CHAPTER FIVE.
WARNED.
"Though briars and thorns obstruct the way, Oh, what are thorns and briars to me, If Thy sweet words console and stay, If Thou but let me go with Thee?"
"G.E.M."
In the house of Henry the Mason, six doors from the Walnut Tree, threeof the Germans had been received--old Berthold, his wife Luitgarde, andtheir daughter Adelheid. Two years after their coming, Luitgarde haddied, and Berthold and his daughter were left alone Adelheid, though tenyears the elder, was a great friend of Ermine, and she seemed about asmuch averse to matrimony as the latter, though being less well-favoured,she had received fewer incentives to adopt it. Raven Soclin, however,did not allow his disappointment in love to affect his spirits, nor tohave much time for existence. Ermine's refusal was barely six weeks oldwhen he transferred his very transferable affections to Flemild, andRomund, the family dictator, did not allow any refusal of the offer. Infact, Flemild was fairly well satisfied with the turn matters had taken.She knew she must be either wife or nun--there was no third course openfor a woman in England at that day--and she certainly had no proclivityfor the cloister. Derette, on the other hand, had expressed herself interms of great contempt for matrimony, and of decided intention to adoptsingle life, in the only form in which it was then possible. It wastherefore arranged by Romund, and obediently sanctioned by Isel--forthat was an age of obedient mothers, so far as sons were concerned--thatFlemild should marry Raven Soclin, and Derette should become a novice atGodstowe, in the month of September shortly about to open.
Nothing had yet been heard of Manning, the absent husband and father.Isel still cherished an unspoken hope of his return; but Romund andFlemild had given him up for dead, while the younger children had almostforgotten him.
Another person who had passed out of their life was the Jewish maiden,Countess. She had been married the year after the arrival of theGermans, and had gone to live at Reading: married to an old Jew whom sheonly knew by name, then no unusual fate for girls of her nation. Fromlittle Rudolph, who was just beginning to talk, she had parted mostunwillingly.
"Ah! if you would give him to me!" she had said in German to Agnes, witha smile on her lips, yet with tears in the dark eyes. "I know it couldnot be. Yet if time should come that trouble befel you, and you soughtrefuge for the child, my heart and my arms would be open. Ah, youthink, what could a poor Jewess do for you? Well, maybe so. Yet youknow the fable of the mouse that gnawed the net in which the lion wascaught. It might be, some day, that even poor Countess--"
Gerhardt laid his hand on the arm of the young Jewess, and Isel, who sawthe action, trembled for the consequences of his temerity.
"Friend," he said, "I would, if so were, confide my child to you soonerthan to any other outside this house, if your word were given that heshould not be taught to deride and reject the Lord that died for him."
"You would take my word?" The dark eyes flashed fire.
"I would take it, if you would give it."
"And you know that no Court in this land would receive the witness of aJew! You know it?" she repeated fierily.
"I know it," he answered, rather sadly.
"Yet you would take mine?"
"God would know if you spoke truth. He is the Avenger of all that havenone other."
"He has work to do, then!" replied Countess bitterly.
"He would not be too busy, if need were, to see to my little Rudolph.But I do not believe in the need: I think you true."
"Gerhardt, you are the strangest Christian that I ever knew! Do youmean what you say?"
"I mean every word of it, Countess."
"Then--you shall not repent it." And she turned away.
Little Rudolph fretted for a time after his nurse and playfellow. Butas the months passed on, her image grew fainter in his memory, and now,at seven years old, he scarcely remembered her except by name, Erminehaving spoken of her to him on several occasions.
"I wonder you talk of the girl to that child!" Isel remonstrated. "Itwere better that he should forget her."
"Pardon me, Mother Isel, but I think not so. The good Lord brought herin our way, and how do I know for what purpose? It may be for Rudolph'sgood, no less than hers; and she promised, if need arose, to have a careof him. I cannot tell what need may arise, wherein it would be mostdesirable that he should at least recall her name."
"But don't you see, Ermine, even on your own showing, our Lord has takenher out of your way again?"
"Yes, now. But how do I know that it is for always?"
"Why, child, how can Countess, a married woman, living away at Reading,do anything to help a child at Oxford?"
