Robin Tremayne Part 53

"Amen!" responded Mr Underhill. "Jack, may we sing the _Te Deum_ in thine house to-night, an't like thy squeamishness?"

"With a very good will, Ned," answered John. When supper was over, Mr Underhill (who, for all his weariness, seemed in no haste to be at home) drew up his chair to the fire, in the midst of the group, and said--

"Now, Tremayne,--your first sermon!"

Thus bidden, Robin began his story.

"When Mr Rose and I were parted, I was sent first to the Marshalsea.

Here I abode a full year, during the which I several times saw Austin Bernher. But afore I had been there a month, I was had up afore my Lord of London. So soon as he saw me, he put on a very big and ruffling air, and quoth he,--'Come hither, thou wicked heretic! what canst thou say for thyself?'--'Nothing, my Lord,' said I, 'save that though I be sinful, yet am I no heretic,'--'Ha! sayest thou so?' quoth my Lord. 'I will soon see whether thou be an heretic or no. Tell me, dost thou hold the very presence of Christ's body and blood to be in the sacrament of the altar?' To whom I--'My Lord, I do believe verily, as Christ hath said, that where two or three be gathered together in His name, there is He in the midst of them.'--'Ho, thou crafty varlet!' quoth he, 'wouldst turn the corner after that manner? By Saint Mary her kirtle, but it shall not serve thy turn. Tell me now, thou pestilent companion; when the priest layeth the bread and wine upon the altar, afore the consecration, what then is there?' Then said I,--'Bread and wine, my Lord.'--'Well said,' quoth he. 'And after the words of consecration be spoken, what then is there?'--'Bread and wine, my Lord,' I answered again.--'Ha!' saith he, 'I thought I could catch thee, thou lither [wicked, abandoned] heretic. Dost not then believe that after consecration done, there in the body and blood of Christ, verily and alone, nor any more the substance of bread and wine remaining?'--'My Lord,' said I, 'my sense doth a.s.sure me that the wine is yet wine, and the bread, bread; mine understanding doth a.s.sure me that the body of our Lord is a true natural human body, and cannot therefore be on an hundred altars at one and the same time; and I am therein confirmed of Saint Paul, which saith, that so oft as we do eat this _bread_, we do show forth the death of the Lord.'--'Ha, thou runagate!' he roareth out; 'wilt thou quote from Scripture in English? Hast thou no Latin? I have a whip that shall make thee speak Latin.'--'My Lord,' said I, 'I can quote from the Scripture in Latin, if that like your Lordship the better; and likewise in Greek, the which (being the tongue wherein they were written at the first) should be all the surer; but I, being an Englishman born (for the which I thank G.o.d), do more naturally read the Scripture in English.'--'I will not have thee to speak Greek!' crieth he. ''Tis the Devil that did invent Greek of late years, to beguile unwary men. And I do thee to wit that the Scripture was not writ in Greek, thou lying varlet! but in the holy tongue, Latin.'--'It would ill become me to gainsay your Lordship,' said I.--'I will have thee back,'

saith he, 'to the first matter. And I bid thee answer me without any cunning or evasion: Dost thou believe that our Lord's body was eaten of the blessed Apostles, or no?'--'My Lord,' I answered, 'with all reverence unto your Lordship's chair and office, seeing the Lord's body was crucified on the Friday, I do not believe, nor cannot, that it was eaten of the Apostles the even afore.' Then he arose up out of his seat, and gnashed his teeth, and railed on me with great abuse; crying, 'Ha, thou heretic! thou lither knave! (and worser words than these) I have thee! I have outwitted thee! Thou art fairly beat and put down.-- Have the heretic knave away, and keep him close.' And so I was carried back to the Marshalsea."

"Marry," said Mr Underhill, "but I think it was Edmund Bonner that was put down. I never knew what a witty fellow thou wert."

"Robin," said Isoult, "it should have aggrieved me sorely to be so unjustly handled. To hear him say that he had beat thee, when it was thou that hadst beat him! It should have gone mightily against the grain with me."

