CHAPTER XII
A STRIFE OF TONGUES
Anthony now settled down rather drearily to the study of religiouscontroversy. The continual contrasts that seemed forced upon him by therival systems of England and Rome (so far as England might be said tohave a coherent system at this time), all tended to show him that therewere these two sharply-divided schemes, each claiming to representChrist's Institution, and each exclusive of the other. Was it of Christ'sinstitution that His Church should be a department of the National Life;and that the civil prince should be its final arbiter and ruler, howeverlittle he might interfere in its ordinary administration? This wasElizabeth's idea. Or was the Church, as Mr. Buxton had explained it, ahuge unnational Society, dependent, it must of course be, to some extenton local circumstances, but essentially unrestricted by limit ofnationality or of racial tendencies? This was the claim of Rome. Ofcourse an immense number of other arguments circled round this--in fact,most of the arguments that are familiar to controversialists at thepresent day; but the centre of all, to Anthony's mind, as indeed it wasto the mind of the civil and religious authorities of the time, was thequestion of supremacy--Elizabeth or Gregory?
He read a certain number of books; and it will be remembered that he hadfollowed, with a good deal of intelligence, Campion's arguments. Anthonywas no theologian, and therefore missed perhaps the deep, subtlearguments; but he had a normal mind, and was able to appreciate andremember some salient points.
For example, he was impressed greatly by the negative character ofProtestantism in such books as Nicholl's "Pilgrimage." In this work a manwas held up as a type to be imitated whose whole religion to allappearances consisted of holding the Pope to be Antichrist, and hisChurch the synagogue of Satan, of disliking the doctrines of merit and ofjustification by works, of denying the Real Presence, and of holdingnothing but what could be proved to his own satisfaction by theScriptures.
Then he read as much as he could of the great Jewell controversy. ThisBishop of Salisbury, who had, however, recanted his Protestant opinionsunder Mary, and resumed them under Elizabeth, had published in 1562 his"Apology of the Church of England," a work of vast research and learning.Mr. Harding, who had also had the advantage of having been on both sides,had answered it; and then the battle was arrayed. It was of course mostlyabove Anthony's head; but he gained from what he was able to read of it avery fair estimate of the conflicting theses, though he probably couldnot have stated them intelligibly. He also made acquaintance with anotherwriter against Jewell,--Rastall; and with one or two of Mr. Willet'sbooks, the author of "Synopsis Papismi" and "Tretrastylon Papisticum."
Even more than by paper controversy, however, he was influenced byhistory that was so rapidly forming before his eyes. The fact and thesignificance of the supremacy of the Queen in religion was impressed uponhim more vividly by her suspension of Grindal than by all the books heever read: here was the first ecclesiastic of the realm, a devout, humbleand earnest man, restrained from exercising his great qualities as rulerand shepherd of his people, by a woman whose religious charactercertainly commanded no one's respect, even if her moral life were freefrom scandal; and that, not because the Archbishop had been guilty of anycrime or heresy, or was obviously unfitted for his post, but because hisconscientious judgment on a point of Church discipline and libertydiffered from hers; and this state of things was made possible not by anusurpation of power, but by the deliberately ordered system of the Churchof England. Anthony had at least sufficient penetration to see that this,as a fundamental principle of religion, however obscured it might be bysubsequent developments, was yet fraught with dangers compared with whichthose of papal interference were comparatively trifling--dangers that is,not so much to earthly peace and prosperity, as to the whole spiritualnature of the nation's Christianity.
Yet another argument had begun to suggest itself, bearing upon the samepoint, of the relative advantages and dangers of Nationalism. When he hadfirst entered the Archbishop's service he had been inspired by thethought that the Church would share in the rising splendour of England;now he began to wonder whether she could have strength to resist therising worldliness that was bound to accompany it. It is scarcely likelythat men on fire with success, whether military or commercial, will bepatient of the restraints of religion. If the Church is independent ofthe nation, she can protest and denounce freely; if she is knit closelyto the nation, such rebuke is almost impossible.
A conversation that Anthony had on this subject at the beginning ofFebruary helped somewhat to clear up this point.
He was astonished after dinner one day to hear that Mr. Henry Buxton wasat the porter's lodge desiring to see him, and on going out he found thatit was indeed his old acquaintance, the prisoner.
"Good-day, Master Norris," said the gentleman, with his eyes twinkling;"you see the mouse has escaped, and is come to call upon the cat."
Anthony inquired further as to the details of his release.
"Well, you see," said Mr. Buxton, "they grew a-weary of me. I talked soloud at them all for one thing; and then you see I was neither priest noragent nor conspirator, but only a plain country gentleman: so they tooksome hundred or two pounds off me, to make me still plainer; and let mego. Now, Mr. Norris, will you come and dine with me, and resume ourconversation that was so rudely interrupted by my journey last time? Butthen you see her Majesty would take no denial."
