"God lays His burden on each back;
But who
What is within the pack
May know?"
Half of the reign of Josiah, as his people loved to call him, was run
out in the summer of 1550. The breathing-time of hope was nearly over.
A June morning in that summer found Isoult Avery seated by the window at
work, and Robin Tremayne holding a book which he was _not_ reading. His
eyes were intently watching the light feathery clouds which floated
across the blue space beyond, and his thoughts were equally intent on
some subject not yet apparent. Except Walter, who was busy in the
corner, manufacturing paper boats, there was no one else in the room.
Robin broke the silence, and rather suddenly.
"Mother,"--he had come to call her so,--"what think you of Mr Rose?"
"What think I of him, Robin?" repeated Isoult, looking up, while a faint
expression of surprise crossed her gentle countenance. "Why, he liketh
me very well!"
"And what think you of Mrs Rose, Mother?"
The surprise increased in Isoult's look, and it was accompanied now by
perplexity. But she only answered--
"She liketh me only less than her husband. I would she had been
English-born, but that cannot she well help; and I have none other fault
to find with her."
"And what think you, Mother, of Mrs Thekla?"
Robin said this in a very low voice. Dr Thorpe was coming in as he
spoke, and the old man turned and faced round on the lad.
"O ho!" cried the Doctor, "blows the wind from that quarter?"
Apparently it did so, for Robin coloured scarlet.
"Come, come, lad!" said he, "thou art but now out of thy
swaddling-clothes, and what dost thou with such gear? Put it away, and
go whip thy top, like a good lad!"
"Dr Thorpe!" said Robin in an aggrieved voice, and drawing himself to
his utmost height, "I was nineteen years of age last Saint Agnes!"
[January 21.]
"Thou art as many years of discretion as there be crowns o' the sun
[Note 1] in a halfpenny," said he. "Nineteen, quotha! Why, thou idle
hilding [youth], I have years sixty-nine, and I never thought of
marrying yet."
Isoult laughed, but Robin was grave as a bishop, and plainly deemed
himself affronted.
"That is your affair, Dr Thorpe," said he, demurely, "and this is mine,
an't like you."
"A pretty plain hint to mind mine own business, whether it like me or
no," replied the old man, with a little merry laugh. "Well, Robin, hie
after. Are ye agreed? and is the wedding-day fixed? Shall it be
Midsummer Day? Give me a jolly piece of the cake, as what else thou
dost; and Isoult! mind thou set it mighty thick with plums."
"Dr Thorpe," said Robin, his patience woefully tried, "I wish you would
let me be. I was talking with my mother."
"Say on!" answered he. "I will strive hard to set mine old legs
a-dancing at thy wedding, though I promise not a galliardo [a dance
wherein high leaps were taken, requiring great agility]. My word on't,
it shall be a jovial sight! Hast seen the tailor touching thine attire?
Purple satin, or cramoisie?" [Crimson velvet.]
Robin's forbearance was plainly worn out. He rose and walked toward the
door.
"Nay, lad, come!" called the old man. "I meant not in deed to grieve
thee. Come back, Robin, and I will cease flouting thee, if it trouble
thee. Come back, thou silly child!"
Robin turned back, after a moment's thought, and sat down on the settle
he had left.
"I take your word for it, Dr Thorpe," he said, soberly. "But think you
it not too grave a matter for jesting?"
"Grave!" cried Dr Thorpe. "What, wouldst thou have it spoken of like an
execution?"
"I cry you mercy, Doctor," said Isoult, now joining in; "but in this
matter I do take part with Robin. It alway seemeth me that men (ay, and
women too), do speak with too much jesting and lightness touching this
matter, which should be right serious. A man's choice of a wife is a
choice for life, and is hardly to be talked of, meseemeth, in the same
fashion with his choice of a partlet [neck ruff]. I pray you, pardon me
if in so speaking, I fail aught in the reverence due unto your years."
"Why, dear child," saith he, "thou wist more of the matter than I, which
was never married; so talk away, and I will hold my peace, and trouble
my master the bridegroom no further. Say on, Mr Robert Tremayne."
"Methinks enough is said," answered Robin, staidly. "I await my
mother's answer."
"Which may scarce be given in a moment, Robin," said Isoult, "nor
without talk with mine husband thereupon. Moreover, Mr Rose shall have
a word to say touching the matter."
John was hardly allowed to speak on his return from the law courts,
before he had heard Isoult's story. He received the news at first as
something irresistibly comic, but the next minute he grew grave, and
evidently began to consider the matter seriously.
"I would fain hear thy thought hereon, Jack," said his wife, "for
methinks I do see in Robin his manner that this is no lad's fantasy
only, as Dr Thorpe did suppose, but a set purpose, that must be fairly
faced, and said yea or nay to."
"We must not forget, dear heart," was John's answer, "that though we are
unto him in place of elders [parents], Robin is truly his own master,
even afore he be of full age. He is not our ward in law, neither in
articles nor apprenticeship; and he hath but himself to please. And
even were we to let [hinder] him now (when I doubt not his natural
kindly and obedient feeling for us should cause him to assent thereto),
yet bethink thee that in a year and an half, when he cometh to his
mature age, he shall be at liberty in every way. There be many husbands
in the realm younger than he; and truly, I see no way but leaving him to
his will, so soon only as we can be satisfied that it is no mere passing
fantasy that swayeth him, but that his heart and mind are verily set and
engaged therein. Remember, we have no right over him; and think yet
again, that his choice (so far as I am able to judge) is a thorough good
one. I see not what else may be done."
"But he did refer him unto our judgment by asking me thereon," said
Isoult.
"Truth," he answered; "wherein he showed his own judgment and wisdom,
and himself to be a good and gentle lad, as he is alway. The more
reason, sweet heart, that our judgment should be gracious, and should
lean unto his wishes, so far as we may in right dealing and love unto
himself consent thereto. And in good sooth, I see no cause for
dissent."
"Then," said Isoult, somewhat surprised, though she scarcely knew why
she should have expected any other decision, "thou wilt speak unto Mr
Rose?"
