The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages

  CHAPTER LXXVI

  The Cloister

  THE new pope favoured the Dominican order. The convent received amessage from the Vatican, requiring a capable friar to teach at theuniversity of Basle. Now Clement was the very monk for this: well versedin languages, and in his worldly days had attended the lectures ofGuarini the younger. His visit to England was therefore postponed,though not resigned; and meantime he was sent to Basle: but not beingwanted there for three months, he was to preach on the road.

  He passed out of the northern gate with his eyes lowered, and the wholeman wrapped in pious contemplation.

  Oh, if we could paint a mind and its story, what a walking fresco wasthis bare-footed friar!

  Hopeful, happy love, bereavement, despair, impiety, vice, suicide,remorse, religious despondency, penitence, death to the world,resignation.

  And all in twelve short months.

  And now the traveller was on foot again. But all was changed: noperilous adventures now. The very thieves and robbers bowed to theground before him, and, instead of robbing him, forced stolen money onhim, and begged his prayers.

  This journey therefore furnished few picturesque incidents. I have,however, some readers to think of, who care little for melodrama, andexpect a quiet peep at what passes inside a man. To such students thingsundramatic are often vocal, denoting the progress of a mind.

  The first Sunday of Clement's journey was marked by this. He prayed forthe soul of Margaret. He had never done so before. Not that her eternalwelfare was not dearer to him than anything on earth. It was hishumility. The terrible impieties that burst from him on the news of herdeath horrified my well-disposed readers; but not as on reflection theyhorrified him who had uttered them. For a long time during his novitiatehe was oppressed with religious despair. He thought he must havecommitted that sin against the Holy Spirit which dooms the soul forever. By degrees that dark cloud cleared away, Anselmo juvante: but deepself-abasement remained. He felt his own salvation insecure, andmoreover thought it would be mocking Heaven, should he, the deeplystained, pray for a soul so innocent, comparatively, as Margaret's. Sohe used to coax good Anselm and another kindly monk to pray for her.They did not refuse, nor do it by halves. In general the good old monks(and there were good, bad, and indifferent, in every convent) had a pureand tender affection for their younger brethren, which, in truth, wasnot of this world.

  Clement then, having preached on Sunday morning in a small Italian town,and being mightily carried onward, was greatly encouraged; and that daya balmy sense of God's forgiveness and love descended on him. And heprayed for the welfare of Margaret's soul. And from that hour thisbecame his daily habit, and the one purified tie, that by memoryconnected his heart with earth.

  For his family were to him as if they had never been.

  The Church would not share with earth. Nor could even the Church curethe great love without annihilating the smaller ones.

  During most of this journey Clement rarely felt any spring of lifewithin him, but when he was in the pulpit. The other exceptions were,when he happened to relieve some fellow-creature.

  A young man was tarantula bitten, or perhaps, like many more, fanciedit. Fancy or reality, he had been for two days without sleep, and inmost extraordinary convulsions, leaping, twisting, and beating thewalls. The village musicians had only excited him worse with theirmusic. Exhaustion and death followed the disease, when it gained such ahead. Clement passed by and learned what was the matter. He sent for apsaltery, and tried the patient with soothing melodies; but, if theother tunes maddened him, Clement's seem to crush him. He groaned andmoaned under them, and grovelled on the floor. At last the friarobserved that at intervals his lips kept going. He applied his ear, andfound the patient was whispering a tune; and a very singular one, thathad no existence. He learned this tune, and played it. The patient'sface brightened amazingly. He marched about the room on the lightfantastic toe enjoying it; and when Clement's fingers ached nearly offwith playing it, he had the satisfaction of seeing the young man sinkcomplacently to sleep to this lullaby, the strange creation of his ownmind; for it seems he was no musician, and never composed a tune beforeor after. This sleep saved his life. And Clement, after teaching thetune to another, in case it should be wanted again, went forward withhis heart a little warmer. On another occasion he found a mob haling adecently-dressed man along, who struggled and vociferated, but in astrange language. This person had walked into their town erect andsprightly, waving a mulberry branch over his head. Thereupon the nativesfirst gazed stupidly, not believing their eyes, then pounced on him anddragged him before the podesta.

