"To read less, pray more, fast, and use such Discipline as our Church
recommends, and I question not this Temptation will depart. Make a fayr
Triall."
And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more; and I
have kept mine own Worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it
pitieth me to see him in such Case.
_Sept. 2nd._
Poor _Will_, I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe,
without thinking I know the Cause of his secret Discontentation. He
hath, I believe, followed my Council to the Letter, for though the
Men's Quarter of the House is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come
rounde to me through _Barbara_, who had it from her Brother, that
Mr. _Roper_ hath of late lien on the Ground, and used a knotted Cord.
As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from
Satanic Doubts and Inquietations, I have been at some Payns to make an
Abstracte of such Passages from the Fathers, and such Narratives of
noted and undeniable Miracles as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction
with them, and I hope they may minister to his Soul's Comfort.
_Tuesday, 4th._
Supped with my Lord _Sands_. _Mother_ played Mumchance with my Lady,
but _Father_, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men
than eat at one rich Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea
of Businesse. My Lord tolde him the King had visitted him not long
agone, and was soe well content with his Manor as to wish it were his
owne, for the singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine,
wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of fine-toned
Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high; the largest in
_England_, except that of the Lady _Mary Dudley_. The Sound, indeed, is
powerfull, but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord
_Sands_ sang us a new Ballad, "_The King's Hunt's up_," which _Father_
affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he
being soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran
somewhat thus....
"_The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up,
And it is well nigh Daye,
Harry our King has gone hunting
To bring his Deere to baye.
The East is bright with Morning Lighte,
And Darkness it is fled,
And the merrie Horn wakes up the Morn
To leave his idle Bed.
Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes,
Are...._"
--The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of
Hey-tantara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a
merry Heart.
[Illustration: "Lord Sands sang us a New Ballad."]
[Illustration]
_1524, October._
Sayth Lord _Rutland_ to my Father, in his acute sneering Way, "Ah, ah,
Sir _Thomas_, _Honores mutant Mores_."
"Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns _Father_, "but have a care lest we
translate the Proverb, and say Honours change _Manners_."
It served him right, and the Jest is worth preserving, because 'twas
not premeditate, as my Lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and
in Self-defence. I don't believe Honours _have_ changed the _Mores_.
As _Father_ told _Mother_, there's the same Face under the Hood. 'Tis
comique, too, the Fulfilment of _Erasmus_ his Prophecy. _Plato's_ Year
has not come rounde, but they have got _Father_ to Court, and the King
seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed
Spiritts and unconstrayned Course of Life as ever, neither lett nor
hindered in our daylie Studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and
see more Companie. _Mother's_ Head was a little turned, at first, by
the Change and Enlargement of the Householde ... the Acquisition of
Clerk of the Kitchen, Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the Pastrie,
etc., but, as _Father_ laughinglie tolde her, the Increase of her Cares
soon steddied her Witts, for she found she had twenty Unthrifts to
look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with himself. His
Responsibilities are soe increast, that he grutches at everie Hour the
Court steals from his Family, and vows, now and then, he will leave
off joking, that the King may the sooner wearie of him. But this is
onlie in Jest, for he feels it is a _Power_ given him over lighter
Minds, which he may exert to usefull and high Purpose. Onlie it keepeth
him from needing _Damocles_ his Sword; he trusts not in the Favour of
Princes nor in the Voyce of the People, and keeps his Soul as a weaned
Child. 'Tis much for us now to get an Hour's Leisure with him, and
makes us feel what our olde Privilleges were when we knew 'em not.
Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to
his proper Level.
The _King_ tooke us by Surprise this Morning: _Mother_ had scarce time
to slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere he was in the House. His
Grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round,
which _Bessy_ took humourously, _Daisy_ immoveablie, _Mercy_ humblie,
I distastefullie, and _Mother_ delightedlie. She calls him a fine Man;
he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big; with long slits
of Eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say, "Who dare let or
hinder us?" His Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his Eyebrows are
supercilious, and his Cheeks puffy. A rolling, straddling Gait, and
abrupt Speech.
T'other Evening, as _Father_ and I were, unwontedly, strolling together
down the Lane, there accosts us a shabby poor Fellow, with something
unsettled in his Eye....
"Master, Sir Knight, and may it please your Judgeship, my name is
_Patteson_."
"Very likely," says Father, "and my Name is _More_, but what is that to
the Purpose?"
"And that is _more_ to the Purpose, you mighte have said," returned the
other.
"Why, soe I mighte," says _Father_, "but how shoulde I have proved it?"
"You who are a Lawyer shoulde know best about that," rejoyned the poor
Knave; "'tis too hard for poor _Patteson_."
"Well, but who are you?" says _Father_, "and what do you want of me?"
"Don't you mind me?" says _Patteson_; "I played Hold-your-tongue, last
_Christmasse_ Revel was five Years, and they called me a smart Chap
then, but last _Martinmasse_ I fell from the Church Steeple, and shook
my Brain-pan, I think, for its Contents have seemed addled ever since;
soe what I want now is to be made a Fool."
"Then you are not one already?" says _Father_.
"If I were," says _Patteson_, "I shoulde not have come to _you_."
"Why, Like cleaves to Like, you know they say," says _Father_.
"Aye," says t'other, "but I've Reason and Feeling enow, too, to know
you are no Fool, though I thoughte you might want one. Great People
like 'em at their Tables, I've hearde say, though I am sure I can't
guesse why, for it makes me sad to see Fools laughed at; ne'erthelesse,
as I get laughed at alreadie, methinketh I may as well get paid for
the Job if I can, being unable, now, to doe a Stroke of Work in hot
Weather. And I'm the onlie Son of my Mother, and she is a Widow. But
perhaps I'm not bad enough."
"I know not that, poor Knave," says _Father_, touched with quick Pity,
"and, for those that laugh at Fools, my Opinion, _Patteson_, is that
they are the greater Fools who laugh. To tell you the Truth, I had
had noe Mind to take a Fool into mine Establishment, having alwaies
had a Fancy to be prime Fooler in it myselfe; however, you incline me
to change my Purpose, for as I said anon, Like cleaves to Like, soe,
I'll tell you what we will doe--divide the Businesse and goe Halves--I
continuing the Fooling, and thou receiving the Salary; that is, if
I find, on Inquiry, thou art given to noe Vice, including that of
Scurrillitie."
"May it like your Goodness," says poor _Patteson_, "I've been the
Subject, oft, of Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to offend that
Way myself. I ever keep a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially among
young Ladies."
"That minds me," says _Father_, "of a Butler who sayd he always was
sober, especially when he only had Water to drink. Can you read and
write?"
"Well, and what if I cannot?" returns _Patteson_, "there ne'er was but
one, I ever heard of, that knew Letters, never having learnt, and well
he might, for he made them that made them."
"_Meg_, there is Sense in this poor Fellow," says _Father_, "we will
have him Home and be kind to him."
And, sure enow, we have done so and been so ever since.
_Tuesday, 25th._
A glance at the anteceding Pages of this _Libellus_ me-sheweth poor
_Will Roper_ at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He
troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious Disquietations.
Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters,
and made him infinitely more rationall, and by Consequents, more
agreeable. 'Twas one of those Preferences young People sometimes
manifest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed,
afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him.
There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate Regard.
I have neither _Bess's_ Witt nor white Teeth, nor _Daisy's_ dark
Eyes, nor _Mercy's_ Dimple. A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle
Spiritts,--that's alle.
_26th._
_Patteson's_ latest Jest was taking Precedence of _Father_ yesterday
with the Saying, "Give place, Brother; you are but Jester to King
_Harry_, and I'm Jester to Sir _Thomas More_; I'll leave you to decide
which is the greater Man of the two."
"Why, Gossip," cries _Father_, "his Grace woulde make two of me."
"Not a Bit of it," returns _Patteson_, "he's big enow for two such as
you are, I grant ye, but the King can't make two of you. No! Lords and
Commons may make a King, but a King can't make a Sir _Thomas More_."