"Certainly," said he, "if Robin desire it."
"And we really shall have a wedding!" said Isoult.
"I said not that, dear heart," answered John, smiling.
"Mr Rose may refuse consent; or were he to give it, methinks I should
allgates [at all events] move (wherein I would look for Rose to agree
with me) that it should not be by and bye [immediately]; but to wait
until Robin be fairly settled in his calling."
The calling which Robin had chosen was holy orders. He was studying
divinity, and Bishop Ridley had already promised to ordain him when he
should arrive at the proper age, if he were satisfied as to his fitness
on examination. Mr Rose directed his reading--a fact which had caused
him to be thrown rather more into Thekla's society than he might
otherwise have been, in his frequent visits to West Ham, and occasional
waiting required when the Vicar happened to be absent. "But, Jack!"
cried Isoult, with a sudden pang of fear, "supposing that the King were
to die issueless (as God defend!) and the Lady Mary to come in, and set
up again the mass, and--"
"And the Bloody Statute," he answered, reading her thought. "Then we
should have a second Walter Mallet."
"And Thekla to be Grace!" murmured Isoult, her voice faltering. "O
Jack, that were dreadful! Could we do nought to let it?"
"Yes," he said in a constrained tone. "We might do two things to let
it. Either to hinder their marriage, or to let Robin from receiving
orders."
"But thinkest thou we ought so?"
"I think, sweet wife," answered he, tenderly, "that we ought to follow
God's leading. He can let either; and if He see it best, whether for
Robin or for Thekla, that will He. But for myself, I do confess I am
afeard of handling His rod. I dare not walk unless I see Him going
afore. And here, beloved, I see not myself that He goeth afore, except
to bid us leave things take their course. Dost thou?"
"I see nothing," she answered; "I feel blind and in a maze touching it
all."
"Then," said he, "let us `tarry the Lord's leisure.'"
It was finally settled between John and Isoult that the former should
see Mr Rose after the evening service on the following Sunday, when he
was to preach at Bow Church, and speak to him on the subject of Robin
and Thekla. So after the service they all returned home but John; and
though no one told Robin why he stayed behind, Isoult fancied from the
lad's face that he guessed the cause. It was a long time before John's
return. Isoult dismissed Esther to bed, determining to wait herself;
and with some indistinct observation about "young folk that could turn
night into day," Dr Thorpe took up his candle and trudged up-stairs
also. Robin sat on; and Isoult had not the heart to say anything to
him; for she saw that his thoughts were at Bow Church, not occupied with
the copy of Latimer's sermon on the Plough, which lay open before him.
At last John came, with a slow, even step, from which his wife augured
ill before he entered the room. He smiled when he saw Robin still
there.
"Ill news, Father!" said Robin. "You need not to tell me."
"Thou art a sely prophet, lad," answered John, kindly. "At this time I
have no news at all for thee, neither good nor ill, only that Mr Rose
giveth no absolute nay, and doth but undertake to think upon the matter,
and discourse with Mrs Rose. Is that such ill news, trow?"
"Thank you," answered Robin in a low voice. "You did your best, I know.
Good-night."
And he lifted his candle and departed. But Isoult thought the lad
looked sad and disappointed; and she was sorry for him.
"Well, Jack, how spedst thou?" said she, when Robin was gone.
"Ah, grandmother Eva!" replied Jack, smiling. "Wouldst know all?"
"Now, Jack!" said she, "flout me not for my womanly curiosity, but tell
me. I am but a woman."
"Pure truth, dear heart," answered he, yet smiling. "Well, I had to
await a short space, for I found Thekla with her father, and I could not
open the matter afore her. So at last I prayed her of leave [asked her
to go] (seeing no other way to be rid of her), for I would speak with Mr
Rose privily. Then went she presently away, and I brake Robin's
matter."
"And what said he?"
"He looked more amazed than thou; and trust me that was no little."
"But what said he?" repeated Isoult.
"He said he had never thought touching the marriage of Thekla, for he
looked thereon until now as a thing afar off, like as we of Robin. But
(quoth he) he did suppose in all likelihood she should leave him
sometime, if God willed it thus; but it should be sore when it came.
And the water stood in his eyes."
"Looked he thereon kindly or no, thinkest?"
"I am somewhat doubtful," and John dropped his voice, "though I would
not say so much to Robin, whether or no he looketh kindly on her
marrying at all. Thou wist, sweet heart, for thou heardst him to say so
much,--that he hath some thought that there shall yet be great
persecution in this land, and that Gospellers shall (in a worldly and
temporal sense) come but ill off. And to have Thekla wife unto a
priest--I might see it liked him very evil for her sake. Yet he
dimitted it not lightly, but passed word to talk it over with his wife:
but he said he would never urge Thekla to wed any, contrariwise unto her
own fantasy."
The Monday morning brought Mrs Rose. Isoult felt glad, when she saw
her, that John had taken Robin with him to Westminster. The two ladies
had a long private conference in Isoult's closet or boudoir. Mrs Rose
evidently was not going to stand in the way; she rather liked the
proposed match. She had strongly urged her husband to tell Thekla,
which, against his own judgment, he had at last consented to do. For
Thekla's mother regarded her as a marvel of wisdom and discretion, while
her father, being himself a little wiser, thought less of her wonderful
powers, though he admitted that she was very sensible--for her years.
"She is a good child--Thekla," said Mrs Rose, in her foreign manner; "a
good child--but she dreameth too much. She is not for the life, rather
a dreamer. She would read a great book each day sooner than to spin.
But she doth the right; she knoweth that she must to spin, and she spin.
But she carrieth her thoughts up a great way off, into strange gear
whither I cannot follow. See you, Mistress Avery, how I would say? I,
I am a plain woman: I make the puddings, I work the spinning--and I love
the work. Thekla, she only work the spinning and make the puddings,
because she must to do it. She will do the right, alway, but she will
not love the work."
Isoult quite understood her, and so she told her.