"The old story," answered Mr Rose. "'Is not that He whose high places and whose altars Hezekiah hath taken away?' Methinks that should rankle sore in Hezekiah's mind, and in the hearts of them that lovest him.

Bishop Bonner is somewhat coa.r.s.er and less subtle, yet 'tis the same thing in both cases."

"Well," said Robin, with a smile to those who had spoken, "after that I was not called up again. When at last I was brought out from the Marshalsea, I counted it would be surely either for an other examination or for burning. But, to my surprise, they set me on an horse, that was tied to the horse of one of the Sheriff's men, and I (with some twelve other prisoners likewise bound) was taken a long journey of many days.

I could see by the sun that we were going west; but whither I wist not, and the man to whom I was bound refused to tell me. At the last we entered into a great city, walled and moated. Here we were brought afore a priest, that demanded of each of us what was the cause of our sentence; to whom I answered, 'Sir, I have not yet been sentenced, but I believe the cause of my prison to be that I do put faith in Saint Paul's words, that when we do show forth the Lord's death in the Sacrament of His Supper, it is bread the which we do eat.' Whereat he smiled somewhat, but after scowled, and bade an officer have me thence. Of whom I was taken down _into_ a cell or little dungeon, and there set by myself. I asked of the officer where I was; and he laughed, and at first would not tell me. But after he said, 'Well, you are in Exeter, but say not unto any that I told it you.' In the prison at Exeter (where I was alone) I lay methinks over _two_ years. Ah!" pursued Robin, dropping his voice, "it was hard work lying there! Men had forgotten me, I thought; I began to marvel whether G.o.d had. I saw none but my gaoler, that brought me meat [then the generic term for food]

morning and evening, but scarce ever spake to me: and I fell at times to talking with myself, that I should not forget mine own tongue, nor be affrighted at the sound of mine own voice. At last, just as the warm days of Spring were coming, I was brought out, and again set on an horse. We went north this time; and one even, after pa.s.sing by certain monastical buildings, we stayed at the door of a stately palace. Here I was bidden to 'light, for that we should go no further. They carried me away through many lobbies, and down stairs, and at length we came unto a chamber where was a gaoler sitting, with his keys at his girdle. He and my guide spake together, and he then bare me unto a cell, wherein I was locked. I asked again where I was, but to no end beyond being bidden to hold my peace, and stricken on the head with his keys. Here I pa.s.sed not many days, ere one even the gaoler came unto me, and bade me to follow him. He led me down further stairs, and at the very bottom opened a heavy door. I could see nothing within. 'Go in,' said he, gruffly, 'and fall no further than you can help. You were best to slide down.' I marvelled whither I were going; but I took his avis.e.m.e.nt, and grasping the door-sill with mine hands, I slid down into the darkness.

At length my feet found firm ground, though I were a little bruised in the descent; but I lighted on no floor, but a point only--all the walls sloping away around me. 'Are you there?' growls the gaoler--but his voice sounded far above me. 'I am some whither,' said I, 'but I can find no floor.' He laughed a rough laugh, and saith 'You can find as much as there is. There is _little ease_ yonder.' And he shut to the door and left me. All at once it flashed on me where I was: and so terrible was the knowledge, that a cold sweat brake forth all over me.

I had heard of the horrible prison in the Bishop of Lincoln's Palace of Woburn, called Little Ease [Note 1], which tapered down to a point, wherein a man might neither stand, nor sit, nor lie. Somewhat like despair came over me. Were they about to leave me to lie here and die of hunger? I shouted, and my voice came back to me with a mocking echo.

I held my breath to listen, and I heard no sound. I was an outcast, a dead man out of mind; 'the earth with her bars was about me for ever.'

I had borne all easily (so to speak) save this. But now I covered my face with mine hands, and wept like a child."

"My poor Robin!" said Isoult. "Tell me when this was."

"It was at the beginning of the hot weather," he answered. "I fancy it might be about June. I thanked G.o.d heartily that it was not winter."

"Ay," said she, "thou wouldst have more light."

