“ere suns and moons could wax and wane
ere stars were thundergirt, or piled
the heavens, god thought on me his child,
ordained a life for me, arrayed
its circumstances every one
to the minutest; ay, god said
this head this hand should rest upon
thus, ere he fashioned star or sun.”
robert browning.
the 24th of october brought the expected letter from simon pendexter to the master of bradmond, and another from marian to the mistress. simon’s epistle was read first; but it proved to require both an english dictionary and a latin lexicon. simon wrote of “circumstances,” (then a new and affected word), of the “culpable dexterity” of the rebels who had visited bradmond, of their “inflammatory promulgation,” of the “celerity” of his own actions in reply, and of his “debarring from dilation the aforesaid ignis.” he left them in a cloud of words, of which dr thorpe understood about half, and isoult much less. john, being a little wiser, was called upon for a translation. “hang me if i know what the fellow is a-writing about!” testily cried dr thorpe. “jack, do thou put this foolery into decent english!”
“the enclosure men burnt your house, old friend,” said john. “have there the english.”
“plain enough at last, by my troth!” cried he.
a little more progress was made with mr pendexter’s missive, when isoult interrupted it by exclaiming—
“do tell me what he meaneth, jack!”
“they set our house afire, dear heart, but he soon put it out,” translated john.
“it was likely afeard of his big ruffling words!” said dr thorpe.
the letter concluded thus:—“with the which considerations, i do commit your honour to the tuition of god. inscribed at bodmin, die veneris, the fourth in the month of october. by the hand of your honour’s most undemeritous and obeisant paedagogus, simon pendexter.”
“this companion is clean out of his wits!” exclaimed dr thorpe.
“isoult, read thy little letter,” said john. “metrusteth it shall be more clear than simon’s, and, at all charges, ’tis shorter.”
“unto mistress avery, at the minories in london.”
“mistress,—this shall be to advertise you (my lowly duties first remembered), that the fourteenth of july come unto bradmond the ill men you wot of, and after casting mine husband and me forth of the house with little gentleness, did spread themselves thereabout, drinking up the wine in the cellar, and otherwise making great bruit and disorder. and in the end they set fire thereto, and departed. god helping us, we shortly had the fire under, for it began to rain; but the whole house is ruinated, and a deal of mischief done. mistress, all the hangings be burned or torn, and the furniture is but splinters; and the very walls so knocked about, and the garden all trampled and desolated, that i am well assured, were you this minute on the ground you should not find conveniency to enter and abide for many a long day yet. and in good sooth, ’twill lack a mint of money spent thereon ere the house be meet for any, let be a gentleman and gentlewoman of your honourableness. mistress, they tare away all the shutters, and tare up the planks of some of the floors: and they left not a latch nor an andiron whole in all the house. mine husband hath writ to mr avery. from bodmin, this fourth day of october. mistress, i do beseech you of your gentleness to give my poor sister to know that i do fare well, and trust so doth she likewise.
“by the rude hand of her that is your servant, marian pendexter.”
“rude hand!” said john. “commend me to marian pendexter for the writing of a letter. ’tis one-half so long as simon’s, and tells us twice so much as he; and her round letters be as clear as print, while his be all quips and flourishes. well, i account we shall needs abide hither for some time, isoult; but methinks i must ride home, and see how matters stand; and if the garden be truly desolated as for roses and the like, well, the ground may as well be set with carrots and cabbages, that can be sold. and on my return hither, i must set me, as fast as i may, unto the making of pecunia, as simon hath it, in my calling. metrusteth the house shall not need to be pulled down and built up again; for that should take, methinks, some years to raise. howbeit, ’tis no good looking forward too far.”
dr thorpe said, when he had sat for a time in silence, “ah, well! the will of the lord be done! i trow they shall scantly burn mine other house, in that city which hath foundations.”
“mr edward underhill, the hot gospeller.”
isoult avery looked up and rose when john made this announcement, to the evident amusement of the person introduced.
the hot gospeller’s age was thirty-seven; of his personal appearance we have no trustworthy account. it may safely be asserted that his feelings were strong, his affections warm, his partisanship fervent, and his organ of humour decidedly developed. i picture him lithe and quick, with ready tongue and brilliant eyes; but perhaps i am as much mistaken as isoult was concerning alice wikes. if the mania “de faire son portrait” which was so much the fashion in france in the reign of louis the fourteenth had pervaded england in the sixteenth century, we might have obtained much curious information which is now lost to us.
when all the members of our little group were gathered round the dinner-table,—which was not until eleven a.m., for the averys dined unusually late that day—dr thorpe laid the subject which had been discussed before mr underhill, and requested his opinion on the matter. could he find a man for the time?
isoult shook her head dubiously.