  Clement went with them: but on the way drew quietly near the prisonerand spoke to him in Italian; no answer. In French; German; Dutch; noassets. Then the man tried Clement in tolerable Latin, but with asharpish accent. He said he was an Englishman, and, oppressed with theheat of Italy, had taken a bough off the nearest tree, to save his head."In my country anybody is welcome to what grows on the highway. Confoundthe fools; I am ready to pay for it. But here is all Italy up in armsabout a twig and a handful of leaves."

  The pig-headed podesta would have sent the dogged islander to prison:but Clement mediated, and with some difficulty made the prisonercomprehend that silkworms, and by consequence mulberry leaves, weresacred, being under the wing of the Sovereign, and his source of income;and urged on the podesta that ignorance of his mulberry laws was naturalin a distant country, where the very tree perhaps was unknown. Theopinionative islander turned the still vibrating scale by pulling out along purse and repeating his original theory, that the whole questionwas mercantile. "Quid damni?" said he. "Dic; et cito solvam." Thepodesta snuffed the gold: fined him a ducat for the duke; about thevalue of the whole tree: and pouched the coin.

  The Englishman shook off his ire the moment he was liberated, andlaughed heartily at the whole thing: but was very grateful to Clement.

  "You are too good for this hole of a country, father," said he. "Come toEngland! That is the only place in the world. I was an uneasy fool toleave it, and wander among mulberries and their idiots. I am a Kentishsquire, and educated at Cambridge University. My name it is Rolfe, myplace Betshanger. The man and the house are both at your service. Comeover and stay till domesday. We sit down forty to dinner every day atBetshanger. One more or one less at the board will not be seen. Youshall end your days with me and my heirs if you will. Come now! What anEnglishman says he means." And he gave him a great hearty grip of thehand to confirm it.

  "I will visit thee some day, my son," said Clement: "but not to wearythy hospitality."

  The Englishman then begged Clement to shrive him. "I know not what willbecome of my soul," said he. "I live like a heathen since I leftEngland."

  Clement consented gladly, and soon the islander was on his knees to himby the road-side, confessing the last month's sins.

  Finding him so pious a son of the Church, Clement let him know he wasreally coming to England. He then asked him whether it was true thatcountry was overrun with Lollards and Wickliffites.

  The other coloured up a little. "There be black sheep in every land,"said he. Then after some reflection he said, gravely, "Holy father, hearthe truth about these heretics. None are better disposed towards holyChurch than we English. But we are ourselves, and by ourselves. We loveour own ways, and, above all, our own tongue. The Norman could conquerour billhooks, but not our tongues; and hard they tried it for many along year by law and proclamation. Our good foreign priests utter God toplain English folk in Latin, or in some French or Italian lingo, likethe bleating of a sheep. Then come the fox Wickliff and his crew, andread him out of his own book in plain English, that all men's heartswarm to. Who can withstand this? God forgive me, I believe the Englishwould turn deaf ears to St. Peter himself, spoke he not to them in thetongue their mothers sowed in their ears and their hearts along withmothers' kisses." He added hastily, "I say not this for myself; I amCambridge bred; and good words come not amiss to me in Latin; but forthe people in general
. Clavis ad corda Anglorum est lingua materna."

  "My son," said Clement, "blessed be the hour I met thee; for thy wordsare sober and wise. But, alas! how shall I learn your English tongue? Nobook have I."

  "I would give you my book of hours, father. 'Tis in English and Latin,cheek by jowl. But, then, what would become of my poor soul, wanting my'hours' in a strange land? Stay, you are a holy man, and I am an honestone; let us make a bargain; you to pray for me every day for two months,and I to give you my book of hours. Here it is. What say you to that?"And his eyes sparkled, and he was all on fire with mercantility.

  Clement smiled gently at this trait: and quietly detached a MS. from hisgirdle, and showed him that it was in Latin and Italian.

  "See, my son," said he, "Heaven hath foreseen our several needs, andgiven us the means to satisfy them: let us change books; and, my dearson, I will give thee my poor prayers and welcome, not sell them thee. Ilove not religious bargains."