"Yes, he can," rejoyns _Father_, "he can make me Lord Chancellor, and
then he will make me more than I am already; _ergo_, he will make Sir
_Thomas_ more."
"But what I mean is," persists the Fool, "that the King can't make such
another as you are, any more than all the King's Horses and all the
King's Men can put _Humpty-dumpty_ together again, which is an ancient
Riddle, and full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, if ever he lifts thy
Head off from thy Shoulders, which GOD forbid!"
_Father_ delighteth in sparring with _Patteson_ far more than in
jesting with the King, whom he alwaies looks on as a Lion that may, any
Minute, fall on him and rend him. Whereas, with t'other, he ungirds his
Mind. Their Banter commonly exceeds not Pleasantrie, but _Patteson_
is ne'er without an Answer; and although, maybe, each amuses himselfe
now and then with thinking, "I'll put him up with such a Question,"
yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the Reel without a Knot, and shews
the excellent Nature of both, soe free are they alike from Malice and
Over-license. Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than common Listeners
apprehend. I've seene _Rupert_ and _Will_, in fencing, make theire
Swords flash in the Sun at every Parry and Thrust; agayn, owing to
some Change in mine owne Position, or the Decline of the Sun, the
Scintillations have escaped me, though I've known their Rays must have
been emitted in some Quarter alle the same.
_Patteson_, with one of _Argus's_ cast Feathers in his Hand, is at
this Moment beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone Balustrade; while
_Bessy_, whom he much affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her
Peacocks. Sayth _Patteson_, "Canst tell me, Mistress, why Peacocks
have soe manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can onlie see with two in
theire Heads?"
"Because those two make them soe vain alreadie, Fool," says _Bess_,
"that were they always beholding theire owne Glory, they woulde be
intolerable."
"And besides that," says _Patteson_, "the less we see or heare,
either, of what passes behind our Backs, the better for us, since
Knaves will make Mouths at us then, for as glorious as we may be. Canst
tell me, Mistress, why the Peacock was the last Bird that went into the
Ark?"
"First tell me, Fool," returns _Bess_, "how thou knowest that it was
soe?"
"Nay, a Fool may ask a Question would puzzle a Wiseard to answer,"
rejoyns _Patteson_; "I mighte ask you, for example, where they got
theire fresh Kitchen-stuff in the Ark, or whether the Birds ate other
than Grains, or the wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs must have
been a Granary."
"We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says _Bess_, "as in seeking to
know more than is written. They had enough, if none to spare, and we
scarce can tell how little is enough for bare Sustenance in a State
of perfect Inaction. If the Creatures were kept low, they were all the
less fierce."
"Well answered, Mistress," says _Patteson_, "but tell me, why do you
wear two Crosses?"
"Nay, Fool," returns _Bess_, "I wear but one."
"Oh, but I say you wear two," says _Patteson_, "one at your Girdle,
and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseen one, you know. Some
have theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell
it for a Cross ... like my Lord Cardinall, for Instance ... but it is
one, for alle that. And others, of Iron, that eateth into their Hearts
... methinketh Master _Roper's_ must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content
with one of Wood, like that our deare LORD bore; what was goode enow
for him is goode enow for me, and I've noe Temptation to shew it,
as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it for being rougher than my
Neighbour's, nor yet to make myself a second because it is not hard
enow. Doe you take me, Mistress?"
"I take you for what you are," says _Bess_, "a poor Fool."
"Nay, Niece," says _Patteson_, "my Brother your Father hath made me
rich."
"I mean," says _Bess_, "you have more Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool
has neither, therefore you are only a make-believe Fool."
"Well, there are many make-believe Sages," says _Patteson_; "for mine
owne Part, I never aim to be thoughte a _Hiccius Doccius_."
"A _hic est doctus_, Fool, you mean," interrupts _Bess_.
"Perhaps I do," rejoins _Patteson_, "since other Folks soe oft know
better what we mean than we know ourselves. Alle I woulde say is, I
ne'er set up for a Conjuror. One can see as far into a Millstone as
other People, without being that. For Example, when a Man is overta'en
with Qualms of Conscience for having married his Brother's Widow,
when she is noe longer soe young and fair as she was a Score of Years
ago, we know what that's a Sign of. And when an _Ipswich_ Butcher's
Son takes on him the State of my Lord _Pope_, we know what that's a
Sign of. Nay, if a young Gentlewoman become dainty at her Sizes, and
sluttish in her Apparel, we ... as I live, here comes _Giles Heron_,
with a Fish in's Mouth."
Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her Head quicklie towards the
Watergate; on which, _Patteson_, laughing as he lay on his Back, points
upward with his Peacock's Feather, and cries, "Overhead, Mistress! see,
there he goes. Sure, you lookt not to see Master _Heron_ making towards
us between the Posts and Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling?" laughing as
wildly as though he were verily a Natural.
_Bess_, without a Word, shook the Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning
into the House, when he withholds her a Minute in a perfectly altered
Fashion, saying, "There be some Works, Mistress, our Confessors tell us
be Works of Supererogation ... is not that the Word? I learn a long one
now and then ... such as be setting Food before a full Man, or singing
to a deaf one, or buying for one's Pigs a Silver Trough, or, for the
Matter of that, casting Pearls before a Dunghill Cock, or fishing for
a Heron, which is well able to fish for itself, and is an ill-natured
Bird after all, that pecks the Hand of his Mistress, and, for all her
Kindness to him, will not think of _Bessy More_."
How apt alle are to abuse unlimited License! Yet 'twas good Counsel.
_1525, July 2._
Soe my Fate is settled. Who knoweth at Sunrise what will chance before
Sunsett? No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of Chance and of Fate,
but we must not. _Ruth's Hap_ was to light on the Field of _Boaz_: but
what she thought casual, the LORD had contrived.
Firste, he gives me the Marmot. Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having
kept the Creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a
little over it. Then _Will_ must come in and find me drying mine Eyes.
Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I could not have loved
the poor Animal for its owne Sake soe much as for his; and, thereupon,
falle a love-making in such downrighte Earneste, that I, being alreadie
somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please _Father_ ... and hating
to be perverse, ... and thinking much better of _Will_ since he hath
studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off
broaching his heteroclite Opinions ... I say, I supposed it must be
soe, some Time or another, soe 'twas noe Use hanging back for ever and
ever, soe now there's an End, and I pray GOD give us a quiet Life.
Noe one woulde suppose me reckoning on a quiet Life if they knew how
I've cried alle this Forenoon, ever since I got quit of _Will_, by
_Father's_ carrying him off to _Westminster_. He'll tell _Father_, I
know, as they goe along in the Barge, or else coming back, which will
be soone now, though I've ta'en no Heed of the Hour. I wish 'twere
cold Weather, and that I had a sore Throat, or stiff Neck, or somewhat
that might reasonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow
Morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the Dog-days, and Cook is
thumping the Rolling-pin on the Dresser, and Dinner is being served,
and here comes _Father_.
[Illustration: "The King was here yesterday."]
_1528, Sept._
_Father_ hath had some Words with the Cardinall. 'Twas touching the
Draught of some forayn Treaty which the Cardinall offered for his
Criticism, or rather, for his Commendation, which _Father_ could not
give. This nettled his Grace, who exclaimed,--"By the Mass, thou art
the veriest Fool of all the Council." _Father_, smiling, rejoined, "GOD
be thanked, that the King our Master hath but one Fool therein."
The _Cardinall_ may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal Favour.
The _King_ was here yesterday, and walked for an Hour or soe about the
Garden, with his Arm round _Father's_ Neck. _Will_ coulde not help
felicitating _Father_ upon it afterwards; to which _Father_ made
Answer, "I thank GOD I find his Grace my very good Lord indeed, and
I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any Subject within this
Realm. Howbeit, son _Roper_, I may tell thee between ourselves, I feel
no Cause to be proud thereof, for if my Head would win him a Castle in
_France_, it shoulde not fail to fly off."