"She do not come after me in her liking," pursued she, "rather it is her
father. And it is very good, very good to read the great books, and
look at the stars, and to talk always of what the great people do, and
of what mean the prophet by this, and the saint by that: but for me it
is too much. I do not know what the great people should do. I make my
puddings. The great people must go their own way. They not want my
pudding, and I not want their great things. But Thekla and Mr Rose are
both so good! Only, when they talk together, they sit both of them on
the top of my head; I am down beneath, doing my spinning."
Nothing more was heard until Wednesday. Then, before Isoult was down in
the morning, having apparently risen at some unearthly hour, Mr Rose
presented himself, and asked for John. The two went out of doors
together, to Robin's deep concern, and not much less to Isoult's, for
she had her full share of womanly curiosity in an innocent way.
At last she saw them come up the street, in earnest conversation. And
as John turned in at the door (for Mr Rose would not follow) she heard
him say almost mournfully, "Alack! then there is no likelihood thereof.
Good morrow!"
"Not the least," Mr Rose replied; and then away he went down the street.
"An augury of evil!" murmured Robin, under his breath.
"What dost thou with evil this morrow, Robin?" asked John, cheerily,
coming into the room. "Be of good cheer, dear lad; the Lord sitteth
above all auguries, and hath granted thee the desire of thine heart."
Robin rose, and the light sprang to his eyes.
"Thekla Rose," pursued John, "seeth no good cause why she should not
change her name to Tremayne. But bide a minute, Robin, man; thou art
not to be wed to-morrow morning. Mr Rose addeth a condition which I
doubt not shall stick in thy throat."
"What?" said Robin, turning round, for he was on his way to leave the
room.
"But this," said John, lightly, "that will soon be over. Ye are not to
wed for three years."
Robin's face fell with a look as blank as though it had been thirty
years.
"How now?" asked Dr Thorpe, coming in from the barber. "Sir Tristram
looketh as woebegone as may lightly be. I am afeard the Princess Isoude
hath been sore cruel."
John told him the reason.
"And both be such ancient folk," resumed he, "they are afeard to be dead
and buried ere then. How now, Robin! take heart of grace, man! and make
a virtue of necessity. Thou art neither seventy nor eighty, nor is
Mistress Thekla within a month or twain of ninety. Good lack! a bit of
a younker of nineteen, quotha, to be a-fretting and a-fuming to be let
from wedding a smatchet of a lass of seventeen or so, until either have
picked up from some whither a scrap of discretion on their green
shoulders!"
"Thekla hath but sixteen years," said John; "and Rose thinketh her too
young to be wed yet."
"So should any man with common sense," replied Dr Thorpe. "Why, lad!
what can a maid of such tender years do to rule an house? I warrant
thee she should serve thy chicken at table with all the feathers on, and
amend thy stockings wrong side afore!"
"Nay," said Isoult, laughing; "her mother shall have learned her
something better than that."
"Get thee to thine accidence," said Dr Thorpe to Robin. "_Hic, haec,
hoc_, is a deal meeter for the like o' thee than prinking of wedding
doublets!"
"Dr Thorpe!" answered Robin, aggrievedly, "you alway treat me as though
I were a babe."
"So thou art! so thou art!" said the old man. "But now out of thy
cradle, and not yet fit to run alone; for do but see what folly thou
hadst run into if Jack and Mr Rose had not been wiser than thou!"
Robin's lip trembled, and he walked slowly away. Isoult was sorry for
the lad's disappointment, for she saw that it was sore; yet she felt
that John and Mr Rose were right, and even Dr Thorpe.
"Rose saith," resumed John, "that he thinketh not his daughter to be as
yet of ripe judgment enough to say more than shall serve for the time;
and he will therefore have no troth plighted for this present. In good
sooth, had not her mother much urged the consulting of her, methinks he
should rather have said nought unto her of the matter. `But (quoth he)
let three years pass, in the which time Robin shall have years
twenty-two, and Thekla nineteen; and if then both be of like mind, why,
I will say no further word against it.'"
"Bits o' scraps o' childre!" said Dr Thorpe, under his voice, in a tone
of scorn and yet pity which would sorely have grieved Robin, had he not
gone already.
"Be not too hard on the lad, old friend," urged John, gently. "Many
younger than he be wed daily, and I take it he hath had a disappointment
in hearing my news. I thought best not to make too much thereof in the
telling; but scorn not the lad's trouble."
"I want not to scorn neither the lad nor the trouble," answered the
Doctor. "I did but tell him it was folly; and so it is."
After this, for a while, there were fewer visits exchanged between the
Minories and West Ham; and Robin found himself quietly set to the study
of larger books, which took longer to get up than heretofore, so that
his appearances at the Vicarage were fewer also. When the families did
meet, it was as cordially as ever. Manifestly, Mr Rose's feelings were
not a whit less kindly than before; but he thought it better for Robin
that his affections should not be fed too freely.
"Jack," said Isoult, suddenly, "what discoursedst thou with Mr Rose o'
Wednesday morn, whereof I heard thee to say there was no likelihood?
Was it touching this matter of Robin?"
John had to search his memory before he could recall the incident.
"Dear heart, no!" he said, when he had done so; "it touched my Lord of
Somerset."
On the last day of July, Esther, going to the market, came in with news
which stirred Isoult's heart no little. Thomas Wriothesley, Earl of
Southampton, had died on the previous day, at his house in London, to
which he had been confined by order of the King.
"An ill man and an unkindly," wrote Isoult in the diary she always kept,
"specially unto them which loved the Gospel. But how those tidings
taketh me back to the days that be over and gone! For the last time
that ever I saw this man was that black third of March, the year of our
Lord 1542, when the King that then was, sent him to bear his diamond and
message unto my dear master [Lord Lisle] in the Tower. Can I ever
forget that even?
