chapel; and he went out about seven o'clock that
Sunday morning feeling more than usually elated, for he longed to hear
his friend preach, feeling sure he should hear the same doctrine as
that taught by Master Clark at Oxford, whose teaching and preaching he
had sorely missed.
As he came within sight of the church, he saw his friend Master
Monmouth, a wealthy citizen for whom he had learned to have a deep
regard. For Master Monmouth had invited him to his house when he first
came to London, and had given him much fatherly advice as to the
company and places in and around London, to enable him to live purely,
and not fall a victim to some rogue or gamester, who would tempt him to
ruin, if possible.
"Well met, Master Monmouth! You are right heartily welcome this
morning," said Miles, as he walked up to his friend and greeted him.
"And why this morning more than any other, Master Miles?" asked the
merchant warmly.
"Because I am glad you have come to St. Dunstan's, to hear my friend
Master Tyndale's sermon. After church I will tell you more concerning
him, and introduce him to you—but we must go into church now."
"Yes, indeed we must, if we wish to get a seat," said the merchant; for
while they had been speaking, people from beyond Temple Bar, as well
as from the great houses along the Strand, facing the river, had been
hurrying into church. And now the two friends followed, and were glad
to find vacant places near the door.
The sermon preached that day by Master William Tyndale was not speedily
forgotten; for the preacher, instead of insisting upon penance, masses
for the dead, and other Romish doctrines, begged his hearers to make
themselves acquainted with the Word of God Himself, which would teach
them in simple truths the unsearchable riches of Christ.
Monmouth listened with his heart and soul, as well as his ears; and
when the clock struck nine, and the sermon was drawing to a close, he
whispered to Miles, "I could listen for another hour to that priest,
though he has been speaking nigh upon an hour now!"
"Aye, he speaks like Master Clark of Oxford, of whom I have told you."
"Do you think he would come to 'The Golden Fleece,' and have some
discourse with my dame? Can you come with him and spend the rest of the
day?" said Monmouth eagerly.
"I must ask my friend's leave first, for he has promised to spend a day
or two with me while the Cardinal is at Hampton Court, where he has
gone to spend a few days."
Monmouth smiled. "Ah! after the storm he raised about our ears he would
fain hide his head for a while," he said in a pleasant tone, though he
too was one who had denounced the benevolence as illegal. They sat and
chatted quietly together while the people were going out of church, and
when William Tyndale appeared Miles went forward to meet him, and told
him of Master Monmouth's proposal.
But Master Tyndale was a gentleman who came of good family, although
he might not be able to boast of much of this world's goods; and so he
looked a little surprised that Miles should propose to spend the day in
such familiar intercourse with a London merchant, even though he might
be rich.
The learned thinker was not altogether free of the pride and prejudice
of birth, that placed the land owners above those who earned their
bread by trade and the sweat of their own faces, and so he bowed with a
little stiffness to Monmouth's proposal, that they should walk with him
through Fleet Street, and take their dinner with him and his dame.
But fortunately the decision was left to Miles; and he had been to
Monmouth's house before, and made the acquaintance of his family; and
so he soon decided that they would go home with him, and that Master
Tyndale should return with him to York House before sunset.
London shops in those days, with their beetle-browed, overhanging upper
stories, were not the most inviting of places, especially on Sunday
when the outer flap which formed the window shutter was closed, and the
whole place was in darkness. Then, too, there was the close, fusty,
musty smell of the goods stored away in the cellar, and on the shelves,
and in every available corner, so that it was difficult to leave a
clear passage-way for the family use through all the combined litter
of the shop. Now, as the merchant led the way between boxes, bales and
sacks, he had to turn round and grasp the priest's hand, lest he should
stumble over some of the lumber, or down the cellar stairs of "The
Golden Fleece."
But when once these dangers were passed, and the upper rooms gained,
Master Tyndale found that they were as conveniently and elegantly
furnished as little Sodbury Hall itself. Indeed, all the new
inventions, such as stamped leather tapestry on the walls, and a rug of
some foreign make on the floor, in the best room, instead of the rushes
that needed constantly replacing, if the room was to be kept sweet and
clean, were in use here.
Before the day was over, Master Tyndale had learned not to despise a
London merchant; for Monmouth showed as great an appreciation of the
truth of the Gospel as even he could desire, and begged him to come and
stay with him while he translated the New Testament.