  The islander was delighted. "So shall I learn the Italian tongue withoutrisk to my eternal weal. Near is my purse, but nearer is my soul."

  He forced money on Clement. In vain the friar told him it was contraryto his vow to carry more of that than was barely necessary.

  "Lay it out for the good of the Church and of my soul," said theislander. "I ask you not to keep it, but take it you must and shall."And he grasped Clement's hand warmly again: and Clement kissed him onthe brow, and blessed him, and they went each his way.

  About a mile from where they parted, Clement found two tired wayfarerslying in the deep shade of a great chestnut-tree, one of a thick grovethe road skirted. Near the men was a little cart, and in it aprinting-press, rude and clumsy as a vine-press. A jaded mule washarnessed to the cart.

  And so Clement stood face to face with his old enemy.

  And as he eyed it, and the honest, blue-eyed faces of the weariedcraftsmen, he looked back as on a dream at the bitterness he had oncefelt towards this machine. He looked kindly down on them, and said,softly,

  "Sweynheim!"

  The men started to their feet.

  "Pannartz!"

  They scuttled into the wood, and were seen no more.

  Clement was amazed, and stood puzzling himself.

  Presently a face peeped from behind a tree.

  Clement addressed it. "What fear ye?"

  A quavering voice replied, "Say, rather, by what magic you, a stranger,can call us by our names! I never clapt eyes on you till now."

  "O superstition! I know ye, as all good workmen are known--by yourworks. Come hither and I will tell ye."

  They advanced gingerly from different sides; each regulating his advanceby the other's.

  "My children," said Clement, "I saw a Lactantius in Rome, printed bySweynheim and Pannartz, disciples of Fust."

  "D'ye hear that, Pannartz? our work has gotten to Rome already."

  "By your blue eyes and flaxen hair I wist ye were Germans: and theprinting-press spoke for itself. Who then should ye be but Fust'sdisciples, Pannartz and Sweynheim?"

  The honest Germans were now astonished that they had suspected magic inso simple a matter.

  "The good father hath his wits about him, that is all," said Pannartz.

  "Ay," said Sweynheim, "and with those wits would he could tell us how toget this tired beast to the next town."

  "Yea," said Sweynheim, "and where to find money to pay for his meat andours when we get there."

  "I will try," said Clement. "Free the mule of the cart, and of allharness but the bare halter."

  This was done, and the animal immediately lay down and rolled on hisback in the dust like a kitten. Whilst he was thus employed, Clementassured them he would rise up a new mule. "His Creator hath taught himthis art to refresh himself, which the nobler horse knoweth not. Now,with regard to money, know that a worthy Englishman hath intrusted mewith a certain sum to bestow in charity. To whom can I better give astranger's money than to strangers? Take it, then, and be kind to someEnglishman or other stranger in his need; and may all nations learn tolove one another one day."

  The tears stood in the honest workmen's eyes. They took the money withheartfelt thanks.

  "It is your nation we are bound to thank and bless, good Father, if webut knew it."

  "My nation is the Church."

  Clement was then for bidding them farewell, but the honest fellowsimplored him to wait a little; they had no silver nor gold, but they hadsomething they could give their benefactor. They took the press out ofthe cart, and, while Clement fed the mule, they bustled about, now onthe white hot road, now in the deep cool shade, now half in and halfout, and presently printed a quarto sheet of eight pages, which wasalready set up. They had not type enough to print two sheets at a time.When, after the slower preliminaries, the printed sheet was pulled allin a moment, Clement was amazed in turn.

  "What are all these words really fast upon the paper?" said he. "Is itverily certain they will not go as swiftly as they came? And _you_ took_me_ for a magician! 'Tis 'Augustine de civitate Dei.' My sons, youcarry here the very wings of knowledge. Oh, never abuse this greatcraft! Print no ill books! They would fly abroad countless as locusts,and lay waste men's souls."

  The workmen said they would sooner put their hands under the screw thanso abuse their goodly craft.

  And so they parted.

  There is nothing but meeting and parting in this world.

