NOT READY FOR UTOPIA.
BEFORE the winter was over, most of the cottages in the village had
been made habitable, and some of the old folks who had survived the
hard life in the woods had moved back to their old dwellings.
Miles had fondly hoped that when this was attained the hardest part of
his task would be over, but he found to his dismay that it had only
just begun.
His workmen had done well, and worked steadily and carefully until the
cottages that were worth repairing had been finished; but when that
was accomplished, and the old folks moved in, then their ardour for
work seemed to evaporate. Miles wanted his large pastures fenced off
into something like their old proportions, that the land might be made
arable once more; and, as he said, it would give work to all about the
place to bring it back to its former condition. But the men shook their
heads to the proposal.
"It is not the custom among Englishmen to work in the winter; that is
the time for wrestling and running, not for working," said the boldest
of these peasants. "We have worked at the cottages because we are tired
of a roving life in the woods; but what would be thought of a man
who would work all the year round? What would come of our wrestling
matches, which are the glory of every Englishman?"
In vain Miles argued and protested; he was always met with the same
answer,—their fathers never worked in the winter, and why should they?
And he found that he was expected to keep these wrestlers as well as
the old folks who were too weak to work. But in their case he said,
"No;" if they would not work they should not eat at his expense; and
though he was half afraid the more restless of them might go off to the
precarious life of the woods, they at last submitted to the inevitable,
though they grumbled a good deal at the un-English demand made upon
them, and Miles earned the character of being a hard man on his
dependents at the very outset.
But still he had the satisfaction of seeing the fences put up, and the
old landmarks restored, and he hoped this enforced labour would not be
without its uses in breaking down the men's prejudices against working
during the winter season, for it did not have its root in laziness, but
in the pride of race. Frenchmen might, and did work, but they despised
and hated the very name of a Frenchman, this feeling growing out of the
frequent wars between the two countries.
Early in the spring he had a visit from Rankin, who had heard the news
of the changes going on at his old home. He had come to see whether
Miles would not let him have the old holding which had descended from
father to son for so many generations.
Miles said he should be glad enough for Rankin to come back when he
could leave his present employment; and as soon as he could come, he
would supply the materials for him to build a substantial farmhouse
where the old mud-cottage had stood.
But to his disappointment Rankin could not see the need of putting up a
dwelling which would cost so much more in time, labour, and material.
The old tenement, if it did need frequent patching, was easily built,
and he wanted to be back on the land and get to work there with as
little delay as possible; and he brought forward the same argument that
the others did,—what was good enough for his father and mother was good
enough for him.
But after some talk a compromise was effected in the matter, and he
agreed to carry out his landlord's wishes.
It was not encouraging to have these contests with his tenants, over
matters that were so clearly for their own benefit, and Miles wondered
how it would be in the matter of religion by-and-bye.
Here the bulk of the people on his own property were stupidly holding
to customs that were hurtful to themselves, and refusing to adopt
better because they were new. Would it be the same when the New
Testament was printed and scattered broadcast through the land? Or
would they hold to the new light and learning when once it was given to
them, as the Commons held by their rights when his master would have
infringed them that May-day at Westminster?
The memory of that scene was deeply engraven upon the memory of Miles,
and he reflected that after all, the decision concerning this rested in
the hands of the people of the country, rather than with the King and
Cardinal, however powerful they might be.
Of course there were a few like his friend Monmouth, and other
merchants of London, who would hold as fast by what they learned from
Master Tyndale and Master Garrett of Honey Lane; but if the Church
declared that this teaching was heresy, and contrary to that of the
Church, he feared there would be a sorry time in store for a few at
least of those who embraced the new doctrines, unless the people, as a
whole, could be brought to embrace them.
He had thought at one time that no sensible man could fail to do this,
when once they were made clear to him; but his winter's experience
had somewhat shaken his faith in his speedy conversion of even the
thinking part of the community, and he saw that they would have to be
very cautious how they distributed the New Testament, even when it was
printed.
He tried to hope that his former master, the Cardinal, would institute
such a reform of the Church, that there would be no need to do as the
German monk Luther had done—separate from the Church, and denounce it.
He shuddered at the thought of doing this, for he and Cicely could go
to the Monastery Chapel now, and take part in the service truly and
devoutly, but what it might be later on he dared not think. He shivered
at the reflection of what a storm might burst, when the prejudices of
some, and the vested interests of others, taken in conjunction with
the hostility of the Church, were all brought into conflict with this
new light that God had given for the advancement of the world, and the
establishment of His kingdom.
These graver thoughts, though they occupied a good deal of his
attention, were not allowed to cloud the happiness of himself, or the
household of which he was master.
His young wife, now known as "the young Lady Paton," was as happy as a
bird as she went about her household duties with Margery; for the two
had agreed to divide these between them, now that the elder lady was no
longer able to take any active share in their management.
The Dowager Lady Paton was better now than she had been during the
winter, but she did not leave her rooms, and behaved with rather
distant courtesy to Cicely; but still, it was a happy and united
household, and they all managed to keep on good terms with the brethren
at the Monastery, though the monks took no pains to hide the fact
that they hated the new learning, and Sir Miles was equally frank in
declaring his attachment to it.
