SIR THOMAS PATON.
MASTER TYNDALE went to spend a day or two with Miles at York House,
before taking up his quarters with the generous London merchant,
Monmouth, at "The Sign of the Golden Fleece." Every shop—no matter what
its trade might be—had its distinctive sign in those days—the picture,
if possible, as well as the words, being painted on a board and hung
out beyond the doorway. Prentice lads called out the wares that were
sold, trying to outbawl each other in their shouts of "What d'ye lack?
What d'ye lack? Here's fine Flemish cloth for hose and doublet!"
"Here's spices and peppers from beyond the sea!" called another. "Hats!
Hats! Hats!" screamed a third. This was the din that greeted the two
friends as they walked up Fleet Street together from York House.
It was not too quiet there for a studious man, with its constant coming
and going; but here, in the midst of this London chaffering, what hope
would there be of ever getting a quiet hour? And Miles said something
of this as they were pushed and jostled and shouted at by these eager
lads, who were anxious to secure them as customers.
But on their arrival at "The Golden Fleece" they found that Dame
Monmouth had anticipated her guest's desire to be quiet, for she had
prepared a room for him at the back, as far away from the noise of the
street as possible; and, being at the very top of the house, it was
light, although the casement was small. But the room itself was not
much larger than a monk's cell, and almost as plainly furnished.
A table, a stool, a little pallet bed in one corner, and two deal
shelves to hold his books! But Tyndale was delighted with his little
room, and deeply grateful to the lady who had taken care that all the
deal furniture should be carefully scrubbed before it was brought up
here.
Miles was inclined to view it with a little disfavour, for he would
fain have honoured his friend by providing him with a more luxurious
lodging, he having begun to get used to "purple and fine linen" from
living in the Cardinal's household—although his own room at Oxford had
been little, if any, better.
"This will be as the portal of heaven to me, I hope," said Tyndale,
looking round the room with a smile of supreme satisfaction. "Here I
trust I shall be taught of the Spirit how to write and what to say, for
the harvest truly is plenteous but the labourers are few."
Yet the two friends had not been idle amid the splendours of York
House; for Miles, the Cardinal, having given him leave to use his
library, had obtained leave from the Controller of the household to
take the country priest there also; and he, nothing loth to exalt his
master's fame for splendour, riches, and learning, had readily agreed
to let the two spend a good deal of their time there.
Books that they could scarcely hope to find anywhere else in England
were stored here—treasures of Greek and Hebrew—valuable tomes that had
been brought from Italy, as presents or bribes to Wolsey, were here
ranged on the shelves; and the friends were not slow to make use of
these for reference in the work they both had so much at heart. It was
for the sake of having such a library to refer to in any difficulty
that Tyndale had so much desired the patronage and help of the Bishop
of London; but, as he turned the pages of these invaluable treasures of
learning, he doubted whether Dr. Tunstall's library would afford him
such help as this of the Cardinal's; and when the Controller graciously
extended his invitation to a seat at the household table, Tyndale was
careful to accept it gratefully, although he would rather have had a
frugal meal served to him at the neighbouring tavern, as he and Miles
had arranged for.
And the Controller was not so pleased after all, for Master Tyndale had
lived sparingly and frugally all the years he had been at Cambridge,
and evidently had believed in plain living and high thinking, for he
persistently declined one dainty after the other, and sat munching a
piece of coarse rye-bread, although there was a loaf made from the
finest wheat meal standing close to him.
Miles was vexed, for he thought his friend might for once have
conformed to the usages of the Cardinal's household, for his sake, if
for nothing else. But all Tyndale would consent to eat was a piece of
coarse boiled beef, such as was served at the tables of the servants
about the kitchen.
It was a small matter, perhaps—this question of eating and drinking—but
Tyndale's sturdy adherence to what he conceived the best manner of
living, was characteristic of the man and the times in which he lived.
Perhaps the Reformers, of whom Tyndale was one of the earliest, might
have yielded a little more in the question of non-essentials; but if
they had done this, would they have been fitted for the strenuous
work that was needed just then? Would they have made their protest
against the corruptions of the Church as effectual, if they had not
held pertinaciously to their principles in little things as well as in
greater matters?