"Of this Thomas Wriothesley I dare say nothing. I would think rather of
him whose voice I did hear last after his, in the commending of his
blessed and gentle spirit into the hands of God. How many times
sithence that day have I thanked God for him! Ay, Lord, we thank Thee
for Thy saints, and for Thy care and guidance of them. For the longer I
do live, the surer am I that Thy way Home is not only the right way, but
for each of Thine, the only way. I take it, we shall not think of the
thorns that tare us, nor shall we be ready for tears over the sharp
stones that wounded us, in that day when I and my dear-loved Lord may
sing to Thee together--`Thou hast redeemed us, O Lord God of truth!'"
Mrs Underhill walked into the Lamb, one warm afternoon in the beginning
of August, and remained to four-hours. And of course the conversation
turned before long upon the Protestant controversy with Rome. In the
Hot Gospeller's family, it rarely kept off that subject for many minutes
together.
"Mother!" said Kate, when she was gone, "what meaneth Mistress Underhill
by confession? She said it was bad. But it is not bad, is it, for me
to tell you and Father when I have done wrong?"
"No, sweeting, neither to tell God," answered Isoult. "Mrs Underhill
meant not that, but spake only of confession unto a priest."
"Thou must know, Kate," explained Robin, "that some men will tell their
sins unto any priest, in the stead of seeking forgiveness of God in
their own chamber."
"But what toucheth it the priest?" asked the child.
"Why, never a whit," he answered.
"If the man have stole from the priest," resumed she, "it were right he
should tell him; like as I tell Father and Mother if I have done any
wrong, because it is wrong to them. But if I had disobeyed Mother, what
good were it that I should ask Mr Rose to forgive me? I should not have
wronged him."
"She hath a brave wit, methinks, our Kate," observed Isoult to Robin,
when the child had left the room.
Robin assented with a smile; but Dr Thorpe was so rude as to say, "All
mothers' geese be swans."
The smile on Robin's lips developed into laughter; Isoult answered, with
as much indignant emphasis as her gentle nature could indulge in, "Were
you no swan to yours, Dr Thorpe?"
Dr Thorpe's reply disarmed all the enemy's forces.
"Ah, child, I never knew her," the old man said, sadly. "Maybe I had
been a better man had I known a mother."
It was not in Isoult Avery, at least, to respond angrily to such a
speech as that.
Before mid-winter was reached, the swans were increased by one in the
house in the Minories. On the 29th of November, a baby daughter was
born to John and Isoult Avery; and on the 4th of December the child was
christened at Saint Botolph's, Mr Rose officiating. The name given her
was Frances. The sponsors were the Duchess of Suffolk, for whom Mrs
Rose stood proxy; and Lady Frances Monke, whose deputy was Mrs
Underhill; and, last and greatest, the young King, by Sir Humphrey
Ratcliffe, Captain of the Gentlemen Pensioners, and a Gospeller. The
mania for asking persons of distinction to stand as sponsors was at its
height during the reigns of the Tudor sovereigns. Every one of them was
godfather or godmother to countless multitudes of his or her subjects,
though they rarely, if ever, acted in person. We shall find on a later
page, that even "the nine days' queen," Lady Jane Grey, was not without
this distinction during her momentary reign.
During the illness of Isoult--for she was so ill that for some days Dr
Thorpe considered her life in danger--the breach, if it may be called
so, with West Ham was made up. Both Mr and Mrs Rose were in constant
attendance at the Minories, and Thekla came with them several times, her
charge being the children, so that Esther might be entirely free to wait
on her sick mistress. The subject was not discussed again, but from
this date, on both sides, it appeared to be quietly taken for granted
that Robin and Thekla henceforward belonged to each other. The
Underhills, too, were very kind, Mrs Underhill undertaking to sit up
with her invalid friend for several nights.
On the 13th of February 1551, Dr Gardiner was fully deprived of his
bishopric. The Gospellers hoped it was for ever, but it will shortly be
seen how deceived they were.
And at Easter the holy table in Saint Paul's Cathedral was carried down
below the veil that had been hung up to hide from the non-communicants
the consecration of the elements, and set north and south; for, as yet,
the customary place of the table was east and west.
Strange tales were told this Lent of fearful and marvellous visions and
sights seen by many persons. Beside Merton Abbey, and in other places,
men in armour were seen in the air, who came down to the earth and
faded; and in Sussex were three suns shining at once. John Avery made
himself merry over these rumours, in which he had no faith. "The three
suns," said he, "were but some matter of optical philosophy, which could
readily be expounded of such as were learned in it; and for the men in
armour, when he saw them he would believe them." Dr Thorpe considered
the wonderful sights omens of coming ill, but from Esther they won very
scant respect.
In May the party from the Lamb dined with Mr Holland, at whose house
they met Mr Rose, and Mr and Mrs Underhill. The last-named gentleman
could talk of nothing but the expected marriage of the young King with a
Princess of France. This Princess was the hapless Elizabeth, afterwards
affianced to Don Carlos, and eventually married to his father, the
wretched Philip the Second. At this time she was just five years old.
"But," said Isoult, "she shall be a Papist, trow?"
"She shall be a Papist of mighty few years old," said Mr Underhill,
laughing; "and we will quickly make a Protestant of her. I hear she is
a mighty pretty child, her hair dark and shining, her eyes wondrous
bright, and her smile exceeding sweet."
"Sweeter than Thekla Rose's?" asked Mrs Underhill, herself smiling.
"Scantly, methinks," answered Mr Underhill. "How like to a man's
fantasy of an angel doth that maid look!"
Robin looked very unlike an angel, for he appeared extremely
uncomfortable, but he said nothing.
From the King's marriage they came to that of the Princess Mary; and Mr
Underhill--who, being a Gentleman Pensioner, with friends at Court, was
allowed to speak with authority--gave the name of her projected
bridegroom as "the Lord Lewis of Portugal. Wherein," pursued he,
"Father Rose and I may amend our differences, seeing that she should
first be called to renounce the succession."
Mr Rose smiled, and said, "A happy ending of a troublous matter, if it
were so."
But, as the reader well knows, the troublous matter was not doomed to
have so happy an end.
