"The goat doth but hurt himself, _Dulcie_, to pull too hard at the
tether. Neither thou nor I can turn over the pages of the Book of Life.
It may be that we shall both find souls whom we thought to miss.
May-be, in the very last moment of life, the Lord may save souls that
have been greatly prayed for, though they that be left behind never wit
it till they join the company above. We poor blindlings must leave that
in His hands unto whom all hearts be open, and who willeth not the death
of any sinner. `As His majesty is, so is His mercy.' Of this one thing
am I sure, that no soul shall be found in Hell which should have rather
chosen Heaven. They shall go `to their own place:' the place they are
fit for, and the place they choose."
"But how can we forget them?" she replieth.
"If we are to forget them," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "the Lord will know how
to compass it. I have reached the end of my tether, _Dulcie_; and to
pull thereat doth alway hurt me. I will step back, by thy leave."
As I listed the two voices, both something touched, methought it should
be one soul in especial of whom both were thinking, and I guessed that
were Mr _Leonard Norris_.
"And yet," saith my Lady _Stafford_, "that thought hath its perilous
side, _Joyce_. 'Tis so easy for a man to think he shall be saved at the
last minute, howsoe'er he live."
"Be there any thoughts that have not a perilous side?" saith Aunt
_Joyce_. "As for that, _Dulcie_, my rule is, to be as easy as ever I
can in my charitable hopes for other folk; and as hard as ever I can on
this old woman _Joyce_, that I do find such rare hard work to pull of
the right road. I cannot help other folks' lives: but I can see to it
that I make mine own calling sure. That is the safe side, I reckon."
"The safe side, ay: but men mostly love to walk on the smooth side."
"Why, so do I," quoth Aunt _Joyce_: "but I would be on the side that
shall come forth smooth at the end."
"Ah, if all would but think of that!" saith my Lady, and she fetched a
sigh.
"We should all soon be in Heaven," Aunt _Joyce_ made answer. "But thou
art right, _Dulcie_. He that shall leave to look to his chart till the
last hour of his journey is like to reach home very weary and worn, if
he come at all. He that will go straight on, and reckoneth to get home
after some fashion, is not like to knock at the gate ere it be shut up.
The easiest matter in all the world is to miss Heaven."
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE XXV.
This morrow, _Milisent_ was avised to ask at _Walter_, in a tone
somewhat satirical, if he wist how his _Excellency_ did.
"Nay, _Milly_, mind me not of my follies, prithee," quoth he, flushing.
"Never cast a man's past ill-deeds in his face, _Milly_," softly saith
_Mother_. "His conscience (if it be awake) shall mind him of them oft
enough."
"I reckon she shall have forgotten by now how to spell his name," saith
_Father_. "There be many such at Court."
"Yet they have hearts in the Court, trow?" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"A few," quoth _Father_. "But they mostly come forth thereof. For one
like my Lady of _Surrey_--(_Lettice_ will conceive me)--there is many a
Lady of _Richmond_."
"Oh, surely not, _Aubrey_!" crieth _Mother_, earnestly.
"True, dear heart," answereth he. "Let but a woman enter the Court--any
Court--and verily it should seem to change her heart to stone."
"Now, son of _Adam_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"Well, daughter of _Eva_?" _Father_ makes answer.
"Casting the blame on the women," saith she. "Right so did _Adam_, and
all his sons have trod of his steps."
"I thought she deserved it," saith _Father_.
"She deserved it a deal less than he!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, in an heat.
"He sinned with his eyes open, and she was deceived of the serpent."
"Look you, she blamed the serpent, belike," saith Sir _Robert_,
laughing.
"I take it, she was an epitome in little of all future women, as _Adam_
of all men to come," saith _Father_. "But, _Joyce_, methinks _Paul_
scarce beareth thee out."
"I have heard folks to say _Paul_ was not a woman's friend," saith Sir
_Robert_.
"That's not true," quoth Aunt _Joyce_.
"Why, how so, my mistress?" Sir _Robert_ makes merry answer. "He bade
them keep silence in the churches, and be subject to the men, and not to
teach: was that over courteous, think you?"
"Call me a _Frenchman_, if I stand that!" crieth Aunt _Joyce_. "Sir
_Robert Stafford_, be so good as listen to me."
"So I do, with both mine ears, I do ensure you," saith he, laughing.
"Now shall we meet with our demerits!" saith _Father_. "I pity thee not
o'er much, _Robin_, for thou hast pulled it on thine own head."
"My head will stand it," quoth Sir _Robert_. "Now then, Mistress
_Joyce_, prithee go to."
Then quoth she, standing afore him--"I know well you can find me places
diverse where _Paul_ did bid wives that they should obey their husbands;
and therein hold I with _Paul_. But I do defy you in this company to
find me so much as one place wherein he biddeth women to obey men. And
as for teaching, in his Epistle unto _Titus_, he plainly commandeth that
the aged women shall teach the young ones. Moreover, I pray you, had
not _Philip_ the evangelist four virgin daughters, which did prophesy--
to wit, preach? And did not _Priscilla_, no whit less than _Aquila_,
instruct _Apollos_?"
"Mistress _Joyce_, the Queen's Bench lost an eloquent advocate in you."