"I don't know, Mother Isel. The Lord knows. If our paths never crossagain, it will not hurt Rudolph to remember that a young Jewess namedCountess was his loving friend in childhood: if they should meethereafter, it may be very needful. And--" that dreamy look came intoErmine's eyes--"something seems to whisper to me that it may be needed.Do not blame me if I act upon it."
"Well, with all your soft, gentle ways, you have a will of your own, Iknow," said Isel; "so you must e'en go your own way. And afterSeptember, Ermine, you'll be the only daughter left to me. Ah me!Well, it's the way of the world, and what is to be must be. I am sureit was a good wind blew you in at my door, for I should have beendreadful lonely without you when both my girls were gone."
"But, dear Mother Isel, Flemild is not going far."
"Not by the measuring-line, very like; but she's going far enough to beRaven's wife, and not my daughter. It makes a deal of difference, thatdoes. And Derette's going further, after the same fashion. I sha'n'tsee her, maybe, again, above a dozen times in my life. Eh dear! this isa hard world for a woman to live in. It's all work, and worry, andlosing, and giving up, and such like."
"There is a better world," said Ermine softly.
"There had need be. I'm sure I deserve a bit of rest and comfort, ifever a hard-working woman did. I'll say nought about pleasure; more byreason that I'm pretty nigh too much worn out and beat down to careabout it."
"Nay, friend," said Gerhardt; "we sinners deserve the under-world. Theroad to the upper lieth only through the blood and righteousness of ourLord Christ."
"I don't know why you need say that," returned Isel with mildresentment. "I've been as decent a woman, and as good a wife andmother, as any woman betwixt Grandpont and Saint Maudlin, let the otherbe who she may,--ay, I have so, though I say it that hadn't ought. Butyou over-sea folks seem to have such a notion of everybody being bad, asI never heard before--not even from the priest."
The Church to which Gerhardt belonged held firmly, as one of her mostvital dogmas, that strong view of human depravity which human depravityalways opposes and resents. Therefore Gerhardt did but enunciate afoundation-article of his faith when he made answer--
"`All the evil which I do proceeds from my own depravity.'"
"Come, you're laying it on a bit too thick," said Isel, with a shake ofher head.
"He only speaks for himself, don't you hear, Mother?" suggested Haimethumorously.
Gerhardt smiled, and shook his head in turn.
"Well, but if all the ill we do comes of ourselves, I don't see how youleave any room for Satan. He's busy about us, isn't he?"
"He's `a roaring lion, that goeth about, seeking whom he may devour';but he can devour no man without his own participation."
"Why, then, you make us all out to be witches, for it's they who enterinto league with Satan."
"Do you know, Gerard," said Haimet suddenly, "some folks in the town aresaying that you belong to those over-sea heretics whose children areborn with black throats and four rows of teeth, and are all over hair?"
"I don't see that Rudolph resembles that description," was the calmreply of Gerhardt. "Do you?"
"Oh, of course we know better. But there are some folks that say so,and are ready to swear it too. It would be quite as well if you stayedquiet at home for a while,
and didn't go out preaching in the villagesso much. If the Bishop comes to hear of some things you've said--"
Isel and her daughters looked up in surprise. They had never imaginedthat their friend's frequent journeys were missionary tours. Haimet,who mixed far more with the outer world, was a good deal wiser on manypoints.
"What have I said?" quietly replied Gerhardt, stopping his carving--which he still pursued in an evening--to sweep up and throw into thecorner the chips which he had made.
"Well, I was told only last week, that you had said when you spoke atAbingdon, that `Antichrist means all that is in contrast to Christ,' andthat there was no such thing as a consecrated priest in the world."
"The first I did say: can you disprove it? But the second I did notsay. God forbid that I ever should!"
"Oh, well, I am glad to hear it: but I can tell you, Halenath theSacristan said he heard you."
"I wish that old chattering magpie would hold his tongue!" exclaimedIsel, going to the door to empty the bowl in which she had been washingthe cabbages for supper. "He makes more mischief than any man withinten miles of the Four-Ways."