--_Father_ is graver than he used to be. No Wonder. He hath much on
his Mind; the Calls on his Time and Thoughts are beyond Belief; but
GOD is very good to him. His Favour at home and abroad is immense: he
hath good Health, soe have we alle; and his Family are established to
his Mind, and settled alle about him, still under the same fostering
Roof. Considering that I am the most ordinarie of his Daughters,
'tis singular I should have secured the best Husband. _Daisy_ lives
peaceablie with _Rupert Allington_, and is as indifferent, me seemeth,
to him as to alle the World beside. He, on his Part, loves her and
theire Children with Devotion, and woulde pass half his Time in the
Nurserie. _Dancey_ always had a hot Temper, and now and then plagues
_Bess_; but she lets noe one know it but me. Sometimes she comes into
my Chamber and cries a little, but the next kind Word brightens her
up, and I verilie believe her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. _Giles
Heron_ lost her through his own Fault, and might have regained her good
Opinion after all, had he taken half the Pains for her Sake he now
takes for her younger Sister: I cannot think how _Cecy_ can favour him;
yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine own deare
_Will_, 'tis the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, the ... and
yet how I was senselesse enow once to undervalue him!
Yes, I am a happy Wife; a happy Daughter; a happy Mother. When my
little _Bill_ stroaked dear _Father's_ Face just now, and murmured
"Pretty!" he burst out a-laughing, and cried,--
"You are like the young _Cyrus_, who exclaimed,--'Oh! Mother, how
pretty is my Grandfather!' And yet, according to _Xenophon_, the old
Gentleman was soe rouged and made up, as that none but a Child woulde
have admired him!"
"That's not the Case," I observed, "with _Bill's_ Grandfather."
"He's a _More_ all over," says _Father_, fondly. "Make a Pun, _Meg_,
if thou canst, about _Amor_, _Amore_, or _Amores_. 'Twill onlie be
the thousand and first on our Name. Here, little Knave, see these
Cherries: tell me who thou art, and thou shalt have one. '_More!
More!_' I knew it, sweet Villain. Take them all."
I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watching _Hans Holbein_ at his Brush.
He hath a rare Gift of limning; and has, besides, the Advantage of
deare _Erasmus_ his Recommendation, for whom he hath alreddie painted
our Likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His Portraiture
of my Grandfather is marvellous; ne'erthelesse, I look in vayn for the
Spirituallitie which our _Lucchese_ Friend, _Antonio Bonvisi_, tells us
is to be found in the Productions of the Italian Schools.
_Holbein_ loves to paint with the Lighte coming in upon his Work from
above. He says a Lighte from above puts Objects in theire proper
Lighte, and shews theire just Proportions; a Lighte from beneath
reverses alle the naturall Shadows. Surelie, this hath some Truth if we
spirituallize it.
_June 2d._
_Rupert's_ Cousin, _Rosamond Allington_, is our Guest. She is as
beautiful as ... not as an Angel, for she lacks the Look of Goodness,
but very beautiful indeed. She cometh hither from _Hever Castle_,
her Account of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress _Anne_ is
not there at present; indeed, she is now always hanging about Court,
and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to
_Solomon's_ Spouse--to forget her Father's House. The _King_ likes
well enow to be compared with _Solomon_, but Mistress _Anne_ is not
his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flattery and Frenchified
Habitts have spoilt her, I trow.
[Illustration: "She cometh hither from Hever Castle."]
_Rosamond_ says there is not a good Chamber in the Castle; even the
Ball-room, which is on the upper Floor of alle, being narrow and low.
On a rainy Day, long ago, she and Mistress _Anne_ were playing at
Shuttlecock therein, when _Rosamond's_ Foot tripped at some Unevennesse
in the Floor, and Mistress _Anne_, with a Laugh, cried out, "Mind you
goe not down into the Dungeon"--then pulled up a Trap-door in the
Ball-room Floor, by an iron Ring, and made _Rosamond_ look down into an
unknown Depth; all in the blacknesse of Darkness. 'Tis an awfulle Thing
to have onlie a Step from a Ball-room to a Dungeon! I'm glad we live in
a modern House; we have noe such fearsome Sights here.
_Sept. 26._
How many, many Tears have I shed! Poor, imprudent _Will_.
To think of his Escape from the _Cardinall's_ Fangs, and yet that he
will probablie repeat the Offence! This Morning _Father_ and he had a
long, and, I fear me, fruitless Debate in the Garden; on returning from
which, _Father_ took me aside and sayd,--
"_Meg_, I have borne a long Time with thine Husband; I have reasoned
and argued with him, and still given him my poor, fatherly Counsel; but
I perceive none of alle this can call him Home agayn. And therefore,
_Meg_, I will no longer dispute with him." ... "Oh, _Father_!" ... "Nor
yet will I give him over; but I will set another Way to work, and get
me to GOD and pray for him."
And have not I done so alreadie?
_27th._
I feare me they parted unfriendlie; I hearde _Father_ say, "Thus much I
have a Right to bind thee to, that thou indoctrinate not her in thine
owne Heresies. Thou shalt not imperill the Salvation of my Child."
Since this there has been an irresistible Gloom on our Spiritts, a
Cloud between my Husband's Soul and mine, without a Word spoken. I
pray, but my Prayers seem dead.
_Thursday, 28th._
Last Night, after seeking unto this Saint and that, methought, "Why
not applie unto the Fountain Head? Maybe these holie Spiritts may have
Limitations sett to the Power of theire Intercessions--at anie Rate,
the Ears of _Mary-mother_ are open to alle."
Soe I beganne, "_Eia mater, fons amoris._" ...
Then methoughte, "But I am onlie asking _her_ to intercede--I'll mount
a Step higher still." ...
Then I turned to the greate Intercessor of alle. But methought, "Still
he intercedes with another, although the same. And his owne Saying
was, 'In that Day ye shall ask _me nothing_. Whatsoever ye shall ask in
my Name, _he_ will give it you.'" Soe I did.
I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on my Cheek. _Will_ had not come
up Stairs. Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not such as giveth Rest;
and a dark, wild Dream. Methought I was tired of waiting for _Will_,
and became alarmed. The Night seemed a Month long, and at last I grew
soe weary of it, that I arose, put on some Clothing, and went in search
of him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I founde him, sitting in a Muse; and
said, "_Will_, deare _Will_?" but he hearde me not; and, going up to
touch him, I was amazed to be broughte short up or ever I reached him,
by Something invisible betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, ... in
short, a Wall of Ice! Soe it seemed, in my strange Dreame. I pushed at
it, but could not move it; called to him, but coulde not make him hear:
and all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised a Vapour on the glassy
Substance, that grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie to hide him
from me. I coulde discerne his Head and Shoulders, but not see down to
his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes in Despair, and when I opened 'em, he
was hidden altogether.
Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow agaynst the Ice, and I kept a
weeping hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer kept issuing from
my Lips; and still I was persisting, when, or ever I knew how, the
Ice beganne to melt! I felt it giving Way! and, looking up, coulde
in joyfulle Surprize just discerne the Lineaments of a Figure close
at t'other Side; the Face turned away, but yet in the Guise of
listening. And, Images being apt to seem magnified and distorted
through Vapours, methought 'twas altogether bigger than _Will_, yet
himself, nothingthelesse; and, the Barrier between us having sunk away
to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand on's Shoulder, and he turned his
Head, smiling, though in Silence; and ... oh, Heaven! 'twas not _Will_,
but----.
What coulde I doe, even in my Dreame, but fall at his Feet? What coulde
I doe, waking, but the same? 'Twas Grey of Morn; I was feverish and
unrefreshed, but I wanted noe more lying a-bed. _Will_ had arisen and
gone forthe; and I, as quicklie as I coulde make myself readie, sped
after him.
