Everett-Green Evelyn
For the Faith: A Story of the Young Pioneers of Reformation in Oxford
As she walked through the streets by her father's side, and marked the gathering crowd thronging towards Carfax and the route to be taken by the procession, she seemed to hear the words beaten out by the tread of hurrying feet: "Faithful unto death-faithful unto death-unto death!" till she could have cried aloud in the strange turmoil of her spirit, "Faithful unto death-unto death!"
There was a convenient window in the house of a kindly citizen, which had been put at her father's disposal. When they took their places at it they saw the men already at work over the bonfire in the centre of the cross roads. All the windows and the streets were thronged with curious spectators, and almost at once the tolling of the bells of various churches announced that the ceremony was about to begin.
The procession, it was whispered about, was to start from St. Mary's Church, to march to Carfax, where certain ceremonies were to be performed, and then to proceed to St. Frideswyde, where a solemn Mass would be performed, to which the penitents would be admitted. Then, with a solemn benediction, they would be dismissed to their own homes, and admitted to communion upon Easter Day.
Freda sat very still at the window, hearing little beside the heavy beating of her own heart and the monotonous tolling of the bells. The crowd was silent, too, and almost all the people were habited in black, partly out of respect to the season of the Lord's passion, partly because this ceremony took the nature of a solemn humiliation.
Perhaps there were many standing in that close-packed crowd who knew themselves to have been as "guilty" – if guilt there were-as those who were compelled to do penance that day. There was evident sympathy on many faces, and the girl, looking down from above, noted how many groups there were talking earnestly and quietly together, and how they threw quick glances over their shoulders, as though half afraid lest what they were saying might be overheard.
"I trow there are many here who have dared to read the Word of God and discuss it freely together, and compare the church as it now is with the church, the Bride of the Lamb. I wonder if they would have all submitted, had it been their lot to stand before those judges and hear the sentence pronounced."
A thrill seemed suddenly to pass through the crowd; the people pressed forward and then surged back.
"They are coming! they are coming!" the whisper went round, and Freda felt the blood ebbing away from her cheeks, and for a moment her eyes were too dim to see.
The solemn procession of heads and masters, clerks and beadles, seemed to swim before her in a quivering haze. Her strained eyes were fixed upon those other figures bringing up the rear-those men in the garb of the penitent, each bearing a fagot on his shoulder, and carrying a lighted taper in his hand.
Was Anthony among them? She held her breath in a sickening suspense, scarce knowing whether or not she longed to see him. She knew almost each face as it loomed up into view: there was young Fitzjames, their kinsman, looking shame-faced but submissive; there were Udel and Diet, Bayley, Cox, and others whom she had never suspected of having been concerned in the movement; and there, almost at the rear of the long procession, walked Anthony Dalaber, his dark, thin face looking worn and haggard, his hair tumbled and unkempt, his dark eyes bent upon the ground, his feet slow and lagging, but whether from weakness or unwillingness she was not able to say. She held her breath to watch him as he appeared. She saw the heavy frown upon his brow; she marked the change which had come over him-the cloud which seemed to envelop him. She knew that he was bowed to the ground with shame and humiliation, and with that sort of fierce despair of which she had seen glimpses in his nature before now.
Suddenly all the old tenderness rushed over her as in a flood. She forgot her sense of disappointment in his lack of firmness; she forgot how he had boasted of his courage and devotion, and how, in the time of temptation and trial, he had let himself be persuaded to take the easier path; she forgot all save that he had loved her, and that she had loved him, and that love can surmount all things, because its essence is divine. If he had fallen, he had suffered keenly. Suffering was stamped upon every line of his face.
Was not God's love for sinners so great that before the world repented of its wickedness He gave His Son to die for an atonement and expiation? Must we then not love those who err, and who repent of their weakness? Nay, are we not all sinners, all weak, all frail and feeble beings in weak mortal bodies? Shall we judge and condemn one another? Shall we not rather seek to strengthen one another by love and tenderness, and so lead one another onward in the way which leads to life everlasting?
These thoughts rushed like a flood through Freda's mind as she watched through a mist of tears the throwing of the fagots and the books upon the fire at Carfax. Three times did the penitents walk round the fire, the bells tolling, and the crowd observing an intense silence, as the servants handed to the young men books from the baskets to fling upon the fire.
Only one was given to Anthony, and he gave one quick glance before he threw it into the heart of the blaze. Arthur Cole had been as good as his word. It was no portion of God's Word that he was condemned to burn, but a pamphlet of peculiar bitterness by one of the foreign reformers.