"Haimet," said Gerhardt, looking up from the lovely wreath ofstrawberry-blossom which he was carving on a box, "I must not leave youto misapprehend me as Halenath has done. I never said there was no suchthing as a consecrated priest: for Christ our Priest is one, of theOrder of Melchizedek, and by His one offering He hath perfected Hissaints for ever. But I did say that the priests of Rome were notrightly consecrated, and that the Pope's temporal power had deprived theChurch of true consecration. I will stand as firmly to that which Ihave said, as I will deny the words I have not spoken."
Isel stood aghast, looking at him, while the spoon in her hand went downclattering on the brick floor.
"Dear blessed saints!" seemed to be all she could say.
"Why, whatever do you call that?" cried Haimet. "It sounds to me justas bad as the other, if it isn't worse. I should think, if anything, itwere a less heresy to say there were no consecrated priests, than to saythat holy Church herself had lost true consecration. Not that there'svery much to choose between them, after all; only that you cunningfellows can split straws into twenty bits as soon as we can look atthem."
"Do you mean to say that the Church of England has lost trueconsecration?" gasped Isel.
"If he means one, he means the other," said Haimet, "because our Churchis subject to the holy Father."
"There is one Church, and there are many Churches," answered Gerhardt."One--holy, unerring, indivisible, not seen of men. This is the Bride,the Lamb's wife; and they that are in her are called, and chosen, andfaithful. This is she that shall persevere, and shall overcome, andshall receive the crown of life. But on earth there are many Churches;and these may err, and may utterly fall away. Yea, there be that havedone it--that are doing it now."
"I don't understand you a bit!" exclaimed Isel. "I always heard of theCatholic Church, that she was one and could not err; that our Lord thePope was her head, and the Church of England was a branch of her. Isn'tthat your doctrine?"
"You mean the same thing, don't you, now?" suggested Flemild, trying tomake peace. "I dare be bound, it's only words that differ. They are soqueer sometimes. Turn 'em about, and you can make them mean almostanything."
Gerhardt smiled rather sadly, as he rose and put away his carving on oneof the broad shelves that ran round the house-place, and served the usesof tables and cupboards.
"Words can easily be twisted," he said, "either by ignorance or malice.But he is a coward that will deny his words as he truly meant them. Godhelp me to stand to mine!"
"Well, you'd better mind what I tell you about your preaching,"responded Haimet. "Leave preaching to the priests, can't you? It istheir business, not a weaver's. You keep to your craft."
"Had you not once a preacher here named Pullus?" asked Gerhardt, withoutreplying to the question.
"I think I have heard of him," said Haimet, "but he was before my time."
"I have been told that he preached the Word of God in this city yearsago," said Gerhardt.
"Whom did you say? Cardinal Pullus?" asked Isel, standing up from hercooking. "Ay, he did so! You say well, Haimet, it was before your day;you were only beginning to toddle about when he died. But I've listenedto him many a time at Saint Martin's, and on Presthey, too. He used topreach in English, so that the common folks could understand him. Manyprofessed his doctrines. I used to like to hear him, I did--when I wasyounger. He said nice words, though I couldn't call 'em back now. No,I couldn't."
"I am sorry to hear it; I rather hoped you could," replied Gerhardt.
"Bless you! I never heard aught of that sort yet, that I could tell youagain, a Paternoster after I'd gone forth of the door. Words never staywith me; they run in at one ear and out at the other. Seem to do megood, by times; but I never can get 'em back again, no more than you canthe rain when it has soaked into the ground."
"If the rain and the words bring forth good fruit, you get them back inthe best way of all," said Gerhardt. "To remember the words in yourhead only, were as fruitless as to gather up rain-drops from the stoneor metal into which they cannot penetrate."
"Well, I never had nought of a head-piece," returned Isel. "I've heardmy mother tell that I had twenty wallopings ere she could make me saythe Paternoster; and I never could learn nought else save the Joy andthe Aggerum."
"What do you mean by the `Aggerum,' Mother?" inquired Haimet.
"Well, isn't that what you call it? Aggerum or Adjerum, or some suchoutlandish name. It's them little words that prayers begin with."
"`_Deus, in adjutorium_,'" said Gerhardt quietly.