"Light!" he said, and smiled. "No light ever came into Little Ease. I never knew day from night all the while I was there. Once in three days my gaoler unlocked the door, and let down to me a rope, at the end whereof was a loaf of bread, and after a tin pitcher of water; and I had to fasten thereto the empty pitcher. Such thirst was on me that I commonly drank the water off, first thing."

"But how didst thou go to bed?" asked Walter.

Robin smiled, and told the child there was no bed to go to.

"And did the gaoler never forget thee?" Kate wished to know.

"Twice he did," answered Robin, "for a day. But that would not kill me, thou wist. I became very weak ere I came forth. But to continue:--I wept long and bitterly, but it gave me no comfort. I felt as if nothing ever would give me comfort again. The Devil was very near me. It was all folly, he whispered. I had hoped a vision, and had believed a lie.

G.o.d was dead, if there ever were any G.o.d; He never came into Little Ease. None would ever know where and what I was become. I should die here, and if fifty years hence my whitened bones were found, none would know whose they had been. Your dear faces rose around me, and I could have wept again, to think I should never see you any more. But the fountain of my tears was dried now. Mine heart seemed to be freezing into rock than which the walls of Little Ease were no harder. I sat or lay, call it what you will, thinking gloomily and drearily, until at last nature could bear no more, and I slept, even there."

"Well, Robin!" said Kate, "if thine heart were frozen, methinks it thawed again afore thou earnest hither."

"It did so, sweet heart," said he, smiling on her. "Even as I awoke, a text of Scripture darted into my memory, well-nigh as though one had spoken it to me. A strange text, you will say,--yet it was the one for me then:--'Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord his G.o.d out of the fish's belly.' Well, I was no worse off than Jonah. It seemed yet more unlike, his coming forth of that fish's belly, than did my coming forth of Little Ease. Methought I, so near in Jonah's case, would try Jonah's remedy. To have knelt I could not; no more, I fancy, could Jonah. But I could pray as well as he. That was the first gleam of inward light; and after that it grew. Ay--grew till I was no more alone, because G.o.d companied with me; till I was no more an hungred, because G.o.d fed me; till I thirsted no more, because G.o.d led me unto living fountains of waters; till I wept no more, because G.o.d wiped away all tears from mine eyes. Ere I came forth, I would not have changed Little Ease for the fairest chamber of the Queen's Palace, if thereby I had left Him behind.

It gained on me, till my will grew into G.o.d's will--till I was absolutely content to die or live, as He would; to be burned in Smithfield, or to come home and clasp you all to mine heart--as should be most to His glory. The heats of summer, I thought, must be come; but on the hottest summer day, there was but cold and damp in Little Ease.

The summer, methought, must be pa.s.sing; and then, it must be past. I had left hoping for change. I only thought how _very_ fair and sweet the House of the Father would be to me after this. So the hours rolled away, until one morrow, out of the wonted order, I heard the door unlocked. 'Are you there?' calls the gaoler in his gruff voice. 'Ay,'

said I. 'Feel about for a rope,' quoth he, 'and set the noose under your arms; you are to come forth.' Was this G.o.d calling to me? I did not think of the pains of death; I only remembered the after-joy of seeing Him. I found the rope, and the loop thereof, which I set under mine arms. 'Cry out when you are ready,' saith he. I cried, and he slung me up. Can I tell you what pain it was? The light--the sweet summer light of heaven--was become torture; and I could neither stand nor walk. 'Ha!' saith he, when he saw this, 'you have not grown stronger. How liked you Little Ease?'--'I like what G.o.d liketh for me,'

I made answer. He looked on me somewhat scornfully. 'Methinks you be but half rocked yet,' saith he. 'Maybe you shall come back. Matt!' At the shout an under-gaoler came forth of a door. 'Take thou this fellow by the arm,' saith he. 'We shall be like to bear him.' Himself took mine other arm, and so, more borne than walking, I reached the hall of the Palace. Here they took me into a little light chamber, suffered me to wash, and gave me clean garments, to my great ease. Then they sat me down at a table, and set before me a mess of sodden meat, with bread and drink, and bade me to eat well. I thought I was going afore the Bishop for sentence. But, to my surprise, they let me alone; locked me into the chamber, and there left me. This chamber had a barred window, looking out on the Palace court, in the midst whereof was a round of green gra.s.s. I cannot set in words the exquisite delight that window gave me. The green gra.s.s and the blue sky--I could never tire of them.