Then the procession formed up again, and started for its final goal; and Freda, rising, laid her hand upon her father's arm and said:
"Take me home, I prithee, sweet father-take me home first. I have seen enough. I would now go home. And then, when all is over, go thou to St. Frideswyde and bring Anthony to me."
Chapter XVI: "Reconciled."
Anthony sat with his face buried in his hands, in an attitude of profound dejection. He was gaunt and haggard and worn to a shadow, and Freda's gentle, pitying gaze held in its depths nothing but love and tender compassion.
The first rapture of meeting once again had passed. The exultant joy engendered by a sense of freedom had lasted for several hours. Anthony had laughed and sung aloud and shouted for joy in the shady alleys of the garden, amid all the blissful sights and sounds of springtide. He had wandered there with Freda beside him in a sort of trance of happiness, in which all else had been forgotten. The joy to both had been so keen, so exquisite, that it had sufficed them for the present.
But with the falling of the softened dusk, with the setting of the sun, with the natural and inevitable reaction upon an enfeebled body and sensitive spirit, following upon a severe and protracted strain, Dalaber's spirits had suddenly left him. An intense depression both of body and mind had followed, and in the gathering twilight of that familiar room he sat in an attitude of profound dejection, whilst Freda scarce knew whether it were better to seek to find words of comfort, or to leave him alone to fight out the inevitable battle.
"Why did I do it? Why did I consent?" he suddenly broke out. "Why did I listen to the voice of the charmer? Would it have been so hard to die? Will it not be harder to live with the stain of this sin upon my soul?"
"'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,'" spoke Freda very softly.
"And I have denied my Lord-in deed, if not in word," and he groaned aloud.
"It was an act of submission and obedience," spoke Freda, using the arguments familiar to her. "Nor did you yourself cast upon the fire the precious Word of God; you did not deny your faith. You affirmed-so they say-your assent to the doctrines of Holy Church, and did penance for past disobedience. Is that a matter to grieve so greatly over?"
She spoke very gently, yet not as though her heart went altogether with her words. Anthony raised his head and broke out into vehement speech, which she welcomed gladly after the long silence of utter depression.
"They made it easy for us. They sought to win us by gentle methods. They knew that the most of us loved Holy Church, and were loath indeed to be divorced from her communion. They did not bid us in so many words to deny those things which we have held-the right of every man to hold in his hand the Word of God, and to read and study it for himself; but they made us perform an act which in the eyes of the world will be taken to mean as much-to mean that we acknowledge the sinfulness of circulating that precious, living Word, and are ready to cast it into the flames like an unholy and corrupt thing.
"And I consented. I let them persuade me. I let mine eyes be blinded. And now, whither shall I go? I have denied my Lord. I have sinned in His sight. I have not taken up my cross and followed Him. I have sought to save my life, and yet I had thought myself ready to follow Hun to the cross and the grave."
"Like Peter," spoke Freda softly. "Yet the Lord looked upon him with tender love; and He forgave him freely and fully, and gave him special charge to strengthen the brethren, to feed the sheep and the lambs. The Lord wore our mortal flesh. He knows that it is weak. He understands all. Be not too much cast down, my Anthony. Perchance in the past thou didst too much trust in thine own strength. In the days to come let us look ever more and more to the Lord Himself. He will first forgive, and then confirm His strength in us."
"In us? But thou hast ever been strong in faith," spoke Anthony quickly. "I can read it in thine eyes how that thou dost hold me weak and wavering. Had it been thou who wast thus tried, I trow thou wouldst have stood firm."
"Indeed I know not that, Anthony," she answered earnestly, "and I dare not say that I did desire it of thee. I was rent in twain by the struggle. If, indeed, patience and tenderness are shown by those in authority to the sons they hold to be in error, then love should be met by love. We must not rend the body of the Lord by needless strife and contention, if other and gentler means may with patience prevail. We know that obedience and submission to the powers that be are enjoined upon us; yet we know that we must keep our conscience void of reproach. It is hard, indeed, to judge; but let us always seek to take the highest path, and if we fall by reason of weakness in faith, in judgment, or in spirit, let us pray the more fervently for the Spirit of truth to guide us into all truth, and keep us pure within."
They had been so earnestly talking that they had not heard the sound of steps and voices in the house, and started when the door was suddenly opened by young Fitzjames, who ushered in Garret and the monk Robert Ferrar.
Dalaber started to his feet. He had seen both these former companions of his in the procession that morning, but not a word had been exchanged between them. He stood gazing at them with a strange mixture of emotion.