Be this as it may, Tyndale declined all the delicacies served to
the gentlemen at the Cardinal's table, and thereby offended the
Controller, who regarded him as a vain-glorious priest—as he told
Miles afterwards—and one who set himself up as being better than the
Lord's anointed, the Cardinal himself! For he never refused good meat
and wine; but, like a wise man, would have nothing but the best of
everything brought to his own private table.
The same difficulty cropped up at the family table at "The Golden
Fleece." Tyndale did not care for the rich food that was placed on the
board of the London merchant; and to Dame Dorothy's great regret would
eat nothing but the plainest and coarsest food, such as was served to
the 'prentice lads and serving women of the household.
The coming of the priest, Master William Tyndale—or "Sir" William, as
most priests were called—did not add much to Dame Dorothy's household
work, or household expenditure: for Tyndale made his own bed, and
insisted upon cleaning his own room, lest through the carelessness
of some awkward or inquisitive maid, his work of translation should
be spoiled or hindered; for the more he saw and heard of the great
Cardinal, who had the ruling of England in his hands, the more he
desired that the Word of God should be placed in the hands of the
people, that they might see and judge for themselves how far this proud
prelate, and the church he represented, had strayed from the example of
the Master they professed to serve.
To perfect his work, it was necessary sometimes that he should walk
down to York House and consult with his friend, or examine some book in
the Cardinal's library, for the proper elucidation of some word, that
he might, by tracing it through several languages, at last select the
best English word that would express its meaning.
No labour was too great to make his translation as nearly perfect as
it could be; and he thanked God now for the scholarship that made this
possible to him; for without it he could hardly have undertaken such a
task.
But he did not give up preaching occasionally, especially at St.
Dunstan's, beyond the gate of the city. Here a fashionable congregation
would be gathered to hear him, and he did not fail to prepare their
minds for the reception of God's Word in its purest translation,
although he did not venture to speak openly of such a work being done.
For he knew enough now to feel convinced that Dr. Tunstall, and the
Cardinal too, would oppose, and not help forward, such a work. How
far their opposition might go, there was no telling; and while Wolsey
held supreme power, neither rank nor learning would avail to save any
man who ventured to oppose his policy in the slightest degree; and his
policy at present was to keep the people in ignorance, whatever he
might do to help forward learning among the upper classes.
Miles and Master Tyndale did not see eye to eye in this matter. Perhaps
Miles was dazzled; or perhaps he had formed a truer estimate of the man
than his public policy warranted. At any rate, they agreed to differ
as to their estimate of his character, and Miles was content to serve
him faithfully, and even affectionately, for he could see some lovable
traits of character where others saw only haughty disdain.
Yet even if they had quarrelled, neither would have let that interfere
with the self-imposed task they had undertaken. This was to both a
sacred task, to which they had been divinely called, and for which mere
private feelings,—their own convenience or pleasure,—must instantly
give way; for Miles was only a trifle less possessed by this desire to
see the Scripture translated into English than William Tyndale himself;
and he had written home more than once to tell his sister that such a
work was likely to be accomplished at last, and that in his leisure
time he was able to give some help to the translator.
Things were in this condition, and summer was waning in the year 1523,
when one day Sir Thomas Paton himself arrived at York House to his
son's great surprise.
"My father, this is a great joy," said Miles, grasping the old man's
hand, and looking tenderly into his face. He was almost afraid to ask
for his mother and sister, lest his father should have come to tell him
that something had befallen them.
The old man seemed to read his thoughts, for he said, "You need not be
afraid—Margery and our dear dame are well."
"Thank you, father; I was afraid."
"Yes, yes, you always were a coward," said Sir Thomas, impatiently.
"But I have come to see His Eminence the Chancellor, for I cannot pay
these taxes on the land as things are now, and I have come to see what
is to be done about it; and as my son, you ought to make things plain
and easy for me with the Chancellor."
