CHAPTER SEVEN.
BEREAVEMENT, BUT NOT DEATH.
"Take from me anything Thou wilt, But go not _Thou_ away!"
Little Geoffrey slowly recovered from the illness which had brought himto death's door, and though able to run about the house, he was stillfar from perfect health, when Margery received orders to prepare foranother interview with Abbot Bilson. She rightly divined that thiswould be more stormy than the last. Abbot Bilson came now fullyprepared, and not alone. He was accompanied by Archbishop Arundel, aman of violent passions, and a bitter persecutor of all whom heconceived to lean to the opinions of Wycliffe. When Margery entered theroom, and saw the Archbishop, she trembled, as well she might. Shemeekly knelt and asked their blessing--the manner in which priests werecommonly greeted. The Abbot gave his, saying, "May God bless thee, andlead thee unto the truth!"
"Amen!" responded Margery. Arundel, however, refused his benedictionuntil he had inquired into the matter.
"Be seated, my daughter!" said the Abbot. Margery obeyed.
"Holy Church, daughter, hath been sore aggrieved by thine evil doing.She demandeth of thee an instant yielding of yon heretical andpernicious book, the which hath led thee astray; and a renunciation ofthy heresy; the which done, thou shalt receive apostolic absolution andbenediction."
"I know not, reverend father, what ye clepe [call] heresy. Wherein haveI sinned?"
"In the reading of yon book, and in thy seldom confession. Moreover, Itrow thou holdest with the way of John Wycliffe, yon evil reprobate!"replied the Archbishop.
"I cry you mercy, reverend fathers. I take my belief from no man. Icrede [believe] the words of Christ as I find the same written, andconcern not myself with Master Wycliffe or any other. I know not anyLollards, neither have I allied myself unto them."
The Archbishop and the Abbot both looked at Lord Marnell--a mute inquiryas to whether Margery spoke the truth.
"I ween it is so, reverend fathers," said he. "I wis nought of my wifeher manner of living ere I wedded her, but soothly sithence [since] shecame hither, I know of a surety that she hath never companied with anysuch evil persons as be these Lollards."
"Hold you _not_ with the way of Wycliffe, daughter?" inquired the Abbot.
"I wis not, reverend father," answered she, "for of a truth I know notwherein it lieth. I hold that which I find in the book; and I trow an'I keep close by the words of Christ, I cannot stray far from truth."
"The words in yon book be no words of Christ!" said Arundel. "That evilone Wycliffe, being taught of the devil, hath rendered the holy words ofthe Latin into pernicious heresy in English."
"I pray you then, father, will you give me the book in Latin, for I wisa little the Latin tongue, and moreover I can learn of one that hath thetongues to wit better the same."
This was not by any means what Arundel intended, and it raised hisanger.
"I will not give thee the Latin!" exclaimed he. "I forbid thee to reador learn the same, for I well know thou wouldst wrest it to thine evilpurposes."
"How can you put a right meaning to the words, my daughter?" mildlysuggested the Abbot.
"I know well that I could in no wise do the same," replied Margery,humbly, "had I not read the promise of Christ Jesu that He would sendunto His own `_thilk Spyryt of treuthe_,' who should `_teche them altreuthe_,' [John xvi. 13] wherefore by His good help I trust I shallread aright."
"That promise was given, daughter, unto the holy apostles."
"It was given, reverend father, unto weak men and evil, else Peter hadnever denied his Master, ne [neither] had all of them left Him and takento flight, when the servants of the bishops [see Note 1] laid hold onHim. I wis that I have an evil heart like as they had, but meseemeththat mine is not worser than were theirs, wherefore I count that promisemade unto myself also."
"Thou art lacking in meekness, Madge," said Lord Marnell.
"I trust not so, good my Lord; but an' if I be, I pray God to give it tome."
"Give up the book, Madge!" said her husband, apparently desirous toallay the storm which he had raised, "and thou shalt then receiveabsolution, and all will go well."
"I will give up the book, my Lord, in obedience to you," repliedMargery, "for I wis well that wives be bounden to obey their husbands;and soothly it is no great matter, for I know every word therein. Butunder your good leave, my Lord, the truth which this book hath taughtme, neither you nor any other man shall have power to take from me, forit is of God, and not of men!"