  At a town in Tuscany the holy friar had a sudden and strange rencontrewith the past. He fell in with one of those motley assemblages ofpatricians and plebeians, piety and profligacy, "a company of pilgrims";a subject too well painted by others for me to go and daub.

  They were in an immense barn belonging to the inn. Clement, dusty andwearied, and no lover of idle gossip, sat in a corner studying theEnglishman's hours, and making them out as much by his own Dutch as bythe Latin version.

  Presently a servant brought a bucket half full of water, and put it downat his feet. A female servant followed with two towels. And then a womancame forward, and, crossing herself, kneeled down without a word at thebucket-side, removed her sleeves entirely, and motioned to him to puthis feet into the water. It was some lady of rank doing penance. Shewore a mask scarce an inch broad, but effectual. Moreover, she handledthe friar's feet more delicately than those do who are born to suchoffices.

  These penances were not uncommon; and Clement, though he had littlefaith in this form of contrition, received the services of the incognitaas a matter of course. But presently she sighed deeply, and, with herheartfelt sigh and her head bent low over her menial office, she seemedso bowed with penitence, that he pitied her and said, calmly but gently,"Can I aught for your soul's weal, my daughter?"

  She shook her head with a faint sob. "Nought, holy father, nought: onlyto hear the sin of her who is most unworthy to touch thy holy feet. 'Tispart of my penance to tell sinless men how vile I am."

  "Speak, my daughter."

  "Father," said the lady, bending lower and lower, "these hands of minelook white, but they are stained with blood,--the blood of the man Iloved. Alas! you withdraw your foot. Ah me! What shall I do? All holythings shrink from me."

  "Culpa mea! culpa mea!" said Clement eagerly. "My daughter, it was anunworthy movement of earthly weakness, for which _I_ shall do penance.Judge not the Church by her feebler servants. Not her foot, but herbosom, is offered to thee, repenting truly. Take courage, then, andpurge thy conscience of his load."

  On this the lady, in a trembling whisper, and hurriedly, and cringing alittle, as if she feared the Church would strike her bodily for what shehad done, made this confession.

  "He was a stranger, and base-born, but beautiful as Spring, and wisebeyond his years. I loved him. I had not the prudence to conceal mylove. Nobles courted me. I ne'er thought one of humble birth couldreject me. I showed him my heart; oh, shame of my sex! He drew back; yethe admired me: but innocently. He loved another: and he was constant. Iresorted to a woman's wiles. They availed not. I borrowed the wickednessof
men, and threatened his life, and to tell his true lover he diedfalse to her. Ah! you shrink; your foot trembles. Am I not a monster?Then he wept and prayed to me for mercy; then my good angel helped me; Ibade him leave Rome. Gerard, Gerard, why did you not obey me? I thoughthe was gone. But two months after this I met him. Never shall I forgetit. I was descending the Tiber in my galley, when he came up it with agay company, and at his side a woman beautiful as an angel, but bold andbad. That woman claimed me aloud for her rival. Traitor and hypocrite,he had exposed me to her, and to all the loose tongues in Rome. Interror and revenge I hired--a bravo. When he was gone on his bloodyerrand, I wavered too late. The dagger I had hired struck. He never cameback to his lodgings. He was dead. Alas! perhaps he was not so much toblame: none have ever cast his name in my teeth. His poor body is notfound: or I should kiss its wounds; and slay myself upon it. All aroundhis very name seems silent as the grave, to which this murderous handhas sent him." (Clement's eyes were drawn by her movement. He recognizedher shapely arm, and soft white hand.) "And oh! he was so young to die.A poor thoughtless boy, that had fallen a victim to that bad woman'sarts, and she had made him tell her everything. Monster of cruelty, whatpenance can avail me? Oh, holy father, what shall I do?"

  Clement's lips moved in prayer, but he was silent. He could not see hisduty clear.

  Then she took his feet and began to dry them. She rested his foot uponher soft arm, and pressed it with the towel so gently she seemedincapable of hurting a fly. Yet her lips had just told another story,and a true one.

  While Clement was still praying for wisdom, a tear fell upon his foot.It decided him. "My daughter," said he, "I myself have been a greatsinner."

  "You, father?"