I know not what I expected, nor what I meant to say. The Moment I
opened the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. There he stoode, in
the Centre of the Chamber; his Hand resting flat on an open Book,
his Head raised somewhat up, his Eyes fixed on Something or some One,
as though in speaking Communion with 'em; his whole Visage lightened
up and glorifide with an unspeakable Calm and Grandeur that seemed
to transfigure him before me; and, when he hearde my Step, he turned
about, and 'steade of histing me away, helde out his Arms.... We parted
without neede to utter a Word.
_June, 1530._
Events have followed too quick and thick for me to note 'em. Firste,
_Father's_ Embassade to _Cambray_, which I shoulde have grieved at more
on our owne Accounts, had it not broken off alle further Collision
with _Will_. Thoroughlie homesick, while abroad, poor _Father_ was;
then, on his Return, he noe sooner sett his Foot a-land, than the King
summoned him to _Woodstock_. 'Twas a Couple o' Nights after he left
us, that _Will_ and I were roused by _Patteson's_ shouting beneath
our Window, "Fire, Fire, quoth _Jeremiah_!" and the House was a-fire,
sure enow. Greate Part of the Men's Quarter, together with alle the
Out-houses and Barns, consumed without Remedie, and alle through the
Carelessnesse of _John Holt_. Howbeit, noe Lives were lost, nor any one
much hurt; and we thankfullie obeyed deare _Father's_ Behest, soe soone
as we received the same, that we woulde get us to Church, and there,
upon our Knees, return humble and harty Thanks to ALMIGHTY GOD for our
late Deliverance from a fearfulle Death. Alsoe, at _Father's_ Desire,
we made up to the poor People on our Premises theire various Losses,
which he bade us doe, even if it left him without soe much as a Spoon.
But then came an equallie unlookt-for, and more appalling Event: the
Fall of my _Lord Cardinall_, whereby my Father was shortlie raised
to the highest Pinnacle of professional Greatnesse; being made _Lord
Chancellor_, to the Content, in some Sort, of _Wolsey_ himself, who
sayd he was the onlie Man fit to be his Successor.
The unheard-of Splendour of his Installation dazzled the Vulgar; while
the Wisdom that marked the admirable Discharge of his daylie Duties,
won the Respect of alle thinking Men, but surprized none who alreadie
knew _Father_. On the Day succeeding his being sworn in, _Patteson_
marched hither, and thither, bearing a huge Placard, inscribed,
"Partnership Dissolved;" and apparelled himself in an old Suit, on
which he had bestowed a Coating of black Paint, with Weepers of white
Paper; assigning for't that "his Brother was dead." "For now," quoth
he, "that they've made him _Lord Chancellor_, we shall ne'er see Sir
_Thomas_ more."
Now, although the poor _Cardinall_ was commonlie helde to shew much
Judgment in his Decisions, owing to the naturall Soundness of his
Understanding, yet, being noe Lawyer, Abuses had multiplied during
his Chancellorship, more especiallie in the Way of enormous Fees and
Gratuities. _Father_, not content with shunning base Lucre in his
proper Person, will not let anie one under him, to his Knowledge, touch
a Bribe; whereat _Dancey_, after his funny Fashion, complains, saying,--
"The Fingers of my _Lord Cardinall's_ veriest Door-keepers were
tipt with Gold, but I, since I married your Daughter, have got noe
Pickings; which in your Case may be commendable, but in mine is nothing
profitable."
_Father_, laughing, makes Answer,--
"Your Case is hard, Son _Dancey_, but I can onlie say for your Comfort,
that, soe far as Honesty and Justice are concerned, if mine owne
Father, whom I reverence dearly, stoode before me on the one Hand, and
the Devil, whom I hate extremely, on the other, yet, the Cause of the
latter being just, I shoulde give the Devil his Due."
_Giles Heron_ hath found this to his Cost. Presuming on his near
Connexion with my Father, he refused an equitable Accommodation of a
Suit, which, thereon, coming into Court, _Father's_ Decision was given
flat agaynst him.
[Illustration: The Beggar-Woman's Dog.]
His Decision agaynst _Mother_ was equallie impartiall, and had
Something comique in it. Thus it befelle.--A Beggar-woman's little Dog,
which had beene stolen from her, was offered my _Mother_ for Sale, and
she bought it for a Jewel of no greate Value. After a Week or soe, the
Owner finds where her Dog is, and cometh to make Complaynt of the Theft
to _Father_, then sitting in his Hall. Sayth _Father_, "Let's have a
faire Hearing in open Court; thou, Mistress, stand there where you be,
to have impartial Justice; and thou, Dame _Alice_, come up hither,
because thou art of the higher Degree. Now then, call each of you the
Puppy, and see which he will follow." Soe _Sweetheart_, in spite of
_Mother_, springs off to the old Beggar-woman, who, unable to keep from
laughing, and yet moved at Mother's Losse, sayth,--
"Tell 'ee what, Mistress ... thee shalt have 'un for a Groat."
"Nay," sayth _Mother_, "I won't mind giving thee a Piece of Gold;" soe
the Bargain was satisfactorily concluded.
_Father's_ Despatch of Businesse is such, that, one Morning before the
End of Term, he was tolde there was noe other Cause nor Petition to
be sett before him; the which, being a Case unparalleled, he desired
mighte be formally recorded.
He ne'er commences Businesse in his owne Court without first stepping
into the Court of King's Bench, and there kneeling down to receive
my Grandfather's Blessing. _Will_ sayth 'tis worth a World to see the
Unction with which the deare old Man bestows it on him.
In Rogation-week, following the Rood as usuall round the Parish,
_Heron_ counselled him to go a Horseback for the greater Seemlinesse,
but he made Answer that 'twoulde be unseemlie indeede for the Servant
to ride after his Master going afoot.
His Grace of _Norfolk_, coming yesterday to dine with him, finds him in
the Church-choir, singing, with a Surplice on.
"What?" cries the _Duke_, as they walk Home together, "my _Lord
Chancellor_ playing the Parish-clerk? Sure, you dishonour the King and
his Office."
"Nay," says _Father_, smiling, "your Grace must not deem that the
King, your Master and mine, will be offended at my honouring _his_
Master."
Sure, 'tis pleasant to heare _Father_ taking the upper Hand of these
great Folks: and to have 'em coming and going, and waiting his
Pleasure, because he is the Man whom the King delighteth to honour.
True, indeed, with _Wolsey_ 'twas once the same; but _Father_ neede not
feare the same Ruin; because he hath HIM for his Friend, whom _Wolsey_
said woulde not have forsaken him had he served HIM as he served his
earthly Master. 'Twas a misproud Priest; and there's the Truth on't.
And _Father_ is not misproud; and I don't believe we are; though proud
of him we cannot fail to be.
And I know not why we may not be pleased with Prosperitie, as well as
patient under Adversitie; as long as we say, "Thou, LORD, hast made
our Hill soe strong." 'Tis more difficult to bear with Comelinesse,
doubtlesse; and envious Folks there will be; and we know alle Things
have an End, and everie Sweet hath its Sour, and everie Fountain its
Fall; but ... 'tis very pleasant for all that.
[Illustration: In the Garden.]
_Tuesday, 31st, 1532._
Who coulde have thoughte that those ripe Grapes whereof dear _Gaffer_
ate soe plentifullie, should have ended his Dayes? This Event hath
filled the House with Mourning. He had us all about his Bed to receive
his Blessing; and 'twas piteous to see _Father_ fall upon his Face, as
_Joseph_ on the Face of _Jacob_, and weep upon him and kiss him. Like
_Jacob_, my Grandsire lived to see his duteous Son attain to the Height
of earthlie Glory, his Heart unspoyled and untouched.