"Anthony Dalaber, we have come to say farewell," said Garret, whose thin, white face and the burning brightness of his eyes testified to the struggle through which his own spirit had passed. "For the present the brotherhood is broken up; for the present the powers of the world are too strong for us; but the day will come when the truth shall be vindicated, when it shall shine forth as the sun in his strength, and we of the faith will be the first to welcome the rising rays. Be not afraid; be not cast down. The Lord will arise, and His enemies will be scattered. And there is work for us all to do, to prepare for His appearing. Let us not be weary in well doing. Though we have bent our heads to the storm, yet we will lift them up with joy anon, knowing that redemption draweth nigh. You believe that, Anthony Dalaber?"
"I verily believe that God will visit the earth and His church, and that He will sit as a refiner, and purify her from all impurities; but whether He will condescend to use again such imperfect instruments as we have proved, I do not know. We have bowed ourselves in the house of Rimmon. Shall we ever be fit for the service of the house of God?"
Garret was still for a moment, silenced by the strange expression of concentrated remorse upon Dalaber's face. It was Ferrar who spoke in his low, even voice.
"'And when I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon his servant in this thing. And Elisha said unto him, Go in peace.'"
Deep silence fell upon the room, and then Freda spoke.
"I think God is ever more merciful than man. God reads the heart, and He knows that, though men may fail through weakness, they may rise again in His strength and yet do valiantly."
"I will yet live to do Him service!" cried Garret, with kindling eyes. "I will yet live that I may lay down my life for Him if He call me. If I have been deceived this once, He will lead me aright in the days to come. Mine hour will yet come; I know it, I feel it. And He shall see then that Thomas Garret will not shrink even from death for His name's sake."
Dalaber looked straight into his face.
"I consented to take part in this penance today because I heard that you had submitted. I believed that all had done so. Had I known that Master Clarke had refused, God helping me, I would have refused also; for surely never was there a man who had so fully the mind of the Lord Jesus as John Clarke."
Garret's glance fell before that burning gaze. He too had noted that Clarke was not amongst the penitents, and it had cut like a knife into his heart. He had always been so ready with his protestations of willingness to die for the faith, yet he had been won over to an act which looked like one of recantation. Clarke had never boasted, had always spoken with gentle warning of the dangers which beset them, and his doubts as to whether they should have strength to withstand the fiery trial if it came upon them. There had been times when Garret had openly charged him with being lukewarm in the cause. Yet Clarke lay still in his noisome prison, excommunicate, and in danger of death at the stake, whilst they stood free men, reconciled to the church, and restored to her favour.
Whose position was that of most true blessedness? Garret twisted his hands nervously together as this flood of thought came surging over him.
"They say that Clarke would have been there," spoke young Fitzjames, "but that he was too enfeebled by captivity to walk in the procession."
"That is false," said Freda, in a low voice. "Master Clarke might have won his liberty with the rest, but he refused to take any part in the spectacle today at Carfax."
"Yet he never circulated the books," broke out Garret. "He ofttimes cautioned me against importing too many of the treatises written in Germany. He would not approve all that they contained. He could have cast such books upon the flames without violating his conscience. Wherefore was he not there with the rest of us?"
It was Freda who, after a pause, made answer:
"He knew that men would not distinguish between the burning of books by men and the burning of the precious Word of God. It was this that held him back."
"Yea, verily," cried Dalaber, with a blaze of his old excitement, "he was true to his conscience, and we were not. He knew that those who saw that procession would regard it as an admission of heresy. He was no heretic, and he would have neither part nor lot with it. He has ever stood firm in this-that the church of the living God is pure and holy, and that she asks no such acts of submission and recantation from her sons, when their only desire has been to extol Him and to make His way clear upon earth. How could his pure and holy spirit make confession of evil? He could not, and he would not. He will lay down his life for the gospel's sake; but he will not be deceived, as we were.
"I can see it now as I could not when the walls of prison and the mists of fever were closing me in. We have, as it were, admitted that to read the Word of God and to give it to others to read is a sin against the church. He has stood on the ground he adopted from the first-that the church has never forbidden it, and that those who do so are not her true and faithful stewards and ministers; and for that conviction he is ready to die. He will not let himself be deceived or cajoled. His light is the light from above, and it will shine upon his path to the very end."
Ferrar and Garret had no intention of lingering long. They were about to go forth together into the world-probably to make their way to Germany-and Garret had had some thought that Dalaber might possibly accompany them on their journey. But they saw that he had other views for himself, and did not even ask him.
The spell which Garret had once exercised upon him was broken now. They would ever be as friends and brothers in a good cause, but the special tie had snapped. Garret was no longer a hero in the eyes of Dalaber, and he felt the subtle change which had come over his ex-pupil.