“with whom take you part?” said dr thorpe.
“with both of you,” answered mr underhill. “i lean to mistress avery’s thought that there is no man for the time; but i do partly share your opinion, in that methinks there may be a woman.”
“a woman, mr underhill?” cried isoult, in amazement.
“what woman?” said dr thorpe. “my lady duchess of suffolk, i ween. nay, master; she is good enough as may be, but her money-bags are a sight scantier than when my lord duke was in life.”
“my lady of suffolk! not she, forsooth,” replied he. “nay, good doctor; mine hopes are anchored (under god) on none other than the king’s ‘sweet sister temperance’—my young lady elizabeth’s grace.”
“the lady elizabeth!” repeated dr thorpe, in a voice which intimated his meaning. “a child at her book and needle, master underhill!”
“she will not alway be so,” answered he. “nor shall she be such long.”
“and afore her standeth another,” continued the doctor.
“afore her standeth another,” repeated mr underhill. “nor shall any man alive ever see me to do evil that good may come. but i scantly signified all you would make me to say. i did but point to my lady elizabeth’s power with the king, not to her being one to stand in her own power, which god long defend!”
dr thorpe shook his head in turn, but did not further explain himself.
“you have friends at court,” said john to mr underhill. “which of these ladies is commonly thought to stand best with the king her brother?”
“the lady elizabeth, by many a mile,” answered he. “and to go by what i hear from her tutor mr ascham, a fair and ready wit enough she hath. the lady frances (note 1) her daughters, likewise, be great with the king, and are young damsels of right sweet nature and good learning, so far as their young age may show the same.”
“what say men of the king’s wedding?” quoth dr thorpe. “is it yet the queen of scots?”
“the friends of my lord protector say ’tis a princess of france; and his foes will have it that had he not fallen too soon, it should have been—the lady jane seymour.”
“what, my lord protector his daughter?” inquired isoult.
“she,” said mr underhill.
“that hath an ill look, an’ it were so,” remarked john, thoughtfully.
“‘less like than paul’s steeple to a dagger sheath,’” quoted dr thorpe, who was rather fond of proverbs.
“go to, jack! we are all for ourselves in this world,” responded mr underhill philosophically. “as to like, it may be no more like than chalk to cheese, and yet be in every man’s mouth from aldgate to the barbican. my lord protector is neither better nor worse than other men. if you or i were in his shoes, we should do the like.”
“i trust not, friend,” said john, smiling.
“a rush for your trust!” laughed mr underhill. “i would not trust either of us.”
“but i would so!” said isoult warmly. “mr underhill, you surely think not that if jack were lord protector, he should strive and plot for the king to espouse our kate?”
“of course he would,” said underhill coolly. “and so would you.”
“never!” she cried.
“well, i am sure i should. think you i would not by my good will see my nan a queen?” answered he.
“with a reasonable chance of tower hill?” suggested avery. “you and i have seen queens come to that, ned underhill.”
“well, there is better air at the lime hurst,” replied underhill sententiously.
a long conference was held concerning the repairs at bradmond. the resolution finally adopted was that john should ride home and ascertain what the state of affairs really was. hitherto the family had been living on their rents, with little need for professional work on john’s part unless it pleased him. slight repairs, however, would entail saving; and serious ones might keep them in london for years, until he had laid up sufficient money to defray them.
“’tis all in the day’s work,” he said lightly, to cheer his wife. “i must have a factor to see unto the place, and for that simon pendexter shall serve, if he affright not the poor tenants with his long words; and i myself must needs set to work hard. ’twill do me good, dear heart; (for he saw isoult look sad) i have hitherto been lazy, and only have played at working.”
so john left london on the first of november, along with a convoy of travellers bound for exeter; charging isoult to make acquaintance in his absence with mrs rose and mrs underhill, with the object of giving her something to do.