Haimet seemed exceedingly amused. He had attended the schools longenough to learn Latin sufficient to interpret the common prayers andPsalms which formed the private devotions of most educated people. Thiswas because his mother had wished him to be a priest. But having now,in his own estimation, arrived at years of discretion, he declined thecalling chosen for him, preferring as he said to go into business, andhe had accordingly been bound apprentice to a moneter, or money-changer.Poor Isel had mourned bitterly over this desertion. To her mind, as tothat of most people in her day, the priesthood was the highest callingthat could be attained by any middle-class man, while trade was a verymean and despicable occupation, far below domestic service. Sherecognised, however, that Haimet was an exception to most rules, and waslikely to take his own way despite of her.
Isel's own lack of education was almost as unusual as Haimet'spossession of it. At that time all learning was in the hands of theclergy, the monastic orders, and the women. By the Joy, she meant theDoxology, the English version of which substituted "joy" for "glory;"while the _Adjutorium_ denoted the two responses which follow the Lord'sPrayer in the morning service, "O God, make speed to save us," "O Lord,make haste to help us."
"Can't you say _adjutorium_, Mother?" asked the irreverent youth.
"No, lad, I don't think I can. I'll leave that for thee. One's as goodas t'other, for aught I see."
Haimet exploded a second time.
"Good evening!" said Romund's voice, and a cloaked figure, on whoseshoulders drops of rain lay glittering, came in at the door. "I thoughtyou were not gone up yet, for I saw the light under the door. Derette,I have news for you. I have just heard that Saint John's anchoritessdied yesterday, and I think, if you would wish it, that I could get theanchorhold for you. You may choose between that and Godstowe."
Derette scarcely stood irresolute for a moment.
"I should like the anchorhold best, Brother. Then Mother could come tome whenever she wanted me."
"Is that the only reason?" asked Haimet, half laughing.
"No, not quite," said Derette, with a smile; "but it is a good one."
"Then you make up your mind to that?" questioned Romund.
"Yes, I have made up my mind," replied Derette.
"Very good: then I will make application for i
t. Good night! no time tostay. Mabel? Oh, she's all right. Farewell!"
And Romund shut the door and disappeared.
"Deary me, that seems done all of a hurry like!" said Isel. "I don'thalf like such sudden, hasty sort of work. Derette, child, are you sureyou'll not be sorry?"
"No, I don't think I shall, Mother. I shall have more liberty in theanchorhold than in the nunnery."
"More liberty, quotha!" cried Isel in amazement. "Whatever can thechild mean? More liberty, penned up in two little chambers, and neverto leave them all your life, than in a fine large place like Godstowe,with a big garden and cloisters to walk in?"
"Ah, Mother, I don't want liberty for my feet, but for my soul. Therewill be no abbess nor sisters to tease one in the anchorhold."
"Well, and what does that mean, but never a bit of company? Just yourone maid, and tied up to her. And the child calls it `liberty'!"
"You forget, Mother," said Haimet mischievously. "There will be theLady Derette. In the cloister they are only plain Sister."
Every recluse had by courtesy the title of a baron.
"As if I cared for that rubbish!" said Derette with sublime scorn.
"Dear! I thought you were going on purpose," retorted her brother.
"Whom will you have for your maid, Derette?" asked her sister.
"Ermine, if I might have her," answered Derette with a smile.
Gerhardt suddenly stopped the reply which Ermine was about to make.
"No," he said, "leave it alone to-night, dear. Lay it before the Lord,and ask of Him whether that is the road He hath prepared for thee towalk in. It might be for the best, Ermine."
There was a rather sorrowful intonation in his voice.
"I will wait till the morning, and do as you desire," was Ermine'sreply. "But I could give the answer to-night, for I know what it willbe. The best way, and the prepared way, is that which leads thestraightest Home."
It was very evident, when the morning arrived, that Gerhardt would muchhave liked Ermine to accept the lowly but safe and sheltered position ofcompanion to Derette in the anchorhold. While the hermit lived alone,but wandered about at will, the anchorite, who was never allowed toleave his cell, always had with him a companion of his own sex, throughwhom he communicated with the outer world. Visitors of the same sex, orchildren, could enter the cell freely, or the anchorite might speakthrough his window to any person. Derette, therefore, would really beless cut off from the society of her friends in the anchorhold, than shewould have been as a cloistered sister at Godstowe, where they wouldonly have been permitted to see her, at most, once in a year. Butoutside the threshold of her cell she might never step, save forimminent peril of life, as in the case of fire. She must live there,and die there, her sole occupation found in devotional exercises, hersole pleasure in her friends' visits, the few sights she could see fromher window, and through a tiny slit into the chancel of the Church ofSaint John the Baptist, which we know as the chapel of Merton College.Every anchorhold was built close to a church, so as to allow itsoccupant the privilege of seeing the performance of mass, and ofreceiving the consecrated wafer, by the protrusion of his tongue throughthe narrow slit.