The family were gathered round a fire of logs one chilly evening in
April of this year, 1524, when a messenger arrived, bringing a letter
from London for Sir Miles Paton. He wore the livery of the Cardinal,
and brought a packet from one of his friends in the household; but when
the packet was opened, Miles found the most important news came from
Master Tyndale, who begged him to come to London, if it was possible,
as he had determined to leave England very soon, and he knew not when
he might return.
Miles felt almost alarmed as he read the letter. It was cautiously
written, and no mention was made of the special work in which the
writer had been engaged; for, as it had to pass through the hands of
some of the Cardinal's servants before it could reach Miles, Tyndale
had to be very careful what he said; but Miles could understand that
his friend had been disappointed, as well as himself, lately.
The messenger who had brought the packet of letters—for there were
others besides that of Tyndale's—would stay the night, of course, and
Miles determined to ride back with him to London, for he was anxious to
see his friend once more before he left England. So, by daybreak, the
little party were in their saddles—Cicely and Margery standing in the
porch to bid Miles farewell.
He found the scholarly priest bending over his books in the little
turret-room, and the two friends eagerly grasped hands, and then
silently looked into each other's eyes to see what change time had made
in them since they last met.
"You have grown in knowledge, my friend," said Tyndale, with a closer
clasp on the hand.
"Yes," said Miles, with something of a sigh.
"All growth must be through pain and disappointment of some sort,"
remarked Tyndale. "I used to think when I was at Sodbury Hall that if
I could only be in a fair way to set about my life's work I should be
fully content, and now—"
"But tell me—you have not failed in this endeavour?" said Sir Miles, in
an anxious tone.
"Nay, nay, I have not failed. I have not put my hand to this Gospel
plough to look back and regret it. Nay, nay, but the ploughing is hard
sometimes; still, I have worked on," and, as he spoke, he took out of
an oak-chest a goodly pile of clearly-written sheets of manuscript.
The sight of them filled Miles with joy. "They are beautiful," he said,
in a tone of eager appreciation, as he took them in his hand, and ran
his eye over the clearly-written pages. "Oh, I would that they could be
printed here in London," he added.
But Tyndale shook his head. "It would not do," he said; "your most
magnificent Cardinal has set his heart, I hear, on reforming the
Church, but he would not approve of its being done in this way. He
would cut down some of its abuses that he might fasten the power of
the Pope more securely round our necks. That is not the reformation we
desire, Sir Miles."
"No, indeed; but the Cardinal would not object so much to the
Scriptures being given to the people if—"
"My friend the Cardinal knows that if once the people can read the
Scriptures for themselves, there will be an end of his luxury, pomp,
and power; and think you such a vain, conceited prelate as this Wolsey
would be willing to yield these delights? Nay, nay, my friend, I must
carry my treasure across the seas, to be beyond the power of this
man, and that with as little delay as possible; for it has come to my
knowledge of late that he has many spies in his service."
"But there is nothing in the New Testament half so bitter against the
abuses and hypocrisy of the Church as there is in the books of Erasmus,
and the Cardinal commends them to the notice of all his friends. I read
'The Praise of Folly' and the 'Colloquies' because the Cardinal told me
I ought to do so," said Sir Miles, eagerly.
"Yes, yes; it is the fashion to read Erasmus, and abuse the monks just
now. But to read the New Testament is to lead the soul of man to God
Himself, without the intervention of priest or penance, and that is why
all priests will hate it at first, for it cuts at the root of all their
pretensions. Erasmus has done good service; he has been pulling clown
the Church by his 'Praise of Folly;' but by means of his New Testament
he has taught some of us to see that there must be building up as well
as pulling down. Having cleared away the rubbish, we must see that we
build on a firm foundation, even on the Word of God, for the future,
and not as it has been in the past. I want to see such a reformation
here as they are having in Germany under the monk Luther," concluded
Tyndale.
"We want an English Reformation," said Miles, seriously; "but whether
it would be wiser to take the German for our pattern I know not yet.
God will show us the way, doubtless, as we go on," said Miles.
But Tyndale shook his head at his friend's caution, although he did
not openly dissent from it. It was, however, his turn to listen to
his friend's troubles and disappointments now, for Miles was deeply
disappointed that his tenants were so slow to adopt improvements in the
building of their houses and barns, and the cultivation of the land.
"They are all willing enough to grow corn, and turn the sheep off the
land, but they must do it as their fathers did generations ago. They do
not believe in digging deeply into the soil, and working on the land
during the winter for the sake of getting a better harvest the next
summer. The old English sports have always held their own in our part
of the country, and it is hard to persuade our peasants that the winter
is not to be wholly given to sport when the weather does not make it
quite impossible."
"Old customs die hard," said Tyndale, but the matter was of small
interest to him, and he wondered how Sir Miles could interest himself
in such small things as these.
But Sir Miles was not slow to see that his troubles could not touch his
student friend, and so he wisely left off complaining, and they both
turned with eagerness to discuss their plans for the printing of the
New Testament; for Sir Miles had brought a sum of money with him, which
he insisted should be his share in the venture; and as Tyndale had set
his heart upon going to Hamburg first, it was settled that as soon as
a ship was known to be going to that port from London, Monmouth should
secure a passage for him, that he might start on his journey without
delay.