She drew the book from her pocket--ladies wore much larger pockets inthose days than they now do--kissed it, and handed it to her husband.
"Thou hast well done, Madge!" said Lord Marnell, more kindly thanbefore, as he passed the book to the Archbishop. Arundel, with amuttered curse upon all evil teaching, took the book from Lord Marnellwith his hand folded in the corner of his gown, as if he thought itsvery touch would communicate pollution, and flung it into the fire. Thefire was a large one, and in a minute the volume was consumed. Margerywatched the destruction of her treasure with swimming eyes.
"Burn, poor book!" she said, falteringly, "and as thy smoke goeth up toGod, leave it tell Him that the reading and the loving of His Word isaccounted a sin by those who ought to be His pastors."
"Woman, wilt not hear the truth?" cried Arundel.
"Truly, father, I have heard it, and it shall rest with me unto my dyingday. But I trow that if your teaching were truth, ye had never burnedwith fire the Word of Christ, who hath power, if ye repent not, toconsume you also with the like!"
"Told I not thee that the evil book which I gave to the fire was notChrist His Word, but the work of the devil?"
"Yea, truly; and the like said the heathen Jews, `_Wher we seyen not welthat thou art a Samaritan, and hast a deuel_?' But I find not thattheir saying the same made it ever the truer. What saith Christ inanswer? `_I haue not a deuel; but I honoure my Fadir, and ye hanunhonourid me_.'" [John viii. 48, 49.]
"My daughter," said the Abbot, with even more than his usual gentleness,"I misdoubt greatly that you be obstinate in your error. And if this beso, we shall have necessity of deeds the which we should sore lament.You wit, doubtless, that in case you continue thus obstinate, you willbe had up afore the King's Grace's Council?"
"I am ready," answered Margery.
"You wit also," pursued the Abbot, no less gently, "that you may besentenced unto close prison for such time as pleaseth the King's Grace?"
"I am ready," said Margery again.
Her examiners looked surprised.
"Moreover," continued the Abbot, in a softer tone than ever, "wit youthat we can allow you no longer to have the charge and teaching of yourson, who must needs be instructed in the true faith?"
The end of the reverend fathers was at length reached. The quiet wordsof the Abbot produced an effect which the furious abuse of theArchbishop had been unable to accomplish. A cry of mingled terror,anguish, and despair, broke from poor Margery's lips.
"Ye could not--ye could not be so cruel!" she sobbed. "Take from me allI have in this world--comfort, freedom, yea, life--only leave me mychild!"
"Thou seest what thou hast brought on thyself!" said Arundel. "How canwe, being the ministers of God His truth, suffer the mind of yoninnocent child to be poisoned with like evil doctrine?"
"Doth God part the child from the mother?" faltered Margery. "This isnone of His doing. My darling! my darling!"
Lord Marnell pitied his wife. Her agony touched all that was soft andgentle in his not too soft heart.
"Well, well, Madge!" he said, kindly; "I will see that thy child is nottaken from thee, if thou wilt obey these reverend fathers in confessingof thine error, and wilt humbly beg absolution at their hands."
Margery looked up at her husband with an expression of unutterablegratitude beaming in her eyes--but the moment she heard his if, her facefell instantly.
"I conceive you, good my Lord," she said, mournfully, "howsoever I thankyou. You will give
me back my darling, if I will deny that I holdChrist His truth. I cannot. I dare not!"
"`Christ His truth,' persist you in calling your heresy!" cried Arundel,in a fury. "Choose, then, quickly, for the last time, betwixt `ChristHis truth' and your child!"
She shivered from head to foot as if an ague-fit were on her, and hersobs almost mounted to a scream. No heart that had any pretension tohumanity could have helped pitying her. Her husband did pity her; butArundel was carried away by passion, and Bilson had no heart. Throughall this tempest, however agonised, firm and unwavering came theanswer--
"Christ!"