In those early days, and before the corruptions of Rome reached theirfull development, this cloistered life was not without some advantagesfor the securing of which it is not required now. In rough, wild times,when insult or cruelty to a woman was among the commonest events, it wassomething for a woman to know that by wearing a certain uniform, herperson would be regarded as so sacred that he who dared to molest herwould be a man of rare and exceptional wickedness. It was something,also, to be sure, even moderately sure, of provision for her bodilyneeds during life: something to know that if any sudden accident shoulddeprive her of the services of her only companion, the world deemed itso good a deed to serve her, that any woman whom she might summonthrough her little window would consider herself honoured and benefitedby being allowed to minister to her even in the meanest manner. Theloss of liberty was much assuaged and compensated, by being set againstsuch advantages as these. The recluse was considered the holiest ofnuns, not to say of women, and the Countess of Oxford herself would haveheld it no degradation to serve her in her need.
Derette would dearly have liked to secure the companionship of Ermine,but she saw plainly that it was not to be. When the morning came,therefore, she was much less surprised than sorry that Ermine declinedthe offer. Gerhardt pressed it on her in vain.
"If you command me, my brother," said Ermine, "I will obey, for you havea right to dispose of me; but if the matter is left to my own choice, Istay with you, and your lot shall be mine."
"But if our lot be hardship and persecution, my Ermine--cold and hunger,nakedness, and peril and sword! This might be a somewhat dull anddreary life for thee, but were it not a safe one?"
"Had the Master a safe and easy life, Brother, that His servants shouldseek it? Is the world so safe, and the way to Paradise so hard? Is itnot written, `Blessed are ye, when they shall persecute you'? MethinksI see arising, even now, that little cloud which shall ere long coverall the sky with darkness. Shall I choose my place with the `fearful'that are left without the Holy City, rather than with them that shallfollow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth?"
"It is written again, `When they persecute you in one city, flee ye intoanother,'" replied Gerhardt.
"`_When_ they persecute you,'" repeated Ermine. "It has not come yet."
"It may be too late, when it has come."
"Then the way will be plain before me."
"Well, dear, I will urge you no further," said Gerhardt at last, drawinga heavy sigh. "I had hoped that for thee at least--The will of the Lordbe done."
"If it were His will to preserve my life, even the persecutorsthemselves might be made the occasion of doing so."
"True, my Ermine. It may be thou hast more faith than I. Be it as thouwilt."
So Derette had to seek another maid.
"I'm sure I don't know who you'll get," said Isel. "There's Franna'sHawise, but she's a bit of a temper,"--which her hearers knew to be avery mild representation of facts: "and there's Turguia'sgrand-daughter, Canda, but you'll have to throw a bucket of water overher of a morrow, or she'll never be out of bed before sunrise on theshortest day of the year. Then there's Henry's niece, Joan--" thenpronounced as a dissyllable, Joan--"but I wouldn't have such a slovenabout me. I never see her but her shoes are down at heel, and if hergown isn't rent for a couple of hand-breadths, it's as much as you canlook for. Deary me, these girls! they're a sorry lot, the whole heap of'em! _I_ don't know where you're going to find one, Derette."
"Put it in the Lord's hands, and He will find you one."
"I'll tell you what, Gerard, I never heard the like of you," answeredIsel, setting her pan swinging by its chain on the hook over the fire."You begin and end every mortal thing with our Lord, and you're sayingyour prayers pretty nigh all day long. Are you certain sure you'venever been a monk?"
"Very certain, friend," said Gerhardt, smiling. "Is not the existenceof Agnes answer enough to that?"
"Oh, but you might have run away," said Isel, whose convictions on mostsubjects were of rather a hazy order. "There are monks that do, andpriests too: or if they don't forsake their Order, they don't behavelike it. Why, just look at Reinbald the Chaplain--who'd ever take himfor a priest, with his long curls and his silken robes, and ruffling uphis hair to hide the tonsure?"