Miles looked puzzled. Was it the old trouble cropping up again, or had
his father simply come on the bootless errand of trying to get the new
tax remitted, under the impression that because he was in the service
of the Cardinal, this favour ought to be extended to them? If this
was the view his father took, he thought perhaps he might solve the
difficulty by paying the tax himself; though he had no wish to spend
his money in this way, for he was saving what he could to help to pay
the cost of printing the New Testament.
From enquiries he had made through various agents employed by the
Cardinal, he had come to the conclusion that it would be better to get
the printing done at one of the printing presses on the continent.
To do this it would be necessary for Master Tyndale to go himself,
and this would make it more expensive than if they had got it done
in London; but his friend wished it to be this way, and he must help
him; and so he did not offer to take upon himself the burden of paying
his father's taxes, but let the old man pour out all the trouble and
vexation that had brought him to London before he said a word.
But presently Sir Thomas said, "I want you to bring me privately
to His Eminence, for I want to ask him a question that he only, as
Cardinal legate, and the Pope himself, can answer,—so far as England is
concerned."
"Cannot you tell me first what this question is, father? for I may be
able to answer it from what I have heard of other cases—other examples."
"There is but one example of what I want to know; but seeing it's good
for the king, I don't see why it shouldn't be good for his people."
"But there are many things the king may do that are neither fitting nor
convenient for other men," said Miles.
He thought that his father must have lived in the country so long, and
brooded over the same difficulties so much, that his wits had gone
astray a little; and certainly the baronet's next words did not help to
remove this impression.
"Well, lad, did you ever hear of another man beside the king marry his
brother's wife?"
Miles stared as if he did not comprehend the question.
"Hast never heard that our king married his brother Arthur's wife?"
demanded the old man ironically. Now Miles, if he had heard it, had
well-nigh forgotten it, for no one talked of the matter just now. "What
I want to know is this—could you legally marry the Lady Audrey?"
"Father! father! What are you saying?" he interrupted, as he started to
his feet.
"I am just telling you the question I want to lay before His Eminence.
If you can, it will solve a good many difficulties at Paton Hall; and I
shall go back."
"But I cannot," broke in Miles. "I was speaking to a priest the other
day, and he said that the marriage of a man to his deceased brother's
wife was contrary to the law of God, and could by no means be a legal—"
"Master Paton, I require you in my private chamber."
Miles started, and turned crimson, as he bowed before the speaker. It
was the Cardinal himself. He must have opened the door and heard all
that was said, for they were so intent upon what they were saying that
they had not heard a sound.
Miles bowed his assent to the command, and, with a whispered word to
his father to await his return, he silently followed Wolsey to his own
private room.
"Who is that old man?" asked his master, when he had bidden him close
the door of the room.
"My father, may it please your Eminence, and he has but now come from
Woodstock."
"But he is prating of the king's matters."
"Nay, he told me he wished me to marry my brother's widow."
"And why not do it if it would be convenient?" said the Cardinal, as if
he was counselling the purchase of a suit of clothes.
"It is against the law of God and the Church," said Miles.
"But such a thing could be granted by the Pope."
"But could the Pope be quite sure it is agreeable to the law of God?
When the King's last baby died, I heard a whisper among those who were
at Greenwich, saying that God would not bless such a marriage with
children."
"Ah! you heard that, did you?" said the Cardinal, looking up sharply.
"But there is the lady Mary," he added the next minute.
"Yes, but the King bath had several other children, but none to live."
For a minute the Cardinal sat looking with unseeing eyes at the hem
of his richly embroidered robe, but he spoke no word; and, after that
pause, he bade Miles take his pen, and copy such directions as he
should give him; they, however, being on a totally different matter;
and Miles thought that what he had said was forgotten by his master, as
the subject was never referred to again.
But the seed had been sown. Wolsey was a man who never forgot. He could
wait. 'He was a man who knew how to wait; and the Queen's nephew,
Charles the Fifth, had outwitted him and baulked his ambition.
After promising to give him all his influence to obtain the honour
and glory of being Pope, he had set his own tutor in the chair of St.
Peter, and crowned him with the triple crown, and somebody would have
to pay for that affront, and pay dearly too; and he would strike at the
Emperor Charles through Queen Catherine.