Here they fed me well three times in the day; and at night I lay on a mattress, which was softer to me then than I ever felt afore a bed of down. When at last I was strong enough to ride, I was set on an horse, and his bridle tied to the horse of the Sheriff's man. So we rade away from Woburn, twenty or more in company. This time I saw we went south.

At the last (I will not essay to tell you with what feelings), I knew we were nearing London. I wonder where were you, beloved, that even that I rade in at Aldgate? I looked longingly down the Minories, but I could see no familiar face."

"Why, Robin dear, what even was it?" said Isoult.

"How shall I tell thee, sweet mother, when I know not yet what even is this?" said he, and smiled. "It was fifteen weeks from to-day, saving three days."

"There is a sum!" said Mr Underhill. "Jack, whether can thou or I do it? Fifteen--two thirty-ones and a thirty--saving three--the 5th of October, I make it."

"I think so," a.s.sented John.

"October!" said Robin, still smiling. "I fancied it earlier. It is January, then, now? I thought we were not past Christmas. Well, through the City went we, and into Newgate, where, as afore, I was lodged alone."

"Newgate!" cried Mr Underhill. "And how doth mine old friend Alisaunder, and my most gentlest mistress his wife?"

"I saw not her," replied Robin; "but to judge from his face, I should say he doth rarely well. Here, then, in Newgate, I lay, marvelling that I was never sentenced and burned; but I knew nothing of the cause nor of what pa.s.sed, until this even all the doors were unlocked, and we prisoners all were bidden to go forth, whither we would, for Queen Elizabeth reigned, and this was her Coronation Day. How strange it was to be free!"

"I marvelled what thou wert suffering, Robin dear," said Isoult, "but we never thought of Little Ease. We took thee for dead."

"So I thought you would," said he. "And now that I am returned to men's life again, tell me, I pray you, what day is this--of the month and week?"

"'Tis the 15th of January," said she, "and Sunday."

"And the year," he resumed, pausing, "I suppose, is Fifteen Hundred and Fifty-Eight?" [By the old reckoning from Easter to Easter.]

"It is so, dear heart," answered Isoult.

"It seemeth me," said Robin, "a little picture of the resurrection."

"Come, friends!" cried Mr Underhill, springing up, "I must be going, and I will not be balked of my _Te Deum_. Jack, thou promisedst it me."

"So I did," answered he, smiling. "Strike up, and we will all follow."

He struck up the chant, in his fine deep voice, and all joined in. Then Mr Underhill took his leave, and went home; after which the rest sat a little while in silence. Mr Rose was the first to break it.

"Robin, hast thou still a purpose to receive orders?"

"More than ever!" cried Robin, eagerly. "I never could before have told the people one-half of what I can tell now. I knew that G.o.d was sufficient for some things, but now I see Him all-sufficient and for all. I knew He could lift man up to Him, like a mother learning a child day by day; but I scantly knew how He could come down to man, like the same mother bending her sense down to the stature of her child, entering into his difficulties, feeling his troubles, making her a child for him.

'I, even I, am He that comforteth you;' 'I will comfort you, and ye shall be comforted;' yea, 'as one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.'"

"I think thou art right," said Mr Rose, softly.

Again they sat in silence till the clock struck eight--the hour at which they commonly parted for the night. Before any one moved, Mr Rose called Thekla to him. When she obeyed, he took her hand, and laid it in Robin's.

"The Lord bless you, and keep you!" he said tenderly. "My son, thou hast been in sorrow, and G.o.d hath been with thee: see thou leave Him not out of thy joy. May Jesus, who was the chief guest at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, be with you also, and turn the water of earthly hope into the best wine of heavenly peace. We have asked Him to the match; Lord, make One at the marriage!"

There was no voice silent in the Amen.

And then, as if the very act of lifting up his heart to G.o.d had borne him above earth, and he had forgotten the thing that caused it, Mr Rose went on:--