"Ay, there are men who are ashamed of nothing so much as of the crosswhich their Master bore for them," admitted Gerhardt sorrowfully. "Andat times it looks as if the lighter the cross be, the less ready theyare to carry it. There be who would face a drawn sword more willinglythan a scornful laugh."
"Well, we none of us like to be laughed at."
"True. But he who denies his faith through the mockery of Herod'ssoldiers, how shall he bear the scourging in Pilate's hall?"
"Well, I'm none so fond of neither of 'em," said Isel,
taking down aham.
"It is only women who can't stand being touched," commented Haimetrather disdainfully. "But you are out there, Gerard: it is a disgraceto be laughed at, and disgrace is ever worse to a true man than pain."
"Why should it be disgrace, if I am in the right?" answered Gerhardt."If I do evil, and refuse to own it, that is disgrace, if you will; butif I do well, or speak truth, and stand by it, what cause have I to beashamed?"
"But if men believe that you have done ill, is that no disgrace?"
"If they believe it on false witness, the disgrace is equally false.`Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, and shall say all evilagainst you, lying, for My sake.' Those are His words who bore allshame for us."
"They sha'n't say it of me, unless they smart for it!" cried Haimethotly.
"Then wilt thou not be a true follower of the Lamb of God, who, when Hewas reviled, reviled not again, but committed Himself unto Him thatjudgeth righteously."
"Saints be with you!" said Anania, lifting the latch, and intercepting aresponse from Haimet which might have been somewhat incisive. "Ideclare, I'm just killed with the heat!"
"I should have guessed you were alive, from the look of you," returnedDerette calmly.
"So you're going into the anchorhold, I hear?" said Anania, fanningherself with her handkerchief.
"If Romund can obtain it for me."
"Oh, he has; it's all settled. Didn't you know? I met Mabel in SaintFrideswide's Street [which ran close to the north of the Cathedral], andshe told me so.--Aunt Isel, I do wonder you don't look better after thatyoung woman! She'll bring Romund to his last penny before she's done.That chape [a cape or mantle] she had on must have cost as pretty a sumas would have bought a flock of sheep. I never saw such extravagance."
"The money's her own," responded Isel shortly.
"It's his too. And you're his mother. You never ought to let her go onas she does."
"Deary me, Anania, as if I hadn't enough to do!"
"Other folks can slice ham and boil cabbage. You've got no call toneglect your duty. I can tell you, Franna's that shocked you don'tspeak to the girl; and Turguia was saying only the other day, she didn'tbelieve in folks that pretended to care so much for their children, andlet other folks run 'em into all sorts of troubles for want of lookingafter a bit. I'll tell you, Aunt Isel--"
"Anania, I'll tell _you_," cried Isel, thoroughly put out, for she washot and tired and not feeling strong, "I'll tell you this once, you're aregular plague and a mischief-maker. You'd make me quarrel with all thefriends I have in the world, if I listened to you. Sit you down andrest, if you like to be peaceable; and if you don't, just go home andgive other folks a bit of rest for once in your life. I'm just worn outwith you, and that's the honest truth."
"Well, to be sure!" gasped the porter's wife, in high dudgeon and muchamazement. "I never did--! Dear, dear, to think of it--how ungratefulfolks can be! You give them the best advice, and try to help them allyou can, and they turn on you like a dog for it! Very well, Aunt Isel;I'll let you alone!--and if you don't rue it one of these days, whenyour fine lady daughter-in-law has brought you down to beggary for wantof a proper word, my name isn't Anania--that's all!"
"Oh, deary weary me!" moaned poor Isel, dropping herself on the form asif she could not stand for another minute. "If this ain't a queerworld, I just _don't_ know! Folks never let you have a shred of peace,and come and worrit you that bad till you scarce can tell whether you'reon your head or your heels, and you could almost find in your heart towish 'em safe in Heaven, and then if they don't set to work and abuseyou like Noah's wife [Note 1] if you don't thank 'em for it! That girlAnania 'll be the death of me one of these days, if she doesn't mend herways. Woe worth the day that Osbert brought her here to plague us!"
"I fancy he'd say Amen to that," remarked Haimet.