The next topic was the new Act to allow the marriage of priests. All
the party being Gospellers, were, of course, unanimous upon this
subject. But Mr Underhill, who was not in the family secrets,
unfortunately took it into his head to clap Robin rather smartly on the
back, and congratulate him that he might now be a priest without being
necessarily a bachelor. Poor Robin looked unhappy again, but still
wisely remained silent, not relishing the opening of the subject in Mr
Rose's presence. But Mr Rose only smiled, and quietly suggested that it
would be well for Mr Underhill to satisfy himself that he was not making
his friends sorrier instead of merrier, by coming down upon them with
such personal assaults. John, by way of corollary, intimated in an
aside to Isoult, that the gentleman in question "had a sore heavy hand
when he was in right earnest."
The night after this day was one not soon forgotten in London. In the
still darkness came an earthquake--that most terrible of phenomena held
in God's hand, whereby He saith to poor, puny, arrogant man, "Be still,
and know that I am God." Isoult awoke to hear sounds on all sides of
her--the bed creaking, and below the dishes and pans dancing with a
noisy clatter. In the next chamber she heard Walter crying, and Kate
asking if the end of all the world were come; but John would not permit
her to rise and go to them. And she also heard Esther talking with them
and comforting them in a low voice, so she was comparatively satisfied.
The baby, Frances, slept peacefully through all.
The next morning Kate said,--"Mother, were you affrighted last night
with the great rocking and noise?"
"A little afeard lest some of us should be hurt, sweet heart, if any
thing should chance to fall down, or the like; but that was all."
"I thought," said she, "that the end of the world was come. What should
have come unto us then, Mother?"
"Why, then," replied Isoult, "we should have seen the Lord Jesus Christ
coming in the clouds, with all the angels."
"Well," answered Kate, thoughtfully, "I would not have been afeard of
Him, for He took up the little babes in His arms, and would not have
them sent away. If it had been some of them that desired for to have
them away, I might have been afeard."
"Ay," said Dr Thorpe, looking up from his book, "the servants are worse
to deal withal than the Master. We be a sight harder upon one the other
than He is with any of us."
The Averys were visited, a day or two after the earthquake, by an old
acquaintance of Isoult, the companion--"servant" he was called at that
time--of Bishop Latimer. Augustine Bernher was by nation a
German-Swiss, probably from Basle or its vicinity; and unless we are to
take an expression in one of Bradford's letters as figurative, he
married the sister of John Bradford.
Like every one else just then, Bernher's mind was running chiefly on the
earthquake. He brought news that it had been felt at Croydon, Reigate,
and nearly all over Kent; and the question on all lips was--What will
come of it? For that it was a prognostic of some fearful calamity, no
one thought of doubting.
Whether the earthquake were its forerunner or not, a fearful calamity
did certainly follow. On the 7th of July the sweating sickness broke
out in London. This terrible malady was almost peculiar to the
sixteenth century. It was unknown before the Battle of Bosworth Field,
in 1485, when it broke out in the ranks of the victorious army; and it
has never been seen again since this, its last and most fatal epidemic,
in 1551. It is said to have been of the character of rheumatic fever,
but its virulence and rapidity were scarcely precedented. In some cases
death ensued two hours only after the attack; and few fatal instances
were prolonged to two days. On the tenth of July, the King was hurried
away to Hampton Court, for one of his grooms and a gentleman of the
chamber were already dead. The fury of the plague, for a veritable
plague it was, began to abate in London on the 20th; and between the 7th
and 20th died in the City alone, about nine hundred persons [Note 2].
Nor was the disease confined to London. It broke out at Cambridge--in
term time--decimating the University. The Duchess of Suffolk, who was
residing there to be near her sons, both of whom were then at Saint
John's, hastily sent away her boys to Bugden, the Bishop of Lincoln's
Palace. But the destroying angel followed. The young Duke and his
brother reached Bugden on the afternoon of July 13; and at noon on the
following day, the Duchess was childless.
The suspense was dreadful to those who lived in and near London. Every
day Isoult watched to see her children sicken--for children were the
chief victims of the malady; and on the 15th, when Walter complained of
his head, and shivered even in the July sun, she felt certain that the
sword of the angel had reached to her. The revulsion of feeling, when
Dr Thorpe pronounced the child's complaint to be only measles, was
intense. The baby, Frances, also suffered lightly, but Kate declined to
be ill of any thing, to the great relief of her mother. So the fearful
danger passed over. No name in the Avery family was inscribed on the
tablet of death given to the angel.
John Avery was very indignant at the cant names given by the populace to
the sweating sickness. "The new acquaintance"--"Stop-gallant"--"Stoop,
knave, and know thy master"--so men termed it, jesting on the very brink
of the grave.
"Truly," said he, "'tis enough to provoke a heavier visitation at God's
hand, when His holy ears do hear the light and unseemly manner wherein
men have received this one."
"Nor is the one of them true," replied Dr Thorpe. "This disorder is no
new acquaintance, for we had it nigh all over one half of England in
King Henry's days. I know I had in Bodmin eight sick therewith at one
time."
When this terror was passing away, an event happened which rejoiced the
Papists, and sorely grieved the Gospellers.
On the 5th of April previous, after the deprivation of Gardiner, Dr
Poynet had been appointed Bishop of Winchester, and 2000 marks in land
assigned for his maintenance. The new Bishop was married; and soon
after his elevation, it transpired that his wife had a previous husband
yet living. Whether the Bishop knew this at the time of his marriage
does not appear; but we may in charity hope that he was ignorant. He
was publicly divorced in Saint Paul's Cathedral on the 28th of July; to
the extreme delight of the Papists, in whose eyes a blot on the
character of a Protestant Bishop was an oasis of supreme pleasure.
The Gospellers were downcast and distressed. Isoult Avery, coming in
from the market, recounted with pain and indignation the remarks which
she had heard on all sides. But John only smiled when she told him of
them.