“and think not, sweet wife,” said he, “that we be all going a-begging, because of what i said touching money. i cast no doubt to make more than enough thereof in my calling to keep all us, and that comfortably; only if there lack much outlay at bodmin, it shall need time to gather wherewith to pay it. above all, i would not with my good will have any stint in mine hospitality, specially unto them that be of the household of faith. leave us not turn christ our master out at the doors, at the least unless we need go there ourselves with him.”
a week after john’s departure, isoult put his advice into action, rather because he had given it, than with any real hope of dispelling the intense loneliness she felt. robin went with her, and kate, all riding upon bayard, to west ham, where they were directed to a small house near the church as the residence of the parson. for in those days parson had not lost its original honourable meaning, whereby the clergyman was spoken of as par excellence “the person” in the parish. the trio alighted, and isoult rapped at the door. a girl of fifteen answered the knock.
she was tall for her age, but slenderly built. her hair was of the fairest shade of golden—the pale gold of our old poets—and her eyes were brown. not a bright, shining brown; this brown was deep and misty, and its light was the light given back from a lake, not the light of a star. in her face there was no rose at all; it was pure and pale as a snowdrop; and her look, isoult thought, was like the look of an angel. her smile was embodied sweetness; her voice soft and low, clear as a silver bell. there are few such voices out of england, but the combination of fair hair with dark eyes is the venetian style of beauty. rare in any land, yet there are occasional instances in each. for such, in italy, was dante’s beatrice; such, in germany, was louise of stolberg, the wife of the last stuart; and such, with ourselves, was “england’s elizabeth.”
“doth mistress rose here dwell, and may one have speech of her?” inquired isoult of the vision before her.
“will it please you to take the pain to come within?” answered the sweet voice. “i am thekla rose.”
wondering at a name which she had never heard before, isoult suffered thekla to lead her into a small, pleasant parlour, where mrs rose sat spinning. she was a comely, comfortable-looking woman of middle height, round-faced and rosy, with fair hair like her daughter’s, but grey eyes. isoult had forgotten her foreign origin till she heard her speak. her english, however, was fluent and pleasant enough; and she told her visitors that she came from a town in flanders, close to the german border.
“where,” pursued mrs rose, “people are bred up in their common life to speak four tongues; which shall say, flemish—that is the language of flanders; and spanish—the spaniards do rule over us; and low dutch (german),—because we have much to do with the low dutch; and the better bred women also french. and i teach my thekla all these tongues, saving the flemish; for they speak not flemish only in flanders; it should do her not much good. but in all these four tongues have i kinsfolk; for my father was a true-born fleming, and to him i alway spake flemish; and my mother was a spanish woman, and i spake spanish with her; and my father’s brother was wedded unto a dame of low dutchland (for whom my daughter is named thekla, which is a low dutch name); and his sister did marry a frenchman. so you shall see i am akin to all this world!”
mistress rose entreated her guests to stay for four-hours, when she hoped mr rose would be at home; but isoult was somewhat afraid of losing her way in the dark, and declined. so she called her maid, and bade her bring cakes and ale, and take bayard to the shed where their nag was stabled, and give him a mess of oats; begging them at least to stay an hour or two. then robin came in, and talked to thekla and kate, while isoult was occupied with mrs rose. mr rose they did not see; his wife said he was in his parish, visiting the people. so at two o’clock they departed, and reached home just as the dusk fell.
the next day isoult rode to the lime hurst, to see mrs underhill. she found her a pleasant motherly woman, full of kindness and cordiality. as they sat and talked mr underhill came in, and joined the conversation; telling isoult, among other matters, how he had once saved lord russell from drowning, the heir of the house of bedford. the boy had been thrown into the thames opposite his house, in a bitterly cold winter; and underhill, springing in after him, rescued him, carried him to his own house, and nursed him back to life. since that time the earl of bedford had been the attached friend of his child’s preserver. (underhill’s narrative, harl. ms. 425, folio 87, b.)
when isoult returned home, she found a letter from annis holland awaiting her. it contained an urgent invitation from the duchess of suffolk to visit her at her little villa at kingston-on-thames. isoult hesitated to accept the invitation, but dr thorpe, who thought she looked pale and tired, over-ruled her, chiefly by saying that he was sure john would prefer her going; so she wrote to accept the offer, and started with robin on the following monday.
skirting the city wall, they passed through smithfield and holborn, and turned away from saint giles into the reading road, the precursor of piccadilly. the roads were good for the time of year, and they reached kingston before dark. the next morning robin returned home, with strict charges to fetch isoult in a week, and sooner should either of the children fall ill.
after robin’s departure, isoult waited on the duchess, whom she found sitting in a cedar chamber, the casement looking on the river and the terrace above it. as the friends sat and talked in came a small white dog, wagging its tail, but with very dirty paws.