_July, 1532._
The Days of Mourning for my Grandsire are at an end; yet _Father_ still
goeth heavilie. This Forenoon, looking forthe of my Lattice, I saw
him walking along the River Side, his Arm cast about _Will's_ Neck;
and 'twas a dearer Sight to my Soul than to see the _King_ walking
there with his Arm around _Father's_ Neck. They seemed in such earnest
Converse, that I was avised to ask _Will_, afterwards, what they had
been saying. He told me that, after much friendly Chat together on this
and that, _Father_ fell into a Muse, and presently, fetching a deep
Sigh, says,--
"Would to GOD, Son _Roper_, on Condition three Things were well
established in Christendom, I were put into a Sack, and cast presently
into the _Thames_." _Will_ sayth,--
"What three soe great Things can they be, _Father_, as to move you to
such a Wish?"
"In Faith, _Will_," answers he, "they be these.--First, that whereas
the most Part of Christian Princes be at War, they were at universal
Peace. Next, that whereas the Church of CHRIST is at present sore
afflicted with divers Errors and Heresies, it were well settled in a
godly Uniformity. Last, that this Matter of the _King's_ Marriage were,
to the Glory of GOD, and the Quietness of alle Parties, brought to a
good Conclusion."
Indeed, this last Matter preys on my Father's Soul. He hath even knelt
to the King, to refrain from exacting Compliance with his Grace's
Will concerning it; movingly reminding him, even with Tears, of his
Grace's own Words to him on delivering the Great Seal, "First look unto
GOD, and, after GOD, unto me." But the King is heady in this Matter;
stubborn as a Mule or wild Ass's Colt, whose Mouths must be held with
Bit and Bridle if they be to be governed at alle; and the King hath
taken the Bit between his Teeth, and there is none dare ride him. Alle
for Love of a brown Girl, with a Wen on her Throat, and an extra Finger.
_July 18th._
How short a Time agone it seemeth, that in my Prosperity I sayd, "We
shall never be moved; Thou, LORD, of Thy goodness hast made our Hill
soe strong! ... Thou didst turn away thy Face, and I was troubled!"
_28th._
Thus sayth _Plato_: of Him whom he soughte, but hardly found: "Truth is
his Body, and Light his Shadow." A marvellous Saying for a Heathen.
Hear also what St. _John_ sayth: "GOD is Light; and in him is no
Darkness at all." "And the Light was the Life of Men: and the Light
shineth in Darkness, and the Darkness comprehended it not."
Hear also what St. _Augustine_ sayth: "They are the most uncharitable
towards Error who have never experienced how hard a Matter it is to
come at the Truth."
Hard, indeed. Here's _Father_ agaynst _Will_, and agaynst _Erasmus_, of
whom he once could not speak well enough; and now he says that if he
upholds such and such Opinions his dear _Erasmus_ may be the Devil's
_Erasmus_ for what he cares. And here's _Father_ at Issue with half the
learned Heads in Christendom concerning the King's Marriage. And yet,
for alle that, I think _Father_ is in the Right.
He taketh Matters soe to Heart that e'en his Appetite fails. Yesterday
he put aside his old favourite Dish of Brewis, saying, "I know not how
'tis, good _Alice_; I've lost my Stomach, I think, for my old Relishes"
... and this, e'en with a Tear in his Eye. But 'twas not the Brewis, I
know, that made it start.
_Aug._
He hath resigned the Great Seal! And none of us knew of his having done
soe, nor e'en of his meditating it, till after Morning Prayers to-day,
when, insteade of one of his Gentlemen stepping up to my Mother in
her Pew with the Words, "Madam, my Lord is gone," he cometh up to her
himself, with a Smile on's Face, and sayth, low bowing as he spoke,
"Madam, my Lord is gone." She takes it for one of the manie Jests
whereof she misses the Point; and 'tis not till we are out of Church,
in the open Air, that she fully comprehends my _Lord Chancellor_ is
indeed gone, and she hath onlie her Sir _Thomas More_.
[Illustration: "and sayth, low bowing as he spoke, 'Madam, my Lord is
gone.'"]
A Burst of Tears was no more than was to be lookt for from poor
Mother; and, in Sooth, we alle felt aggrieved and mortyfide enough;
but 'twas a short Sorrow; for _Father_ declared that he had cast
_Pelion_ and _Ossa_ off his Back into the bottomless Pit; and fell
into such funny Antics that we were soon as merry as ever we were
in our Lives. _Patteson_, so soon as he hears it, comes leaping and
skipping across the Garden, crying, "A fatted Calf! let a fatted Calf
be killed, Masters and Mistresses, for this my Brother who was dead is
alive again!" and falls a kissing his Hand. But poor _Patteson's_ Note
will soon change; for _Father's_ diminished State will necessitate the
Dismissal of all extra Hands; and there is manie a Servant under his
Roof whom he can worse spare than the poor Fool.
In the Evening he gathers us alle about him in the Pavilion, where
he throws himself into his old accustomed Seat, casts his Arm about
_Mother_, and cries, "How glad must _Cincinnatus_ have been to spy out
his Cottage again, with _Racilia_ standing at the Gate!" Then, called
for Curds and Cream; sayd how sweet the soft Summer Air was coming over
the River, and bade _Cecil_ sing "The King's Hunt's up." After this,
one Ballad after another was called for, till alle had sung their Lay,
ill or well, he listing the While with closed Eyes, and a composed
Smile about his Mouth; the two Furrows between his Brows relaxing
graduallie till at length they could no more be seene. At last he
says,--
"Who was that old Prophet that could not or would not prophesy for a
King of _Judah_ till a Minstrel came and played unto him? Sure, he
must have loved, as I do, the very lovely Song of one that playeth well
upon an Instrument, yclept the Human Heart; and have felt, as I do now,
the Spirit given him to speak of Matters foreign to his Mind. 'Tis of
_res angusta domi_, dear Brats, I must speak; soe, the sooner begun,
the sooner over. Here am I, with a dear Wife and eight loved Children
... for my Daughters' Husbands and my Son's Wife are my Children as
much as any; and _Mercy Giggs_ is a Daughter too ... nine Children,
then, and eleven Grandchildren, and a Swarm of Servants to boot, all of
whom have as yet eaten what it pleased them, and drunken what it suited
them at my Board, without its being any one's Businesse to say them
nay. 'Twas the dearest Privilege of my _Lord Chancellor_; but now he's
dead and gone, how shall we contract the Charges of Sir _Thomas More_?"
We looked from one to another, and were silent.
"I'll tell ye, dear ones," he went on. "I have been brought up at
_Oxford_, at an Inn of Chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, and at the King's
Court; from the lowest Degree, that is, to the highest; and yet have
I in yearly Revenues at this Present, little above one Hundred Pounds
a-year; but then, as _Chilo_ sayth, 'honest Loss is preferable to
dishonest Gain: by the first, a Man suffers once; by the second for
ever;' and I may take up my Parable with _Samuel_, and say: 'Whose Ox
have I taken? whose Ass have I taken? whom have I defrauded? whom have
I oppressed? of whose Hand have I received any Bribe to blinde mine
Eyes therewith?' No, my worst Enemies cannot lay to my Charge any of
these Things; and my Trust in you is, that, rather than regret I should
not have made a Purse by any such base Methods, you will all cheerfully
contribute your Proportions to the common Fund, and share and share
alike with me in this my diminished State."
We all gat about him, and by our Words and Kisses gave Warrant that we
would.
"Well, then," quoth he, "my Mind is, that since we are all of a Will to
walk down-hill together, we will do soe at a breathing Pace, and not
drop down like a Plummet. Let all Things be done decently and in order:
we won't descend to _Oxford_ Fare first, nor yet to the Fare of _New
Inn_. We'll begin with _Lincoln's Inn_ Diet, whereon many good and wise
Men thrive well; if we find this draw too heavily on the Common-Purse,
we will, next Year, come down to _Oxford_ Fare, with which many great
and learned Doctors have been conversant; and, if our Purse stretch not
to cover e'en this, why, in Heaven's Name! we'll go begging together,
with Staff and Wallet, and sing a _Salve Regina_ at every good Man's
Door, whereby we shall still keep Company, and be merry together!"