So they clasped hands warmly, exchanged farewells, and the two companions passed out into the darkening night, whilst young Fitzjames lingered wistfully, and brightened as Freda bade him take up his old quarters in that pleasant house.
"And on the morrow we will all travel to Poghley together; and you, Fitzjames, shall take word to others who have suffered imprisonment, and whose friends, perchance, may look coldly upon them, that they are welcome to Arthur's house, if they desire a brief space for rest and refreshment. It is open to all who have suffered, but are now 'reconciled,' as it is termed. Anthony and I go thither early in the day, and any who desire may come with or follow after us."
"I feel as though I never wished to set eyes on Oxford again, once I get free from it!" cried the youth, who felt bitterly the ignominy and hardships through which he had passed.
He had submitted to the imposed penance, having, indeed, no very strong opinions of his own upon controverted subjects, though he had heard much, and received the new doctrines with open mind. But now he felt as though he hated the rulers of the church with a deep and implacable hatred. His boyhood seemed to have passed away from him during those weeks of harsh imprisonment; and he came forth a man, with a stern hatred of bigotry and intolerance, with no formulated plan of action or resistance, with no very definite opinions as to doctrine or dogma, but with a fixed resolve to cast in his lot with those who were fighting for liberty of conscience, or liberty in any form, and with a strong hope that he might live to see the day when he should break a lance for the cause he had espoused.
It was indeed too often that men's hearts were filled with bitterness, and that those in places of power and authority made themselves bitter enemies, even of those towards whom they were kindly disposed; whilst the day was coming slowly but surely when they were to reap what they had sown.
It was a soft and radiant evening when Freda and her father and Dalaber rode slowly through the gates which led to the moated manor where Arthur Cole and his bride awaited them. Fitzjames and a few others were to follow. But these three, with a couple of servants, arrived first; and upon their approach through the golden green of the beech avenue, Magdalen flew, as it were, to meet her twin, and the sisters were clasped in each other's arms. Arthur was not far behind his fleet-footed spouse, and was clasping hands with Dalaber, and gazing long and searchingly into his face.
"Welcome, my friend, welcome!" he said. "It is good to see you stand a free man once more. You have suffered, Anthony; I can see it all too clearly in your face. But I trust that the dark days are over now, and that better times are in store. In the sweet security of home we will seek to forget those trials and troubles which have gone before."
Dalaber looked round him at the awakening beauty of the springtide world, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. His face contracted as though with a spasm of pain, and he spoke in sharpened accents of suffering.
"The world of nature looks-thus-to me. And Master Clarke lies rotting in a foul prison, in peril of his life both from sickness and from the cruel malice of the bishop. How can I forget? How can I be happy? Methinks sometimes I would he more truly happy were I lying beside him there."
Arthur drew Dalaber a little away from the rest.
"Have you had news of him?"
"Such news as might be had. Some of the brethren, if they can still be so called, when they are as sheep scattered without a shepherd-some of them came to bid me adieu and speak comforting words. I asked them one and all of him, our beloved teacher; but none had seen him-only they had one and all made inquiry after him, and one had heard this, and the other that. But all affirmed that he, together with Sumner and Radley, was lying in a foul prison, sick unto death with the fever that besets those who lie too long in these noisome holes, or, as some said, with the sweating sickness, which has shown itself once more in Oxford.
"But since he refused to take part in the scene at Carfax, and as his companions were firm as himself, they are kept yet in the same foul place. And if help come not they will certainly die; for how can men recover of sickness without some care, or tendance, or better nourishment than will be given them there? Ah, it makes my blood boil to think of it!"
It was almost impossible for Dalaber to rejoice in his own freedom and in the beauty of all about him, so woeful were his thoughts about this man whom he so greatly loved. He went to his room that night, but sleep came not to him. He paced to and fro in a strange tumult of mind; and with the first light of dawn he clad himself in his riding suit, and when the household began to stir he sought a servant, and bade him tell the master that he desired instant speech of him.
Arthur came in brief space, and looked with surprise into Dalaber's pale, set face. His wan looks told of his sleepless vigil, but he gave no chance for questions to be asked. He spoke himself, and that rapidly.
"Arthur, I must forthwith to London. Canst thou lend me a good horse? Else I must needs go afoot."
"A horse! Why, the pick of the stable is at thy service, friend Anthony. But whither away so fast, and wherefore?"
"I go to seek speech with the cardinal."
"With the cardinal, quotha? And wherefore with him?"