"It is but like," said he. "The sin of one member tainteth the whole
body, specially in their eyes that be not of the body. Rest thee, dear
heart! The Judge of all the earth shall not blunder because they do,
neither in Bishop Poynet's case nor in our own."
"But," said Isoult, "we had no hand in marrying Bishop Poynet."
"Little enough," he answered. "He shall bear his own sin (how much or
little it be) to his own Master. If he knew not that the woman was not
free, it is lesser his sin than hers; and trust me, God shall not doom
him for sin he did not. And if he knew, who are we, that we should cast
stones at him, or say any thing unto him (confessing and amending)
beyond `Go, and sin no more'?"
"Nay," she said, "it is not we that flout him, but these Papistical
knaves which do flout us for his sake."
"Not for his sake," replied John, solemnly; "for an Other's sake. We
know that the world hated Him before it hated us. Bishop Poynet is not
the man they aim at; he is but a commodious handle, a pipe through which
their venom may conveniently run. He whom they flout thus is an other
Man, whom one day they as well as we shall see coming in the clouds of
Heaven, coming to judge the earth. The question asked of Paul was not
`Why persecutest thou these men and women at Damascus?' It is not,
methinks, only `Inasmuch as ye did' this good, but likewise `Inasmuch as
ye did' this evil, `unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did
it unto Me.'"
The next thing which aggrieved the people was an order for the abatement
of the coinage. Henceforward, the nine-penny piece was to pass for
sixpence, the groat or four-penny piece for twopence, the two-penny
piece for a penny, the penny for a halfpenny, and the halfpenny for a
farthing. Yet notwithstanding this, or perhaps in consequence of it,
the price of provisions rose instead of falling.
"Why," said Dr Thorpe, "this is plainly putting an hand in a man's
pocket, and robbing him of half his money!"
"Softly, good friend!" interposed John. "You would not call the King's
Grace a robber?"
"The King's Grace is the King's Grace, and may do as it liketh him,"
said Dr Thorpe, a little testily; "'tis yonder rascally Council whereof
I speak, and in especial that cheating knave of Warwick. I would we had
my Lord of Somerset back, for all he is not a Lutheran, but a Gospeller.
He never thrust his hand into my pocket o' this fashion."
"Ah!" replied John, laughing, "touch a man's pocket, and how he crieth
apace!"
"A child newly burnt dreadeth the fire, Jack," answered the old man.
"This is not the first time we have had the King's coin pulled down. I
am as true a man to the King as any here; but I have taken no oath to
that dotipole [blockhead] of Warwick; and if he play this game once too
oft, he may find he hath fished and caught a frog."
"I count," suggested John, soberly, "that my Lord of Warwick's testers
shall not pass for any more than ours."
"What matters that to him, lad," cried Dr Thorpe, "when he can put his
hand into the King's treasury, and draw it out full of rose nobles? The
scurvy rogue! I would he were hanged!"
John laid his hand very gently and lovingly on the old man's shoulder.
"Would you truly that, friend?" said he, softly.
"A man meaneth not alway every thing he saith," replied Dr Thorpe,
somewhat ashamed. "Bring me not to bar, prithee, for every word, when I
am heated."
"Dear old friend," John answered, softly, "we shall stand at one Bar for
every word."
"Then I shall look an old fool, as I do now," said he. "Sit thee down,
lad! and hold that soft tongue o' thine. I can stand a fair flyting
[scolding: still a Northern provincialism] or a fustigation [beating],
but I never can one of those soft tongues like thine."
John sat down, a little smile playing round his lips, and said no more.
One day in October, Mr Underhill dined at the Lamb. He brought news
that at Hampton Court, that day, the Earl of Warwick was to be made Duke
of Northumberland; the Marquis Dorset [Henry Grey, husband of the late
Duke's elder daughter], Duke of Suffolk; the Lord Treasurer [William
Paulet, Lord Saint John], Marquis of Winchester; and Mr William Herbert,
Earl of Pembroke.
"Duke of Northumberland!" cried Dr Thorpe, fairly roused at this news.
"Duke of Blunderhead! Had the King made him Duke of Cumberland I had
little marvelled. Wherefore did his Grace (saving the reverence due)
not likewise make me Duke of Truro or Marquis of Bodmin? I have been a
truer man unto his Highness than ever my Lord of Warwick, and have done
the kingdom a sight less harm."
"Less harm, quotha!" laughed Mr Underhill. "Why, friend, if all were
made dukes and marquises that have done no harm to the kingdom, we
should have the Minories choke-full of noble houses."
"We should have mighty few of the Lords keeping their titles," said Dr
Thorpe, grimly.
A few days later, Dr Thorpe, having gone to the barber's near Aldgate,
returned with a budget of news, as was usual when he came from that
quarter.
"What will you give me for my news?" cried he, as he came in. "Rare
news! glorious news!--for all knaves, dolts, and runagates!"
John entered likewise just after him.
"I will give you nought, Doctor, at that rate," said Isoult, laughing.
"I know it, friend," replied John, so sadly that her mirth vanished in a
moment. "It is a woeful blow to the Gospel. Isoult, the Duke of
Somerset and my Lord Grey de Wilton are committed to the Tower."
"The Duke of Somerset again!" she cried. "But my Lord Grey de Wilton!--
what hath he done?"
"Served the King well in Cornwall," answered John; "I know of nothing
worse."
"'Tis that idiot, knave, dolt, and dizard [fool] of a Northumberland,"
cried Dr Thorpe in great indignation. "I would the whole Dudley race
had never been born! Knavery runs in their blood--'twill not out of
them!"
"There are a few honest men in England--but a few," said John,
mournfully, "and two of the foremost shall lie this night in the Tower
of London. And for what? Is it because my Lord Grey hath many times
shed his blood for England (the royal blood of England herself which
runneth in his veins [Note 3]), that now England herself shall shed it
on Tower Hill? Is it because my Lord of Somerset hath given her the
best laws she had for many a day, that now she will needs strain her
laws to condemn him? Shame upon England if it be so! She shall not be
held guiltless for it either before God or men."