“get out, doctor gardiner!” cried her grace, rising hastily, as the soiled paws endeavoured to jump upon her velvet dress. “i cannot abide such unclean paws. go get you washed ere you come into my chamber!—bertie!”
mr bertie came in from the antechamber at her grace’s call; and smiling when he saw what she wanted, he lifted the dog and set it outside.
“have dr gardiner washed, prithee!” said the duchess. “i love a clean dog, but i cannot abide a foul one.”
isoult could not help laughing when she heard her grace call her dog by bishop gardiner’s name.
“he is easier cleansed than his namesake,” she resumed, shaking her head. “if my lord of winchester win again into power, i count i shall come ill off. as thou wist, isoult, i have a wit that doth at times outrun my discretion; and when i was last in london, passing by the tower, i did see master doctor gardiner a-looking from, a little window. and ‘good morrow, my lord!’ quoth i, in more haste than wisdom; ‘’tis merry with the lambs, now the wolves be kept close!’ i count he will not forgive me therefor in sharp haste.”
mr bertie smiled and shook his head.
“now, bertie, leave thine head still!” said her grace. “i know what thou wouldst say as well as if i had it set in print. i am all indiscreetness, and thou all prudence. he that should bray our souls together in a mortar should make an excellent wit of both.”
“your grace is too flattering, methinks,” said mr bertie, still smiling.
“am i so, verily?” answered she. “isoult, what thinkest thou? ’twas not i that gave the dog his name; it was bertie here (who should be ’shamed of his deed, and is not so at all) and i did but take up the name after him. and this last summer what thinkest yon silly maid lucrece did? (one of the duchess’s waiting-women, a fictitious person). why, she set to work and made a rochet in little, and set it on the dog’s back. heardst thou ever the like? and there was he, a-running about the house with his rochet on him, and all trailing in the mire. i know not whether annis were wholly free of some knowledge thereof—nor bertie neither. he said he knew not; i marvel whether he spake truth!”
“that did i, an’t like your grace,” replied mr bertie, laughing. “i saw not the rochet, neither knew of it, afore yourself.”
“well, i count i must e’en crede thee!” said she.
it struck isoult that the duchess and her gentleman usher were uncommonly good friends; rather more so than was usual at that time. she set it down to their mutual lutheranism; but she might have found for it another and a more personal reason, which they had not yet thought proper to declare openly. the duchess and bertie were privately engaged, but they told no one till their marriage astonished the world.
isoult reached home on the sixteenth of december; and on twelfth day, 1550, john returned from cornwall. he brought word that the repairs needed were more extensive than any one had supposed from the pendexter epistles. part of the house required rebuilding; and he was determined not to begin before he could finish. the result was, that they would have to remain in london, probably, for five or six years more.
shortly after john’s return, a gentleman called to see him. his name was roger holland, and he was a merchant tailor in the city, but of gentle birth, and related to the earl of derby. isoult wished to know if he could be any connection of her friend annis. john thought not: but “thereby hung a tale.”
“this gentleman,” said john avery, “was in his young years bound apprentice unto one master kempton, of the blade boy in watling street: and in this time he (being young and unwary) did fall into evil company, which caused him to game with them, and he all unskilfully lost unto them not only his own money, but (every groat) thirty pounds which his master had entrusted unto him to receive for him of them that ought it (owed it). moreover, at this time was he a stubborn papist, in which way he had been bred. so he, coming unto his master’s house all despairing, thought to make up his bundle, and escape away out of his master’s house, (which was a stern man) and take refuge over seas, in france or flanders. but afore he did this indiscreet thing, he was avised (he made up his mind) to tell all unto a certain ancient and discreet maid that was servant in this his master’s family, by name elizabeth lake, which had aforetime showed him kindness. so he gat up betimes of the morrow, and having called unto her, he saith—‘elizabeth, i would i had followed thy gentle persuadings and friendly rebukes; which if i had done, i had never come to this shame and misery which i am now fallen into; for this night have i lost thirty pounds of my master’s money, which to pay him, and to make up mine accounts, i am not able. but this much i pray you, desire my mistress, that she would entreat my master to take this bill of my hand that i am this much indebted unto him; and if i be ever able, i will see him paid; desiring him that the matter may pass with silence, and that none of my kindred nor friends may ever understand this my lewd part; for if it should come unto my father’s ears, it would bring his grey hairs over-soon unto his grave.’