"I go to ask the life of Master Clarke. They say the cardinal is not bloodthirsty or cruel. I will prove that for mine own self. And if a victim must needs be had, I will offer myself in his place.
"Yes, Arthur, I will. Seek not to stay me by fair words. Methinks I have had too much of such. I have been cozened both by friend and by foe-for mine own good, as they would say, but not I. My heart is heavy and hot within me. If Clarke is to lie languishing in prison, let me lie there with him. There can be a worse prison house of the soul than any made by bolts and bars. We can suffer as keenly in such a place as this as in the lowest depth of a dungeon. I have made trial of both. I know what I say. Seek not to stay me, good Arthur, for I must needs go. The fire burns hot within me. It will not be quenched."
Arthur looked keenly at him. He was silent for a very brief while, and then he spoke quietly and persuasively.
"Thou shalt go, Anthony; but wait only for Monday. Thou art in need of rest, and upon the eve of the festival of Easter thou wouldst never get nigh to the cardinal. Thou art not fit for the long ride today. In two days more thou wilt be in better case for the journey. And I myself will be thy companion, for I have some friends in high places who will lend me their help; and it will be strange if together we cannot succeed in obtaining sight and speech of the cardinal, and proffering our petition. Only wait these two days, that thou mayest be more fit for the fatigues lying before thee."
Dalaber would fain have been off that moment, but he saw the force of Arthur's words; and, in truth, the long strain was telling heavily upon him, and as he stood he almost reeled from weakness. He was in no fit state for another day's riding; and when Freda added her voice to that of Arthur, he consented to put off his journey until after Easter.
Yet he looked straight into her eyes in making this concession, and added firmly:
"But when the time comes I must go. And thou wilt bid me Godspeed, my beloved; and if this journey should perchance bring me hurt-if I should not return to thee therefrom-thou wilt not grieve over it too much. Thou wouldst not withhold me, Freda?"
She looked into his eyes. She knew that peril might menace her lover. It was as though he would, having once escaped, put his head again into the jaws of the lion. None could say, if he and the cardinal met, what might be the result to the impulsive but not always discreet Dalaber. It seemed as though some power from within urged him to make a confession, different from the one he had so recently signed. It seemed as though his conscience would not let him rest-as though he felt that he had been guilty of some act of treachery towards his Lord.
Freda understood. She would not hold him back, though her eyes filled with tears as he put the question.
"I will never withhold thee from what thou dost deem the right path to tread, my beloved," she answered. "I will trust thee in the hands of the all-loving Father, and pray that He may deliver thee out of all peril. Be not rash. That is all I ask. Be as Master Clarke-gentle, faithful, true, pure of heart and blameless of speech. I ask nothing more of thee. Be true unto thine own better self, and thou wilt be supported and upheld through all."
Arthur and his wife spoke much of the proposed journey.
"Wilt thou risk aught by it, my husband?" asked Magdalen, with a tender anxiety in voice and look.
"I risk but little-nothing, perhaps; and right glad am I to proffer this petition for our dear friend and teacher, Master Clarke. It may be we shall fail in what we seek to accomplish, and it may be that Anthony may fall once again under suspicion, and be cast into prison as a heretic. No man can forecast these things, and he will not seek to save himself this time.
"He has suffered already from tampering with his conscience. Perchance I overbore him too much. It is hard to know what a man in such straits should do. But I will seek to safeguard him all I can, and bring him safely back. And if we win our petition, and gain liberty for those three sick prisoners, it will be worth all the risk and labour we have undergone to gain it."
"Hast ever had speech with the cardinal before?" asked Magdalen, trembling a little at the thought.
"I have been in his company at times, but received nothing but a fleeting glance or a passing word of courtesy. I have watched him in converse with others many times. He hath a stately presence, and a great gift of speech. He can win hearts by the grace and kindliness of his address, or he can send men away quaking in fear by the flash of his eagle eye and the stern rebukes which fall from his lips. And none can know beforehand which will be his fashion of receiving a petition, and particularly such a petition as ours.
"In God's hands must we leave the issues. But at least for such a man as John Clarke it must surely be right to adventure somewhat. I will go with Anthony. Together, I trust, we shall succeed."
"And we at home will pray day and night for your success," answered the young wife, clinging to her husband, from whom she must make up her mind to part on an errand that might be fraught with peril; "and surely I think that God will hear and answer us, and give you grace and power to intercede."
So as soon after Easter as Anthony was fit for the saddle the two friends started off together on horseback for London, whilst the wife and the betrothed stood to watch them away, waving them a farewell, and hiding from their eyes the starting tears, which were only allowed to fall when the sisters were left alone together.