"I heard him getting it pretty hot last night. But he takes it easierthan you, Mother; however she goes on at him, he only whistles a tune.He has three tunes for her, and I always know how she's getting on bythe one I hear. So long as it's only the _Agnus_, I dare lift thelatch; but when it come to _Salve Regina_, things are going awkward."
"I wish she wasn't my niece, I do!" said poor Isel. "Well, folks, comeand get your supper."
Supper was over, and the trenchers scraped--for Isel lived in greatgentility, seeing that she ate from wooden trenchers, and not on platesmade of thick slices of bread--when a rap on the door heralded the visitof a very superior person. Long ago, when a young girl, Isel had beenchamberer, or bower-woman, of a lady named Mildred de Hameldun; and shestill received occasional visits from Mildred's daughter, whose name wasAliz or Elise de Norton. Next to the Countess of Oxford and her twodaughters, Aliz de Norton was the chief lady in the city. Her father,Sir Robert de Hameldun, had been Seneschal of the Castle, and herhusband, Sir Ording de Norton, was now filling a similar position. Yetthe lofty title of Lady was barely accorded to Aliz de Norton. At thattime it was of extreme rarity; less used than in Saxon days, far lessthan at a subsequent date under the later Plantagenets. The only womenwho enjoyed it as of right were queens, wives of the king's sons,countesses, and baronesses: for at this period, the sole titles known tothe peerage were those of baron and earl. Duke was still a sovereigntitle, and entirely a foreign one. The epithet of Dame or Lady was alsothe prerogative of a few abbesses, who held the rank of baroness. Verycommonly, however, it was applied to the daughters of the sovereign, toall abbesses, prioresses, and recluses, and to earls' daughters; butthis was a matter rather of courtesy than of right. Beyond the generalepithet of "my Lord," there was no definite title of address even forthe monarch. The appropriation of such terms as Grace, Highness,Excellence, Majesty, or Serenity, belongs to a much later date. Sir,however, was always restricted to knights; and Dame was the mostrespectful form of address that could be offered to any woman, howeverexalted might be her rank. The knight was above the peer, even kingsreceiving additional honour from knighthood; but the equivalent title ofDame does not seem to have been regularly conferred on their wives tillabout 1230, though it might be given in some cases, as a matter ofcourtesy, at a rather earlier period.
Perceiving her exalted friend, Isel went forward as quickly as was inher, to receive her with all possible cordiality, and to usher her tothe best place in the chimney-corner. Aliz greeted the familypleasantly, but with a shade of constraint towards their German guests.For a few minutes they talked conventional nothings, as is the custom ofthose who meet only occasionally. Then Aliz said--
"I came to-day, Isel, for two reasons. Have here the first: do you knowof any vacant situation for a young woman?"
Isel could do nothing in a hurry,--more especially if any mental processwas involved.
"Well, maybe I might," she said slowly. "Who is it, I pray you, andwhat are her qualifications?"
"It is the daughter of my waiting-woman, and grand-daughter of my oldnurse. She is a good girl--rather shy and inexperienced, but she learnsquickly. I would have taken her into my own household, but I have noroom for her. I wish to find her a good place, not a poor one. Do youknow of any?"
As Isel hesitated, Haimet took up the word.
"Would it please you to have her an anchorhold maid?"
"Oh, if she could obtain such a situation as that," said Aliz eagerly,"there would be no more to wish for."
The holiness of an anchoritess was deemed to run over upon her maid, anda young woman who wore the semi-conventual garb of those persons wassafe from insult, and sure of help in time of need.
"My youngest sister goes into Saint John's anchorhold next month," saidHaimet, "and we have not yet procured a maid for her."
"So that is your destiny?" said Aliz, with a smile to Derette. "Well,it is a blessed calling."
Her manner, however, added that she had no particular desire to beblessed in that fashion.
"That would be the very thing for Leuesa," she pursued. "I will sendher down to talk with you. Tru
ly, we should be very thankful to thosechoice souls to whom is given the rare virtue of such holyself-sacrifice."