Arundel, rising, ordered her to kneel. Margery knelt down on thehearth, her hands clasped on her breast, and her eyes looking up toheaven. Solemnly, and with all that terrific majesty which the Churchof Rome so well knows how to put into her threats and denunciations, theArchbishop cited her to appear before the council on the 17th day of thefollowing September. In the meantime she was to be confined in one ofthe State dungeons. Arundel graciously added that he would give her theremainder of that day to make her preparations. Lord Marnell hereinterposed, and begged the Archbishop to reconsider his decision. Hehad anticipated Margery's examination by the council, and possibly herbeing sentenced to a term of imprisonment, but he had not bargained forthis previous incarceration. Arundel bluntly refused to alter hissentence.
Margery raised her tearful eyes to Lord Marnell. "My Lord," she said,"and you, reverend fathers, I have one small thing to ask of you. Ipray you deny me not."
"What is it, Madge?" asked Lord Marnell.
"My good Lord," she said, pleadingly, "suffer me to take one last kissof my child, ere ye take me where I shall see him no more!"
The Abbot seemed disposed to grant Margery's petition, though theArchbishop demurred; but Lord Marnell settled the matter byauthoritatively commanding that the mother should be permitted to takeleave of her child. Arundel, with rather a bad grace, gave way on thissecondary point. Margery was then dismissed.
She went up-stairs as if she were walking in a dream, and found Alicehiding behind the door for the amusement of little Geoffrey, who was inhigh glee. Margery stood a moment on the threshold, looking at them,and mournfully thinking that it was the last time she would ever look onthat sunny little face, or hear that silvery laugh. As she stood there,Alice caught sight of her mistress, and her share of the mirth ceasedinstantly.
"My Lady! my Lady! what have you, I pray you tell me? You look as ifsentence of death had been passed on you!"
Margery passed her hand dreamily across her brow.
"Sentence, good Alice, of the evil which is in death!" she said, softly,"and henceforth death must needs be a glad thing. But that is to comeyet."
She sat down, and took the child on her knee, and he nestled his littlegolden head into her bosom. For a few minutes she rocked herself andhim to and fro in silence, but at length her voice came, and though ittrembled a little, it was almost as quiet and silvery as usual.
"Geoffrey, dost love me?"
"Yes, mother, very much."
"Poor child! how wilt do without me!"
"Go you hence, mother?"
"Yes, my child, I go hence. Geoffrey, wilt mind ever what I now sayunto thee? Wilt never, never forget it, but ever keep it fresh andshene, and think thereof whenever thou dost think of me?"
"Yes, mother, I shan't forget."
"Alice, thou wilt help him to remember, good lass, if thou be not takenfrom him."
"That will I, good my Lady," said Alice, sobbing, and only comprehendingthat something painful had happened.
"Geoffrey, darling, thou wilt be a good child to thy father?"
"I'll try, mother, but--he frighteth me."
Margery sighed heavily.
"List me now, my heart. Dost remember what I told thee about JesusChrist?"
Geoffrey answered that he did.
"Right, my heart. And lovest Jesus Christ, who died for thee?"
"Yes, mother, I love Him and you."
The child's innocent answer nearly upset Margery's half-assumedcalmness. She rocked him a minute longer in silence. "Remember, mineown sweet heart, ever that nothing but Jesus can save thee. Thou canstnot save thyself. Beg of Him with all thine heart that He will savethee, and love Him all thy life long, even unto _the end_."
She ceased an instant.
"Now, sweet heart, kiss me. Give me a brave kiss, mine own--it is thelast. Never shall we kiss again till we kiss in the Happy City!Fare-thee-well, dearly beloved! God have thee in His holy keeping! Godteach thee what I cannot--what I by reason of mine ignorance know not,or what thou by reason of thy tender years canst not yet conceive. Godforgive thee thy sins, and help thee in all trouble and woe, and bringthee to that blessed home where I shall see thee again, and where theysin not, nor grieve, neither part any more!"
Margery gently detached herself from the child's embrace, and set himdown. She desired Alice to take him away, and then to return and assisther in matters respecting which she would tell her particulars when sheshould have removed the child. She stood looking after the boy as Aliceled him away, and he turned his head to say, "God be wi' ye!" [See Note2].
"Never again! never again!" said Margery to herself in a half-whisper."The worst part of death is over! I have nothing left now but Christ."
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Note 1. Wycliffe always renders "Bisschopis" the word translated "chiefpriests" in the authorised version.
Note 2. The farewell phrase which has in modern times been shortenedinto "good-bye."