"That's a man all over!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, with a little stamp of her
foot. "When he cannot answer a woman's reasoning, trust him to pay her
a compliment, and reckon that shall serve her turn, poor fool, a deal
better than the other."
Sir _Robert_ laughed as though he were rarely diverted.
"_Dulcie_ may do your bidding an' she list," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "but
trust me, so shall not I."
"Mistress _Joyce_, therein will I trust you as fully as may be," saith
he, yet laughing. "Yet, I pray you, satisfy my curious fantasy, and
tell me wherein you count _Paul_ a friend to the women?"
"By reason that he told them plainly they were happier unwed," saith
Aunt _Joyce_: "and find me an other man that so reckoneth. Mark you, he
saith not better, nor holier, nor wiser; but happier. That is it which
most men will deny."
"Doth it not in any wise depend on the woman?" saith Sir _Robert_, with
a comical set of his lips. "It depends on the man, a sight more," saith
she.
"But, my mistress, bethink you of the saw--`A man is what a woman makes
him.'"
"Oh, is he so?" crieth Aunt _Joyce_, in scorn. "She's a deal more what
he makes her. `A good _Jack_, a good _Gill_!' Saws cut two ways, Sir
_Robert_."
"Six of one, and half-a-dozen of the other," saith _Father_.
"_Lettice_, come thou and aid me," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Here be two men
set on one poor woman."
"Nay, I am under obedience, _Joyce_," saith _Mother_, laughing.
"Forsooth, so thou art!" quoth she. "_Bess_, give me thine help."
"I am beholden to you, Mistress _Joyce_," saith Cousin _Bess_, "but I
love not to meddle in no frays of other folk. I were alway learned that
women were the meaner sort o' th' twain."
"Go thy ways, thou renegade!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"Come, _Joyce_, shall I aid thee?" quoth _Father_.
"Nay, thou hypocrite, I'll not have thee," saith she. "Thou shouldst
serve me as the wooden horse did the Trojans." And she added some
_Latin_ words, the which I wist not. [Note 3.]
"`_Femme qui parle Latin
Ne vient jamais a bonne fin_.'"
saith Sir _Robert_ under his voice.
"That is because you like to have it all to yourselves," saith Aunt
_Joyce_, turning upon him. "There be _few_ men would not fainer have a
woman foolish than learned. Tell me wherefore?"
"I dispute the major," quoth he, and shaked his head.
"Then I'll tell you," pursueth she. "Because--to give you _French_ for
your _French_--`_Parmi les aveugles, les borgnes sont rois_.' You love
to keep atop of us; and it standeth to reason that the lower down we are
the less toil shall you have in climbing."
"`Endless genealogies, which breed doubts more than godly edifying,'"
saith _Father_. "Are we not landed in somewhat like them?"
"Well, Sir _Robert_, I'll forgive you!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, and held
forth her hand. "But mark you, I am right and you are wrong, for all
that."
Sir _Robert_ lifted Aunt _Joyce's_ hand to his lips, with ever so much
fun in his eyes, though his mouth were as grave as a whole bench of
judges.
"My mistress," said he, "I have been wed long enough to have learned
never to gainsay a gentlewoman."
"Nay, _Dulcie_ never learned you that!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "I know her
better. Your daughters may have done, belike."
Sir _Robert_ did but laugh, and so ended the matter.
SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE XXX.
So here I am come to the last day of our Chronicle--to-morrow being
_Sunday_, when methinks it unseemly to write therein, without it were
some godly meditations that should come more meeter from an elder pen
than mine. To-morrow even I shall give the book into the hands of Aunt
_Joyce_, that she may read the same, and write her own thoughts thereon:
and thereafter shall _Father_ and _Mother_ and _Anstace_ read it. There
be yet fifteen leaves left of the book, and metrusteth Aunt _Joyce_
shall fill them every one: for it standeth with reason that her thoughts
should be better worth than of young maids like us.
I wis not well if I have been wise on the last page or no, as _Father
did_ seem diverted to hear me to say I would fain be. I am something
afeared that I come nearer _Milisent_ her reckoning, and have been wise
on none. But I dare say that _Helen_ hath fulfilled her hope, and been
wise on all. Leastwise, Aunt _Joyce_ her wisdom, as I cast no doubt,
shall make up for our shortcomings.
I cannot but feel a little sorry to lay down my pen, and as though I
would fain keep adding another line, not to have done. Wherefore is it,
I marvel, that all last things (without they be somewhat displeasant) be
so sorrowful? Though it be a thing that you scarce care aught for, yet
to think that you be doing it for the very last time of all, shall cause
you feel right melancholical.
Well! last times must come, I count. So farewell, my good red book: and
when the Queen's Majesty come to read thee (as _Milly_ would have it)
may Her Majesty be greatly diverted therewith; and when _Father_ and
_Mother_, may they pardon (as I reckon they shall) all faults and
failings thereof, and in particular, should they find such, any
displeasance done to themselves, more especially of that their loving
and duteous daughter, that writes her name _Editha Louvaine_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. At this time separate articles from the dress, and fastened in
when worn, according to taste.
Note 2. Silk stockings. New and costly things, being about two guineas
the pair.