Aliz spoke the feeling of her day, which could see no bliss for a womanexcept in marriage, and set single life on a pinnacle of holiness andmisery not to be reached by ordinary men and women. The virtues ofthose self-denying people who sacrificed themselves by adopting it weresupposed to be paid into an ecclesiastical treasury, and to form a kindof set-off against the every-day shortcomings of inferior married folks.Therefore Aliz expressed her gratitude for the prospect, as affordingher an extra opportunity of doing her duty by proxy.
Derette was in advance of her age.
"But I am not sacrificing myself," she said. "I am pleasing myself. Ishould not like to be a wife."
"Oh, what a saintly creature you must be!" cried Aliz, clasping herhands in admiration. "That you can _prefer_ a holy life! It is givento few indeed to attain that height."
"But the holy life does not consist in dwelling in one chamber,"suggested Gerhardt, "nor in refraining from matrimony. He that dwellethin God, in the secret place of the Most High--this is the man that isholy."
"It would be well for you, Gerard, and your friends," observed Alizfreezingly, "not to be quite so ready in offering your strange fancieson religious topics. Are you aware that the priests of the city havesent up a memorial concerning you to my Lord the Bishop, and that it hasbeen laid before King Henry?"
The strawberry which Gerhardt's tool was just then rounding was notquite so perfect a round as its neighbours. He laid the tool down, andthe hand which held the carving trembled slightly.
"No, I did not know it," he said in a low voice. "I thank you for thewarning."
"I fear there may be some penance inflicted on you," resumed Aliz, notunkindly. "The wisest course for you would be at once to submit, andnot even to attempt any excuse."
Gerhardt looked up--a look which struck all who saw it. There was in ita little surface trouble, but under that a look of such perfect peaceand sweet acceptance of the Divine will, as they had never beforebeheld.
"There will be no penance laid on me," he said, "that my Father will nothelp me to bear. I have only to take the next step, whether it leadinto the home at Bethany or the judgment-hall of Pilate. The Garden ofGod lies beyond them both."
Aliz looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
"Gerard," she said, "I do hope you have no foolish ideas of braving outthe censure of the Bishop. Such action would not only be sin, but itwould be the worst policy imaginable. Holy Church is always merciful tothose who abase themselves before her,--who own their folly, and humblybow to her rebuke. But she has no mercy on rebels who persist in theirrebellion,--stubborn self-opinionated men, who in their incredible follyand presumption imagine themselves capable of correcting her."
"No," answered Gerhardt in that same low voice. "She has no mercy."
"Then I hope you see how very foolish and impossible it would be for youto adopt any other course than that of instant and complete submission?"urged Aliz in a kinder tone.
Gerhardt rose from his seat and faced her.
"Your meaning is kind," he said, "and conscientious also. You desirethe glory of your Church, but you also feel pity for the suffering ofthe human creatures who dissent from her, and are crushed under thewheels of her triumphal car. I thank you for that pity. In the landwhere one cup of cold water goeth not without its reward, it may be thateven a passing impulse of compassion is not forgotten before God. Itmay at least call down some earthly blessing. But for me--my way isclear before me, and I have but to go straight forward. I thank Godthat I know my duty. Doubt is worse than pain."
"Indeed, I am thankful too," said Aliz, as she rose to take leave."That you should do your duty is the thing I desire.--Well, Isel, ourLady keep you! I will send Leuesa down to-morrow or the next day."
Aliz departed, and the rest began to think of bedtime. Isel sent thegirls upstairs, then Haimet followed, and Agnes went at last. ButGerhardt sat on, his eyes fixed on the cold hearth. It was evident thathe regarded the news which he had heard as of no slight import. He roseat length, and walked to the window. It was only a wooden shutter,fastened by a button, and now closed for the night. Looking round tomake sure that all had left the lower room, he threw the casement open.But he did not see Isel, who at the moment was concealed by the redcurtain drawn half-way across the house-place, at the other end wherethe ladder went up.
"Father!" he said, his eyes fixed on the darkened sky, "is the way toThy holy hill through this thorny path? Wheresoever Thou shalt guide, Igo with Thee. But `these are in the world!' Keep them through Thyname, and let us meet in the Garden of God, if we may not go together.O blessed Jesu Christ! the forget-me-nots which bloom around Thy crossare fairer than all the flowers of the world's gardens."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. In the medieval mystery plays, Noah's wife was alwaysrepresented as a scolding vixen.