  "I; quite as great a sinner as thou; though not in the same way. Thedevil has gins and snares, as well as traps. But penitence softened myimpious heart, and then gratitude remoulded it. Therefore, seeing youpenitent, I hope you can be grateful to Him, who has been more mercifulto you than you have to your fellow-creature. Daughter, the Church sendsyou comfort."

  "Comfort to me? ah! never! unless it can raise my victim from the dead."

  "Take this crucifix in thy hand, fix thine eyes on it, and listen tome," was all the reply.

  "Yes, father; but let me thoroughly dry your feet first: 'tis illsitting in wet feet: and you are the holiest man of all whose feet Ihave washed. I know it by your voice."

  "Woman, I am not. As for my feet, they can wait their turn. Obey thoume!"

  "Yes, father," said the lady, humbly. But with a woman's evasivepertinacity she wreathed one towel swiftly round the foot she wasdrying, and placed his other foot on the dry napkin; then obeyed hiscommand.

  And, as she bowed over the crucifix, the low, solemn, tones of the friarfell upon her ear, and his words soon made her whole body quiver withvarious emotions, in quick succession.

  "My daughter, he you murdered--in intent--was one Gerard, a Hollander.He loved a creature, as man should love none but their Redeemer and hisChurch. Heaven chastised him. A letter came to Rome. She was dead."

  "Poor Gerard! Poor Margaret!" moaned the penitent.

  Clement's voice faltered at this a moment. But soon, by a strong effort,he recovered all his calmness.

  "His feeble nature yielded, body and soul, to the blow. He was strickendown with fever. He revived only to rebel against Heaven. He said 'Thereis no God.'"

  "Poor, poor, Gerard!"

  "Poor Gerard? thou feeble, foolish woman! Nay, wicked, impious Gerard.He plunged into vice, and soiled his eternal jewel: those you met himwith were his daily companions: but know, rash creature, that theseeming woman you took to be his leman was but a boy, dressed in woman'shabits to flout the others, a fair boy called Andrea. What that Andreasaid to thee I know not; but be sure neither he, _nor any layman_, knowsthy folly. This Gerard, rebel against Heaven, was no traitor to thee,unworthy."

  The lady moaned like one in bodily agony, and the crucifix began totremble in her trembling hands.

  "Courage!" said Clement. "Comfort is at hand.

  "From crime he fell into despair, and, bent on destroying his soul, hestood one night by Tiber, resolved on suicide. He saw one watching him.It was a bravo."

  "Holy saints!"

  "He begged the bravo to despatch him; he offered him all his money, toslay him body and soul. The bravo would not. Then this desperatesinner, not softened even by that refusal, flung himself into Tiber."

  "Ah!"

  "And the assassin saved his life. Thou hadst chosen for the taskLodovico, husband of Teresa, whom this Gerard had saved at sea, her andher infant child."

  "He lives! he lives! he lives! I am faint."

  The friar took the crucifix from her hands, fearing it might fall. Ashower of tears relieved her. The friar gave her time; then continued,calmly. "Ay, he lives; thanks to thee and thy wickedness, guided to hiseternal good by an almighty and all-merciful hand. Thou art his greatestearthly benefactor."

  "Where is he? where? where?"

  "What is that to thee?"

  "Only to see him alive. To beg him on my knees forgive me. I swear toyou I will never presume again to--How could I? He knows all. Oh, shame!Father, _does_ he know?"

  "All."

  "Then never will I meet his eye; I should sink into the earth. But Iwould repair my crime. I would watch his life unseen. He shall rise inthe world, whence I so nearly thrust him, poor soul; the Caesare, myfamily, are all-powerful in Rome; and I am near their head."

  "My daughter," said Clement, coldly, "he you call Gerard needs nothingman can do for him. Saved by a miracle from double death, he has leftthe world, and taken refuge from sin and folly in the bosom of theChurch."

  "A priest?"

  "A priest, and a friar."

  "A friar? Then you are not his confessor? Yet you know all. That gentlevoice!"

  She raised her head slowly, and peered at him through her mask.

  The next moment she uttered a faint shriek, and lay with her brow uponhis bare feet.