“and so would he have departed, like unto sir richard at the lea, in the fair old ballad—
“‘fare wel, frende, and have good daye—
it may noo better be.’
(from “a litel geste of robyn hode.”)
“but elizabeth was as good unto him as ever robin hood unto the knight of lancashire; yea, and better, as shall be seen. ‘stay,’ saith she, and away went she forth of the chamber. and afore he was well over his surprise thereat, back cometh she, and poured out of a purse before him on the table thirty pound in good red gold. this money she had by the death of a kinsman of hers, but then newly come unto her. quoth she, ‘roger, here is thus much money; i will let thee have it, and i will keep this bill. but since i do thus much for thee, to help thee, and to save thy honesty, thou shalt promise me to refuse all wild company, all swearing, and unseemly talk; and if ever i know thee to play one twelve-pence at either dice or cards, then will i show this thy bill unto my master. and furthermore, thou shalt promise me to resort every day to the lecture at all hallows, and the sermon at poules every sunday, and to cast away all thy books of papistry and vain ballads, and get thee the testament and book of service, and read the scriptures with reverence and fear, calling unto god still for his grace to direct thee in his truth. and pray unto god fervently, desiring him to pardon thy former offences, and not to remember the sins of thy youth; and ever be afraid to break his laws, or offend his majesty. then shall god keep thee, and send thee thy heart’s desire.’
“so mr holland took her money, and kept his obligations unto her. and in the space of one half-year, so mightily wrought god’s spirit with him, that of a great papist he became as fervent a gospeller; and going into lancashire unto his father, he took with him divers good books, and there bestowed them, so that his father and others began to taste of the gospel, and to leave their idolatry and superstition: and at last his father, seeing the good reformation wrought in this his son, gave him fifty pounds to begin the world withal, and sent him again to london, where he now driveth a fair trade.”
“and hath he met again with mistress lake,” said isoult, “and restored unto her her thirty pounds?”
“that i cannot tell,” returned john.
a letter came before long from mr barry, written at christmas, and informing his sister that matters were now settled and peaceable. indeed, at wynscote they had heard nothing of the rioters. but potheridge had been surrounded, and in answer to the rebels’ summons to surrender, mr monke had sent them a dauntless message of defiance: upon which they had replied with threats of terrible vengeance, but had retired, discomfited at the first trial of strength, and never came near the place more.
darker grew the clouds, meanwhile, over the prisoner in the tower. his enemies drew up twenty-nine articles against him, and, going to him in his captivity, read them to him, and informed the world that he had humbly confessed them.
“well,” said john avery, “some of these be but matter for laughter. to wit, that the duke did command multiplication (coining) and alcumistry, whereby the king’s coin was abated. as though my lord of somerset should take upon him to abate the king’s coin!”
“nay, better men than he have dealt with alcumistry,” answered dr thorpe. “the former charge moveth my laughter rather,—that my said lord hath done things too much by himself: to wit, without the knowledge and sage avisement of these my lords of the king’s council. is there so much as one of them that would not do the same an’ he had the chance?”
“why,” said avery, “he had the chance, and therein lieth his offence. they had not, and therein lieth their virtue.”
from two poor innocent lambs cruelly pent up by the protector, now that he was himself in durance, there came a great outcry for relief. these were the imprisoned prelates, bonner and gardiner. the latter said that “he had been in prison one year and a quarter and a month; and he lacked air to relieve his body, and books to relieve his mind, and good company (the only solace of this world), and lastly, a just cause why he should have come thither at all.” how well can the wolf counterfeit the lamb! had none of his prisoners lacked air, and books? and had my lord bishop of winchester been so careful to see to a just cause in the case of every man he sent to tower or fleet?
on the 27th of january the leaders of the devon riots were hanged at tyburn; the chief of whom was humphrey arundel. and on the 6th of february the duke of somerset was delivered from the tower, and suffered to go home; but four days before a change had been made in the council, the earls of arundel and southampton being dismissed and ordered to keep their houses in london during the king’s pleasure.