_Sept. 22d._
Now that the first Surprise and Grief, and the first Fervour of
Fidelity and Self-devotion have passed off, we have subsided into how
deep and holy a Quiet!
We read of the Desertion of the World, as a Matter of Course; but,
when our own Turn comes, it does seem strange, to find ourselves
let fall down the Stream without a single Hand outstretched to help
us; forgotten, in a Moment, as though we had never been, by those
who lately ate and laughed at our Table. And this, without any Fault
or Offence of ours, but merely from our having lost the Light of the
_King's_ Countenance. I say, it does seem strange; but how fortunate,
how blessed are those to whom such a Course of Events _only_ seems
strange, unaccompanied by Self-reproach and Bitterness! I could not
help feeling this, in reading an affectionate Letter deare _Father_
writ this Forenoon to _Erasmus_, wherein he sayd, "I have now obtained
what, from a Child, I have continually wished! that, being entirely
quit of Businesse and all publick Affairs, I might live for a Time only
to GOD and myself."
Having no Hankering after the old Round he soe long hath run, he now,
in Fact, looks younger every Day; and yet, not with the same Kind of
Youth he had before his Back was bowed under the Chancellorship. 'Tis
a more composed, chastised Sort of Rejuvenescence: rather the soft
Warmth of Autumn, which sometimes seems like May, than May itself: the
enkindling, within this mortal Tabernacle, of a heavenly Light that
never grows dim, because it is immortal; and burns the same yesterday,
to-day, and for ever: a Youthfulness of Soul and Mind characterised by
Growth; Something with which this World and its fleeting Fancies has
nothing to do: Something that the _King_ can neither impart nor take
away.
... We have had a tearfull Morning ... poor _Patteson_ has gone. My
Father hath obtained good Quarters for him with my _Lord Mayor_, with
a Stipulation that he shall retain his Office with the _Lord Mayor_
for the Time being, as long as he can fill it at all. This suits
_Patteson_, who says he will sooner shift Masters year by year, than
grow too fond of any Man again, as he hath of _Father_; but there has
been sad blubbering and blowing of Noses.
_Sept. 24th._
This Afternoon, coming upon _Mercy_ seated in the Alcove, like unto the
Image of some Saint in a Niche, her Hands folded on her Lap, and her
Eyes steadfastly agaze on the setting Sun, I could not but mark how
Years were silentlie at work upon her, as doubtless upon us alle; the
tender, fearfulle Girl having thus graduallie changed into the sober,
high-minded Woman. She is so seldom seene in Repose, so constantly
astir and afoot in this or that kind Office, mostly about the Children,
that I had never thought upon it before; but now I was alle at once
avised to marvel that she who had so long seemed fitter for Heaven
than Earth, shoulde never literallie have vowed herself the Spouse of
_Christ_; more in especiall as all Expectation of being the Spouse of
anie else must long since have died within her.
I sayd, "_Mercy_, thou lookst like a Nun: how is't thou hast ne'er
become one in Earnest?"
She started; then sayd, "Could I be more usefull? more harmless?
less exposed to Temptation? or half so happy as I am now? In sooth,
_Meg_, the Time has been when methought, how sweet the living Death
of the Cloister! How good that must needs be which had the Suffrages
of _Chrysostom_ the golden-mouthed, and holy _Ambrose_, and our own
_Anselm_! How peacefull, to take Wing like the Dove, and fly away from
a naughty World, and be at Rest! How brave, to live alone, like St.
_Antony_, in the Desert! only I would have had some Books with me in my
Cave, and 'tis uncertayn whether St. _Antony_ had Knowledge of Letters,
beyond the heaven-taught Lesson, 'GOD is Love,' ... for methought so
much Reflection and no Action would be too much for a Woman's Mind to
bear--I might goe mad: and I remembered me how the Dove that gladly
flew away from the Ark, gladly flew back, and abode in the Ark till
such Time as a new Home was ready for her. And methought, cannot I
live apart from Sin here, and now; and as to Sorrow, where can we live
apart from that? Sure, we may live on the Skirts of the World in a
Spiritt as truly unworldlie, as though we were altogether out of it:
and here I may come and go, and range in the fresh Air, and love other
Folks' Children, and read my Psalter, and pore over the Sayings of the
wise Men of old, and look on the Faces I love, and sit at the Feet of
Sir _Thomas More_. Soe there, _Meg_, are my poor Reasons for not caring
to be a Nun. Our deare Lord is in himself all that our highest, holiest
Affections can seek or comprehend; for he made these our Hearts; he
gave us these our Affections; and through them the Spirit speaks.
Aspiring to their Source, they rise up like the white Smoke and bright
Flame; while, on Earth, if left unmastered, they burn, suffocate, and
destroy. Yet they have their natural and innocent Outlets even here;
and a Woman may warm herself by them without Scorching, and yet be
neither a Wife nor a Nun."
_Sept. 28th._
Ever since _Father's_ Speech to us in the Pavilion, we have beene of
one Heart and one Soul; neither have any of us said that aught of the
Things we possessed were our own, but we have had all Things in Common.
And we have eaten our Meat with Gladness and Singleness of Heart.
This Afternoon, expressing to _Father_ my gratefull Sense of our
present Happiness ... "Yes, _Meg_," returns he, "I too, am deeply
thankful for this breathing Space."
"Do you look on it as no more, then?" I sayd.
"As no more, _Meg_: we shall have a Thunder-clap by-and-by. Look out on
the _Thames_. See how unwontedlie clear it is, and how low the Swallows
fly.... How distinctlie we see the green Sedges on _Battersea_ Bank,
and their reflected Images in the Water. We can almost discern the
Features of those poor Knaves digging in the Cabbage Gardens, and hear
'em talk, so still is the Air. Have you ne'er before noted these Signs?"
"A Storm is brewing," I sayd.
"Aye, we shall have a Lightning-flash anon. So still, _Meg_, is also
our moral Atmosphere just now. GOD is giving us a breathing Space, as
he did to the Egyptians before the Plague of Hail, that they might
gather their live Stock within Doors. Let us take for Example them that
believed and obeyed him; and improve this holy Pause."
Just at this Moment, a few heavie Drops fell agaynst the Window Pane,
and were seene by both. Our Eyes met; and I felt a silent Pang.
"Five Days before the _Passover_," resumed _Father_, "all seemed as
still and quiet as we are now; but JESUS knew his Hour was at hand.
E'en while he yet spake familiarly among the People, there came a Sound
from Heaven, and they that stood by said it thundered; but _he_ knew it
for the Voice of his dear Father. Let us, in like Manner, when the Clap
cometh, recognise in it the Voice of GOD, and not be afraid with any
Amazement."
_Nov. 2d._
_Gammer Gurney_ is dead, and I must say I am glad of it. The Change,
to her, must be blessed, and there seemed some Danger lest, after
having escaped being ducked for a Witch, she shoulde have been burnt
for a Heretic. _Father_ looked on her as an obstinate old Woman; _Will_
counted her little short of a Saint and Prophetess, and kept her well
supplied with alle she could need. Latterly she was stone deaf; so 'tis
a happy Release.
The settled Purpose of _Father's_ Soul, just now, is to make up a
Marriage between _Mercy_ and Dr. _Clement_. 'Tis high Advancement for
her, and there seems to have been some old Liking between 'em we never
knew of.
_1533, April 1._
Though some Months have passed since my Father uttered his warning
Voice, and all continues to go quiet, I cannot forbear, now and then,
to call his Monition to Mind, and look about for the Cloud that is to
bring the Thunder-clap; but the Expectation sobers rather than saddens
me.
This Morning, leaning over the River Wall, I was startled by the cold,
damp Hand of some one from behind being laid on mine. At the same Time
a familiar Voice exclaimed, "Canst tell us, Mistress, why Fools have
hot Heads and Hands icy cold?"
I made Answer, "Canst tell me, _Patteson_, why Fools should stray out
of Bounds?"