"And yestereven," continued Dr Thorpe, "was my Lady of Somerset sent
also to the Tower, for the great crime, I take it, of being wife unto
her husband. And with her a fair throng of gentlemen--what they have
done I wis not. Maybe one of them sent the Duke a peacock, and another
doffed his bonnet to the Lord Grey."
"The Duchess, too!" exclaimed John, turning to him. "I heard not of her
committal. What can they lay to her charge?"
"Marry, she must have trade on the tail [train] of my Lady of
Northumberland last Garter day," scornfully answered Dr Thorpe. "Were
not this a crime well deserving of death?"
"Surely," said Isoult, "my Lady of Warwick [Note 4] will plead for her
own father and mother with her father of Northumberland?"
"Plead with the clouds that they rain not!" said he, "or with a falling
rock that it crush you not. Their bosoms were easier to move than John
Dudley's heart of stone."
"And what saith the King to it all, mewondereth?" said Isoult.
"Poor child!" answered Jack, "I am sorry for him. Either he pleadeth in
vain, or else they have poured poison into his ears, persuading him that
his uncle is his dire foe, and they his only friends [the last was the
truth]. God have pity on his gentle, childly heart, howsoever it be."
"More news, Isoult!" said Dr Thorpe, coming home on the following
Thursday. "'Tis my Lord Paget this time that hath had the great
misfortune to turn his back upon King Northumberland, while the knave
was looking his way. We shall have all the nobles of the realm
accommodated in the Tower afore long."
"Ah me!" said Isoult, with a shiver, "are those dreadful 'headings to
begin again?"
"Most likely so," answered he, sitting down. "And the King's Grace hath
given his manor of Ashridge unto his most dear sister the Lady
Elizabeth. I marvel, by the way, which of those royal ladies shall ride
the first unto Tower Hill. We are getting on, child! How the Devil
must be a-rubbing his hands just now!"
In the midst of these troubles came the Queen Dowager of Scotland, Marie
of Guise, to visit the King; upon which rumours instantly arose that the
King should even yet marry the young Queen of Scots. But Mary Stuart
was never to be the wife of Edward Tudor: and there came days when,
looking back on this day, Isoult Avery marvelled that she could ever
have thought such events troubles at all. The clouds were returning
after the rain.
In came Dr Thorpe from evensong on the Sunday night.
"One bit more of tidings, Isoult!" said he in his caustic style. "'Tis
only my Lord of Arundel--nothing but an Earl--let him be. Who shall be
the next, trow?"
"Mean you," said she, "that my Lord of Arundel is had to the Tower?"
"To the Tower," replied he, "ay; the general meeting-place now o' days."
"I wonder how it is with my Lady of Arundel," said Isoult.
"Why," answered he, "if she would get in likewise after her lord, she
hath but to tell my Lord of Northumberland to his face that he may well
be 'shamed of himself (a truer word was never spoke!) and she shall find
her there under an hour."
During the following month came an invitation to dine at West Ham.
There, beside the party from the Lamb, were Mr and Mrs Underhill and Mr
Holland. The conversation turned on politics. It was the usual topic
of that eventful decade of years.
Mr Rose said,--"I know one Master Ascham, now tutor unto my Lady
Elizabeth's Grace, which hath also learned the Lady Jane Grey, and hath
told me how learned and studious a damsel is she; and can speak and read
with all readiness not only French, and Spanish, and Italian, but also
Latin and Greek: and yet is she only of the age of fourteen years. And
so gentle and lovely a maid to boot, as is scantly to be found in the
three kingdoms of the King's Majesty."
"How had she served for the King?" inquired John.
"Right well, I would say," answered Mr Rose. "But men say she is
destined otherwhere."
"Whither, I pray you?" said Mr Holland.
"Unto a son of my Lord of Northumberland, as 'tis thought," he answered.
Whereupon, hearing the name of his enemy, as though touched by a match,
Dr Thorpe exploded.
"A son of my Lord of Northumberland, forsooth!" cried he. "Doth earth
bear no men but such as be sons of my Lord of Northumberland? Would the
rascal gather all the coronets of England on his head, and those of his
sons and daughters? 'Tis my Lord of Northumberland here, and there, and
everywhere--"
"Up-stairs and down-stairs, and in my Lady's chamber," sang Mr
Underhill, in a fine bass voice; for even in that musical age, he was
renowned for his proficiency in the art.
"In the King's chamber, certes," said Dr Thorpe. "I would with all mine
heart he could be thence profligated." [Driven out.]
"Methinks I can see one in the far distance that may do that," said Mr
Rose in his grave manner. "At the furthest, my Lord of Northumberland
will not live for ever."
"But how many sons hath he?" groaned Dr Thorpe. "`Such apple-tree, such
fruit' If the leopard leave ten or a dozen cubs, we be little better for
shooting him."
"My Lord Henry, allgates, is no leopard cub," said Mr Underhill. "I
know the boy; and a brave, gallant lad he is."
"Go on," said Dr Thorpe. "The rest?"
"My Lord of Warwick," pursued he, "is scarce the equal of his brother,
yet is he undeserving of the name of a leopard cub; and my Lord Ambrose,
as meseemeth, shall make a worthy honourable man. For what toucheth my
Lord Guilford, I think he is not unkindly, but he hath not wit equal to
his father; and as for Robin [the famous Earl of Leicester]--well, you
shall call him a leopard cub an' you will. He hath all his father's wit
and craft, and more than his father's grace and favour; and he looketh
to serve as a courtier."
"He shall carry on, then, in his father's place," said Dr Thorpe, with a
groan.
"Methinks he shall either make a right good man, or a right bad one,"
answered Mr Underhill. "He hath wit for aught."
"And who," said Dr Thorpe, "ever heard of a Dudley a good man?"
"Is that the very gentleman," asked Mrs Rose, "that did marry with the
great heir, Mistress Robsart?"
"Ay,--Mrs Amie," answered Mr Underhill; "and a gentle one she is. A
deal too good for Robin Dudley."