mrs rose and thekla came several times to visit isoult, and she returned the compliment. and one day in february came philippa basset, who was about to go into cheshire, to visit her sister, lady bridget carden, with whom she passed nearly a year before isoult saw her again. lady bridget really was not her sister at all, she being lord lisle’s daughter, and philippa lady lisle’s; but they had been educated as sisters, and as sisters they loved. not long afterwards, sir francis jobson resigned his office at the tower, and went home to his own estate of monkwich, in essex. his wife was the lady elizabeth, sister of lady bridget; and with her philippa had lived ever since she came to london. when she came back, therefore, she was forced to look out for another home, for she did not wish to follow them into essex: and she went to her own youngest brother, mr james basset, who had a house in london.
all this while the reformation was quietly progressing. on the 19th of april, bishop ridley came to saint paul’s cathedral, in communion-time, and received the sacrament, together with dr may, the dean, and dr barne; both the dean and the bishop took the consecrated bread in their hands, instead of holding out the tongue, for the priest to put the wafer upon it. and before the bishop would come into the choir, he commanded all the lights that were on the lord’s table to be put out. the dean, who was a lutheran, was well pleased at all this; but not so other men who were more kindly disposed towards popery; and there was much murmuring and disputing.
at this time the princess mary was hanging between life and death at kenninghall. we know now how all things had been changed had she died. but god could not spare her who was to be (however unwittingly or unwillingly) the purifier of his church, to show which was the dross, and which the gold.
some turmoil was also made concerning joan boucher, an anabaptist girl who had been condemned for heresy, and was burned in smithfield on the 2nd of may. the papal party, ever ready to throw stones at the protestants, cried that “the old burning days were come again,” and that archbishop cranmer was just as much a persecutor as bishop gardiner. they saw no difference between a solitary victim of the one (if joan boucher can be called so), and the other’s piles of martyrs. isoult, rather puzzled about the question, referred it to her husband—the manner in which she usually ended her perplexities.
“dear heart,” said he, “there be so few that can keep the mean. when men take god’s sword in hand, is it any wonder that they handle it ill?”
“but wouldst thou leave such ill fawtors unchastened, jack?” exclaimed dr thorpe rather indignantly.
“that were scantly the mean, i take it,” quietly returned he.
mr underhill was just then busied in presenting before the archbishop of canterbury his parish priest, mr albutt, vicar of stepney, for his unseemly behaviour to the lutheran clergy who came, by order of the king and the archbishop, to preach in his church. for he disturbed the preachers in his church (writes underhill), “causing bells to be rung when they were at the sermon, and sometimes began to sing in the choir before the sermon were half done, and sometimes would challenge (publicly dispute his doctrines) the preacher in the pulpit; for he was a strong stout popish prelate. but the archbishop was too full of lenity; a little he rebuked him, and bade him do no more so.”
“my lord,” said mr underhill, “i think you are too gentle unto so stout a papist.”
“well,” said he, “we have no law to punish them by.”
“no law, my lord!” cried mr underhill; “if i had your authority, i would be so bold as to un-vicar him, or minister some sharp punishment unto him and such other. if ever it come to their turn, they will show you no such favour.”
“well,” said the archbishop in his gentle manner, “if god so provide, we must all bide it.”
“surely,” answered mr underhill in his manner, which was blunt and fearless, “god shall never con you thanks (owe you thanks) for this, but rather take the sword from such as will not use it upon his enemies.” (note 2.)
mr and mrs rose, thekla, and mr underhill, dined at the sign of the lamb one day in june. unfortunately, their conversation turned upon the succession: and owing to the warmth of the weather, or of mr edward underhill, it became rather exciting. mr rose was unexpectedly found to hold what that gentleman considered heretical political views: namely, that if the king should die childless, it would be competent to the gospellers to endeavour to hinder the succession of the princess mary in favour of the princess elizabeth. this, underhill hotly protested, would be doing evil that good might come.
“and,” said he, “if it come to that pass, i myself, though i would a thousand times rather have my lady elizabeth to reign, yet would i gird on my sword over my buff jerkin, and fight for the lady mary!”
mr rose shook his head, but did not speak.
“right is right, thomas rose!” cried underhill, somewhat hotly.
“truth, friend,” answered he, “and wrong is wrong. but which were the right, and which were the wrong, of these two afore god, perchance you and i might differ.”