"Why, that's what Fools do every Day," he readily replied; "but this
is _All Fools' Day_, mine own special Holiday; and I told my _Lord
Mayor_ overnight, that if he lookt for a Fool this Morning, he must
look in the Glass. In sooth, Mistress _Meg_, I should by Rights wear
the Gold Chain and he the Motley; for a proper Fool he is, and I shall
be glad when his Year's Service to me is out. The worst o' these Lord
Mayors is, that we can't part with 'em till their Time's up. Why now,
this present one hath not so much Understanding as would foot an old
Stocking; 'twas but yesterday when, in Quality of my Taster, he civilly
enough makes over to me a half-eaten Plate of Gurnet, which I wave
aside, thus, saying, I eat no Fish of which I cannot affirm, '_rari
sunt Boni_,' few are the Bones ... and I protest to you he knew it not
for Fool's Latin. Thus I'm driven, from mere Discouragement, to leave
prating for listening, which thou knowest, Mistress, is no Fool's
Office; and among the sundrie Matters I hear at my Lord's Table ...
for he minds not what he says before his Servants, thereby giving new
Proof 'tis he shoulde wear the Motley ... I note his saying that the
_King's_ private Marriage will assuredlie be made publick this coming
Easter, and my Lady _Anne_ will be crowned ... more by token, he knows
the Merchant that will supply the _Genoa_ Velvet and Cloth of Gold, and
the Masquers that are to enact the Pageant. For the Love o' Safety,
then, Mistress _Meg_, bid thy good _Father_ e'en take a Fool's Advice,
and eat humble Pie betimes, for doubt not this proud Madam to be as
vindictive as _Herodias_, and one that, unless he appease her full
early, will have his Head set before her in a Charger. I've said my
Say."
_April 4th._
Three Bishops have been here this Forenoon, to bid _Father_ to the
Coronation, and offer him twenty Pounds to provide his Dress; but
_Father_ hath, with Courtesie, declined to be present. After much
friendly pressing, they parted, seemingly on good Terms; but I have
Misgivings of the Issue.
_April 9th._
A ridiculous Charge hath beene got up 'gainst dear _Father_; no less
than of Bribery and Corruption. One _Parnell_ complaineth of a Decree
given agaynst him in favour of one _Vaughan_, whose Wife, he deponeth,
gave _Father_ a gilt Flaggon. To the noe small Surprise of the Council,
_Father_ admitted that she had done soe: "But, my Lords," proceeded
he, when they had uttered a few Sentences of Reprehension somewhat too
exultantlie, "will ye list the Conclusion of the Tale? I bade my Butler
fill the Cup with Wine, and having drunk her Health, I made her pledge
me, and then restored her Gift, and would not take it again."
As innocent a Matter, touching the offering him a Pair of Gloves
containing Forty Pounds, and his taking the first and returning the
last, saying he preferred his Gloves without Lining, hath been made
publick with like Triumph to his own good Fame; but alack! these
Feathers show which way sets the Wind.
_April 13th._
A heavier Charge than either of the above hath been got up, concerning
the wicked Woman of _Kent_, with whom they accuse him of having
tampered, that, in her pretended Revelations and Rhapsodies, she might
utter Words against the _King's_ Divorce. His Name hath, indeed, been
put in the Bill of Attainder; but, out of Favour, he hath been granted
a private Hearing, his Judges being, the new Archbishop, the new
Chancellor, his Grace of _Norfolk_, and Master _Cromwell_.
He tells us that they stuck not to the Matter in Hand, but began
cunningly enow to sound him on the _King's_ Matters; and finding they
could not shake him, did proceed to Threats, which, he told 'em, might
well enow scare Children, but not him; and as to his having provoked
his Grace the _King_ to sett forth in his Book aught to dishonour and
fetter a good Christian, his Grace himself well knew the Book was
never shewn him save for verbal Criticism when the Subject-matter was
completed _by the Makers of the same_, and that he had warned his Grace
not to express soe much Submission to the Pope. Whereupon they with
great Displeasure dismissed him, and he took Boat for _Chelsea_ with
mine Husband in such gay Spiritts, that _Will_, not having been privy
to what had passed, concluded his Name to have beene struck out of the
Bill of Attainder, and congratulated him thereupon soe soone as they
came aland, saying, "I guess, _Father_, all is well, seeing you thus
merry."
"It is, indeed, son _Roper_," returns _Father_ steadilie; repeating
thereupon, once or twice, this Phrase, "All is well."
_Will_, somehow mistrusting him, puts the Matter to him agayn.
"You are then, _Father_, put out of the Bill?"
"Out of the Bill, good Fellow?" repeats _Father_, stopping short in
his Walk, and regarding him with a Smile that _Will_ sayth was like to
break his Heart.... "Wouldst thou know, dear Son, why I am so joyful?
In good Faith, I have given the Devil a foul Fall; for I have with
those Lords gone so far, as that without great Shame I can ne'er go
back. The first Step, _Will_, is the worst, and that's taken."
And so, to the House, with never another Word, _Will_ being smote at
the Heart.
But, this Forenoon, deare _Will_ comes running in to me, with Joy all
bright, and tells me he hath just heard from _Cromwell_ that _Father's_
Name is in sooth struck out. Thereupon, we go together to him with the
News. He taketh it thankfully, yet composedly, saying, as he lays his
Hand on my Shoulder, "In faith, _Meg_, _quod differtur non aufertur_."
Seeing me somewhat stricken and overborne, he sayth, "Come, let's leave
good _Will_ awhile to the Company of his own select and profitable
Thoughts, and take a Turn together by the Water Side."
Then closing his Book, which I marked was _Plato's Phædon_, he steps
forthe with me into the Garden, leaning on my Shoulder, and pretty
heavilie too. After a Turn or two in Silence, he lightens his Pressure,
and in a bland, peaceifying Tone commences _Horace_ his tenth Ode, Book
second, and goes through the first fourteen or fifteen Lines in a kind
of lulling Monotone; then takes another Turn or two, ever looking at
the _Thames_; and in a stronger Voice begins his favourite
_"Justum, ac tenacem Propositi Virum
Non Civium Ardor," etc._
on to
"_Impavidum ferient Ruinæ_;"
--and lets go his Hold on me to extend his Hand in fine, free Action.
Then, drawing me to him agayn, presentlie murmurs, "I reckon that the
Sufferings of this present Time are not worthy to be compared with
the Glory which shall be revealed in us.... Oh no, not worthy to be
compared. I have lived; I have laboured; I have loved. I have lived
in them I loved; laboured for them I loved; loved them for whom I
laboured; my Labour has not been in vayn. To love and to labour is the
Sum of living, and yet how manie think they live who neither labour nor
love! Agayn, how manie labour and love, and yet are not loved; but I
have beene loved, and my Labour has not been in vayn. Now, the Daye is
far spent, and the Night is at hand, and the Time draweth nigh when Man
resteth from his Labours, even from his Labours of Love; but still he
shall love and he shall live where the Spiritt sayth he shall rest from
his Labours, and where his Works do follow him, for he entereth into
Rest through and to Him who is Life, and Light, and Love."
Then looking steadfastlie at the _Thames_, "How quietlie," sayth he,
"it flows on! This River, _Meg_, hath its Origin from seven petty
Springs somewhither amongst the _Gloucestershire_ Hills, where they
bubble forthe unnoted save by the Herd and Hind. Belike, they murmur
over the Pebbles prettily enough; but a great River, mark you, never
murmurs. It murmured and babbled too, 'tis like, whilst only a Brook,
and brawled away as it widened and deepened and chafed agaynst
Obstacles, and here and there got a Fall, and splashed and made much
Ado, but ever kept running on towards its End, still deepening and
widening; and now towards the Close of its Course look you how swift
and quiet it is, running mostly between Flats, and with the dear blue
Heaven reflected in its Face." ...