"Must we then look to my Lord Robert as the Cerberus of the future?"
said Mr Rose, smiling.
"The Devil is not like to run short of servants," answered Dr Thorpe,
grimly. "If it be not he, it will be an other."
The clouds returned after the rain; but they gathered softly.
Unheralded by any suspicion on the part of England as to the fate which
it bore, came that fatal first of December which was the beginning of
the end.
Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, was arraigned that day in Westminster
Hall. And round the doors England pressed, yet in more hope than fear.
A mere farce, she thought: he must be acquitted, of course. She
prepared to welcome him home in triumph.
With such feelings in her heart--for was she not a part of England?--
Isoult Avery stood at her door about six o'clock that evening, waiting
for John's return from the trial which was the one occurrence of the
day. Robin had gone with him; but Dr Thorpe remained at home. For a
time there was nothing but silence. The usual hum of the City was
stilled: everybody was at Westminster. From Goodman's Fields the cows
came lowing home; now and then a single person, intent on business with
which nothing might interfere, passed quickly up the Minories; the soft
chime of the bells of Saint Katherine floated past the Tower wall, for
the ringers were practising after evensong; and one great gun rang out
sharply from the Tower, to inform the world that it was six o'clock.
Five minutes afterwards, a low sound, like the roll of distant thunder,
came from the City side of Aldgate. It grew louder every moment. It
became first a noise, then a roar. At last the sound was articulate and
distinguishable.
"A Somerset! a Somerset!" [Note 5.]
But what had happened? Were they voices of Papists, or of Gospellers?
All at once they came pouring out of Aldgate. In front colours were
flying and fifes screaming, and behind ran the crowd, their voices
drowning the fifes. Isoult began to think of retreating and closing her
door, when she caught sight of Gillian Brent [a fictitious person], her
neighbour's daughter, who was struggling frantically to reach her
mother's house, being nearly carried off her feet by the press of
people. Gillian, with much difficulty, fought her way through, and
reached Isoult, who had beckoned her to take refuge with her. She came
in almost breathless, and sank upon the settle, completely worn out,
before she had strength to speak. When she was a little recovered,
Gillian said--
"My Lord Protector is quit [acquitted] of all ill, Mistress; and
therefore the folk be thus glad."
"In very deed!" said Isoult, "and therefore am I right glad. But,
Gillian, are you certain thereof?"
"Nay," said she; "I do know no more than that all the folk say so much."
Two hours more passed before John came home.
"Well, Jack!" said Dr Thorpe, so soon as he heard his foot on the
threshold, "so my Lord of Somerset is quit of all charges?"
"Who told you so much?" inquired John.
"All the folk say so," answered Isoult.
"All the folk mistake, then," answered he, sadly. "He is quit of high
treason, but that only; and is cast for death [Note 6] of felony, and
remitted again unto the Tower."
"Cast for death!" cried Dr Thorpe and Isoult together.
Avery sat down with a weary air.
"I have been all this day in Westminster Hall," said he, "for I saw
there Mr Bertie, of my Lady of Suffolk's house, and he gat space for me
so soon as he saw me; and we stood together all the day to listen. My
Lord of Somerset pleaded his own cause like a gentleman and a Christian,
as he is: verily, I never heard man speak better."
"Well!" said Isoult, "then wherefore, thinkest, fared he ill?"
"Ah, dear heart!" replied he, "afore a jury of wolves, a lamb should be
convicted of the death of a lion."
"Who tried him?" asked Dr Thorpe.
"My Lord of Northumberland himself hath been on the Bench," said John,
"and it is of the act of compassing and procuring his death that my Lord
of Somerset is held guilty."
"Knave! scoundrel! murderer!" cried Dr Thorpe, in no softened tone.
"Jack, if I were that man's physician, I were sore tempted to give him a
dose that should end his days and this realm's troubles!"
"Good friend," said John, smiling sadly, "methinks his days shall be
over before the troubles of this realm."
"But is there an other such troubler in it?" asked he.
"Methinks I could name two," said John; "the Devil and Dr Stephen
Gardiner."
"Dr Gardiner is safe shut up," he answered.
"He may be out to-morrow," said John. "And if not so, the Devil is not
yet shut up, nor shall be till the angel be sent with the great chain to
bind him."
"Nay, Jack! the wise doctors say that was done under Constantine the
Emperor, and we have enjoyed the same ever sithence," answered he.
"Do they so?" replied John, somewhat drily. "We be enjoying it now,
trow?--But the thousand years be over, and he is let out again. And if
he were ever shut up, methinks all the little devils were left free
scope. Nay, dear friend! before the Kingdom, the King. The holy
Jerusalem must first come down from Heaven; and _then_ `there shall be
no more pain, neither sorrow, nor crying.'"
When the two were alone, John said to his wife--"Isoult, who thinkest
thou is the chief witness against my Lord of Somerset, and he that
showed this his supposed plot to the King and Council?"
"Tell me, Jack," said she. "I cannot guess." He said, "Sir Thomas
Palmer, sometime of Calais."
"God forgive that man!" cried Isoult, growing paler. "He did my dear
master [Lord Lisle] to death,--will he do my Lord of Somerset also?"
"`Ye shall be hated of all men for My name's sake.' They that are so
shall have their names written in Heaven." Avery spoke solemnly, and
said no more.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Crowns were coined with either a rose or a sun on the obverse;
and were distinguished accordingly.
Note 2. 872 (Machyn's Diary, page 8); 938 (News Letter, Harl. Ms. 353,
folio 107).
Note 3. The line of Grey de Wilton is the youngest branch of the royal
House of York.
Note 4. John Earl of Warwick, eldest son of Northumberland, had married
Anne, eldest daughter of Somerset.
Note 5. This ancient English shout is always spelt thus; but there is
reason to think that the first word was sounded _ah_.
Note 6. Convicted. The Duke was acquitted on the first count, of high
treason; and the people, hearing the announcement, "Not Guilty,"
supposed that the trial was ended, and the Duke completely acquitted.