“differ, forsooth!” cried underhill again. “be two and two come to make five? or is there no variance in your eyes betwixt watchet (pale blue) and brasil (red)? the matter is as plain to be seen as westminster abbey, if a man shut not his eyes.”
“i have known men do such things,” said mr rose, with his quiet smile.
“i thank you, my master!” responded underhill. “so have i.”
“now, ned underhill, leave wrangling,” said avery. “we be none of us neither prophets nor apostles.”
“‘brethren, be ye all of one mind,’” repeated dr thorpe.
“i am ready enough to be of one mind with rose,” said underhill, “an’ he will listen to reason.”
“that is,” answered john, smiling, “an’ he will come over to you, and look through your spectacles.”
“man o’ life! we can’t be both right!” cried underhill, striking his hand heavily on the table.
“you may be both wrong, ned,” gently suggested john.
“come, rose!” said underhill, cooling as suddenly as he had heated, and holding out his hand. “we are but a pair of fools to quarrel. i forgive you.”
“i knew not that i quarrelled with you, friend,” said mr rose, with his quiet smile; “and i have nothing to forgive.”
but he put his hand in underhill’s readily enough.
“you are a better christian than i, methinks,” muttered underhill, somewhat ashamed. “but you know what a hot fellow i am.”
“we will both essay to be as good christians as we can,” quietly answered mr rose; “and that is, as like christ as we can. methinks he scantly gave hot words to peter, whether the emperor tiberius caesar should have reigned or no.”
“ah!” said john, gravely, “he that should think first how christ should answer, should rarely indeed be found in hot words, and in evil, never.”
“well,” replied mr underhill, “i am of complexion somewhat like peter. i could strike off the ear of malchus an’ i caught him laying hands on my master (yea, i know not if i should stay at the ear); and it had been much had i kept that sword off the high priest himself. ay, though i had been hanged the hour after.”
“the cause seemeth to lack such men at times,” said john, thoughtfully, “and then the lord raiseth them up. but we should not forget, ned, that ‘they which take the sword shall perish with the sword.’”
“well!” cried underhill, “i care not if i do perish with the sword, if i may first mow down a score or twain of the enemies of the gospel.”
“such men commonly do so,” said mr rose aside to isoult, by whom he sat.
“do what?” broke in underhill, who heard it.
“do perish with the sword,” answered he firmly, looking him full in the face.
“amen!” cried the other. “i am abundantly ready—only, pray you, let me have a good tilt with the old mumpsimuses first.” (note 3.)
“i would i were a little more like you, underhill,” said mr rose. “i could suffer, as methinks, and perchance fly, an’ i had the opportunity; but resist or defend me, that could i not.”
“call me to resist and defend you,” answered underhill. “it were right in my fashion.”
“you may not be within call,” said mr rose somewhat gloomily. “but god will be so.”
“mr rose,” said isoult, “look you for a further persecution, that you speak thus?”
thekla’s eyes filled with tears.
“as jack saith, mrs avery,” he answered, “i am neither prophet nor apostle. but methinks none of us is out of his place upon the watch-tower. there be black clouds in the sky—very black thunder-clouds. how know i whether they shall break or pass over? only god knoweth; and he shall carry us all safe through them that have trusted ourselves to him. that is a word full of signification—‘some of you shall they cause to be put to death... yet shall not an hair of your heads perish.’ our master may leave any of his servants to die or suffer; he will never allow so much as one of them to perish. o brethren! only let the thunder find us watching, praying always; and whether we escape or no, we are assured that we shall be ‘counted worthy to stand before the son of man.’ i would not like to ‘be ashamed before him at his coming.’”
no one answered. all were too full of thought for words.
note 1. the lady frances was the eldest daughter of charles duke of suffolk by his fourth wife, the princess mary, and was therefore in the line of succession to the throne. her daughters were the ladies jane, katherine, and mary grey.
note 2. harl. ms. 425, folio 93.—underhill gives no date for this incident beyond saying “in king edward’s time.”
note 3. in the reign of henry the eighth, an old priest was found who for forty years had read the word sumpsimus in his breviary as mumpsimus. on being remonstrated with, he retorted that “he would not leave his old mumpsimus for their new sumpsimus.” this story was long popular with the gospellers, who dubbed the popish priests mumpsimuses.