_1534, April 12._
'Twas o' _Wednesdaye_ was a Week, we were quietly taking our Dinner,
when, after a loud and violent Knocking at the outer Door, in cometh
a Pursuivant, and summoneth _Father_ to appear next Daye before the
Commissioners, to take the newly-coined Oath of Supremacy. _Mother_
utters a hasty Cry, _Bess_ turns white as Death, but I, urged by I
know not what suddain Impulse to con the new Comer's Visage narrowly,
did with Eagerness exclaim, "Here's some Jest of _Father's_; 'tis only
_Dick Halliwell_!"
Whereupon, _Father_ burst out a-laughing, hugged _Mother_, called
_Bess_ a silly Puss, and gave _Halliwell_ a Groat for's Payns. Now,
while some were laughing, and others taking _Father_ prettie sharplie
to Task for soe rough a Crank, I fell a muzing, what could be the Drift
of this, and coulde only surmize it mighte be to harden us beforehand,
as 'twere, to what was sure to come at last. And the Pre-apprehension
of this soe belaboured my alreadie o'erburthened Spiritts, as that I
was fayn to betake myself to the Nurserie, and lose all Thought and
Reflection in my little _Bess's_ prettie Ways. And, this not answering,
was forct to have Recourse to Prayer; then, leaving my Closett, was
able to return to the Nurserie, and forget myselfe awhile in the Mirth
of the Infants.
[Illustration: In cometh a Pursuivant.]
Hearing Voyces beneathe the Lattice, I lookt forthe, and behelde his
Grace of _Norfolk_ (of late a strange Guest) walking beneath the Window
in earnest Converse with _Father_; and, as they turned about, I hearde
him say, "By the Mass, Master _More_, 'tis perilous striving with
Princes. I could wish you, as a Friend, to incline to the _King's_
Pleasure; for _Indignatio Principis Mors est_."
"Is that all?" says _Father_; "why then there will be onlie this
Difference between your Grace and me, that I shall die to-daye, and you
to-morrow;"--which was the Sum of what I caught.
Next Morning, we were breaking our Fast with Peacefullnesse of Heart,
on the Principle that sufficient for the Daye is the Evill thereof, and
there had beene a wordy War between our two Factions of the _Neri_ and
_Bianchi_, _Bess_ having defalked from the Mancheteers on the Ground
that black Bread sweetened the Breath and settled the Teeth, to the
no small Triumph of the Cob Loaf Party; while _Daisy_, persevering at
her Crusts, sayd, "No, I can cleave to the Rye Bread as steddilie
as anie among you, but 'tis vayn of _Father_ to maintain that it is
as toothsome as a Manchet, or that I eat it to whiten my Teeth, for
thereby he robs Self-deniall of its Grace."
_Father_, strange to say, seemed taken at Vantage, and was pausing
for a Retort, when _Hobson_ coming in and whispering Somewhat in his
Ear, he rose suddainlie and went forthe of the Hall with him, putting
his Head back agayn to say, "Rest ye alle awhile where ye be," which
we did, uneasilie enow. Anon he returns, brushing his Cap, and says
calmlie, "Now, let's forthe to Church," and clips _Mother's_ Arm
beneathe his owne and leads the Way. We follow as soon as we can; and
I, listing to him more than to the Priest, did think I never hearde him
make Response more composedlie, nor sing more lustilie, by the which
I founde myself in stouter Heart. After Prayers, he is shriven, after
which he saunters back with us to the House; then brisklie turning on
his Heel, cries to my Husband, "Now, _Will_, let's toward, Lad," and
claps the Wicket after him, leaving us at t'other Side without so much
as casting back a parting Look. Though he evermore had beene avised
to let us companie him to the Boat, and there kiss him once and agayn
or ever he went, I know not that I should have thoughte much of this,
had not _Daisy_, looking after him keenly, exclaymed somewhat shortlie
as she turned in Doors, "I wish I had not uttered that Quip about the
Cob-loaf."
Oh, how heavilie sped the Day! The House, too big now for its Master's
diminished Retinue, had yet never hitherto seemed lonesome; but now a
Somewhat of drearie and dreadfull, inexpressible in Words, invisible
to the Eye, but apprehended by the inner Sense, filled the blank Space
alle about. For the first Time, everie one seemed idle; not only
disinclined for Businesse, but as though there were Something unseemlie
in addressing one's Self to it. There was nothing to cry about, nothing
to talk over, and yet we alle stoode agaze at each other in Groups,
like the Cattle under the Trees when a Storm is at hand. _Mercy_ was
the first to start off. I held her back and said, "What is to do?" She
whispered, "Pray." I let her Arm drop, but _Bess_ at that Instant comes
up with Cheeks as colourless as Parchment. She sayth, "'Tis made out
now. A Pursuivant _de Facto_ fetched him forthe this Morning." We gave
one deep, universal Sigh; _Mercy_ broke away, and I after her, to seek
the same Remedy, but alack, in vayn....
_15th._
How large a Debt we owe you, wise and holie Men of old! How ye counsel
us to Patience, incite us to Self-mastery, cheer us on to high Emprize,
temper in us the Heat of Youth, school our Inexperience, calm the
o'erwrought Mind, allay the Anguish of Disappointment, cheat Suspense,
and master Despair.... How much better and happier ye would make us, if
we would but list your Teaching!
_Bess_ hath fallen Sick; no marvell. Everie one goeth heavilie. Alle
Joy is darkened; the Mirthe of the House is gone.
_Will_ tells me, that as they pushed off from the Stairs, _Father_ took
him about the Neck and whispered, "I thank our LORD, the Field is won!"
Sure, _Regulus_ ne'er went forthe with higher Self-devotion.
Having declared his Inabilitie to take the Oath as it stoode, they bade
him, _Will_ tells me, take a Turn in the Garden while they administered
it to sundrie others, thus affording him Leisure for Re-consideration.
But they might as well have bidden the Neap-tide turn before its Hour.
When called in agayn, he was as firm as ever, so was given in Ward to
the _Abbot_ of _Westminster_ till the _King's_ Grace was informed of
the Matter. And now, the Fool's wise Saying of vindictive _Herodias_
came true, for 'twas the _King's_ Mind to have Mercy on his old
Servant, and tender him a qualifyed Oath; but Queen _Anne_, by her
importunate Clamours, did overrule his proper Will, and at four Days'
End, the full Oath being agayn tendered and rejected, _Father_ was
committed to the Tower. Oh, wicked Woman, how could you?... Sure, you
never loved a Father....
[Illustration: The Stairs.]
_May 22d._
In Answer to our incessant Applications throughout this last Month
past, _Mother_ hath at length obtayned Access to dear _Father_. She
returned, her Eyes nigh swollen to closing with weeping.... We crowded
round about, burning for her Report, but 'twas some Time ere she coulde
fetch Breath or Heart to give it us. At length _Daisy_, kissing her
Hand once and agayn, draws forthe a disjoynted Tale, somewhat after
this Fashion.
"Come, give over weeping, dearest _Mother_, 'twill do neither him, you,
nor us anie Goode.... What was your first Speech of him?"
"Oh, my first Speech, Sweetheart, was, 'What, my Goodness, Mr. _More_!
I marvell how that you, who were always counted a wise Man, should now
soe play the Fool as to lie here in this close, filthy Prison, shut up
with Mice and Rats, when you mighte be abroade and at your Liberty,
with the Favour of King and Council, and return to your righte fayr
House, your Books and Gallery, and your Wife, Children, and Household,
if soe be you onlie woulde but do what the Bishops and best learned of
the Realm have, without Scruple, done alreadie.'"
"And what sayd he, _Mother_, to that?" ...
"Why, then, Sweetheart, he chucks me under the Chin and sayeth, 'I
prithee, good Mistress _Alice_, to tell me one Thing.' ... Soe then I
say, 'What Thing?' Soe then he sayeth, 'Is not this House, Sweetheart,
as nigh Heaven as mine own?' Soe then I jerk my Head away and say,
'Tilly-valley! Tilly-valley!'"