"I have just dined," said Anthony, "but----"
"Well, I will not ask you to see me dine again, as you did last time; butwill you then sup with me? I am at the 'Running Horse,' Fleet Street,until to-morrow."
Anthony accepted gladly; for he had been greatly taken with Mr. Buxton;and at six o'clock that evening presented himself at the "Running Horse,"and was shown up to a private parlour.
He found Mr. Buxton in the highest good-humour; he was even now on hisway from Wisbeach, home again to Tonbridge, and was only staying inLondon to finish a little business he had.
Before supper was over, Anthony had laid his difficulties before him.
"My dear friend," said the other, and his manner became at once sober andtender, "I thank you deeply for your confidence. After being thoughtmidway between a knave and a fool for over a year, it is a comfort to betreated as an honest gentleman again. I hold very strongly with what yousay; it is that, under God, that has kept me steady. As I said to youlast time, Christ's Kingdom is not of this world. Can you imagine, forexample, Saint Peter preaching religious obedience to Nero to be aChristian's duty? I do not say (God forbid) that her Grace is a Nero, oreven a Poppaea; but there is no particular reason why some successor ofhers should not be. However, Nero or not, the principle is the same. I donot deny that a National Church may be immensely powerful, may convertthousands, may number zealous and holy men among her ministers andadherents--but yet her foundation is insecure. What when the tempest ofGod's searching judgments begins to blow?
"Or, to put it plainer, in a parable, you have seen, I doubt not, agallant and his mistress together. So long as she is being wooed by him,she can command; he sighs and yearns and runs on errands--in short, sherules him. But when they are wedded--ah me! It is she--if he turns out abrute, that is--she that stands while my lord plucks off his boots--shewho runs to fetch the tobacco-pipe and lights it and kneels by him. Now Ihold that to wed the body spiritual to the body civil, is to wed adelicate dame to a brute. He may dress her well, give her jewels, clapher kindly on the head--but she is under him and no free woman. Ah!"--andthen Mr. Buxton's eyes began to shine as Anthony remembered they had donebefore, and his voice to grow solemn,--"and when the spouse is the Brideof Christ, purchased by His death, what then would be the sin to wed herto a carnal nation, who shall favour her, it may be, while she looksyoung and fair; but when his mood changes, or her appearance, then she ishis slave and his drudge! His will and his whims are her laws; as hechanges, so must she. She has to do his foul work; as she had to do forKing Henry, as she is doing it now
for Queen Bess; and as she will alwayshave to do, God help her, so long as she is wedded to the nation, insteadof being free as the handmaiden and spouse of Christ alone. My faithwould be lost, Mr. Norris, and my heart broken quite, if I were forced tothink the Church of England to be the Church of Christ."
They talked late that evening in the private baize-curtained parlour onthe third floor. Anthony produced his difficulties one by one, and Mr.Buxton did his best to deal with them. For example, Anthony remarked onthe fact that there had been no breach of succession as to the edificesand endowments of the Church; that the sees had been canonically filled,and even the benefices; and that therefore, like it or not, the Church ofEngland now was identical with the Pre-Reformation Church.
"_Distinguo_," said his friend. "Of course she is the successor in onesense: what you say is very true. It is impossible to put your fingerall along the line of separation. It is a serrated line. The affairs of aChurch and a nation are so vast that that is sure to be so; although ifyou insist, I will point to the Supremacy Act of 1559 and the UniformityAct of the same year as very clear evidences of a breach with the ancientorder; in the former the governance is shifted from its original owner,the Vicar of Christ, and placed on Elizabeth; it was that that theCarthusian Fathers and Sir Thomas More and many others died sooner thanallow: and the latter Act sweeps away all the ancient forms of worship infavour of a modern one. But I am not careful to insist upon those points;if you deny or disprove them,--though I do not envy any who attemptsthat--yet even then my principle remains, that all that to which theChurch of England has succeeded is the edifices and the endowments; butthat her spirit is wholly new. If a highwayman knocks me down to-morrow,strips me, clothes himself with my clothes, and rides my horse, he iscertainly my successor in one sense; yet he will be rash if he presentshimself to my wife and sons--though I have none, by the way--as theproper owner of my house and name."
"But there is no knocking down in the question," said Anthony. "Thebishops and clergy, or the greater part of them, consented to thechange."
Mr. Buxton smiled.
"Very well," he said; "yet the case is not greatly different if thegentleman threatens me with torture instead, if I do not voluntarily givehim my clothes and my horse. If I were weak and yielded to him, yes, andmade promises of all kinds in my cowardice--yet he would be no nearerbeing the true successor of my name and fortune. And if you read herGrace's Acts, and King Henry's too, you will find that that was preciselywhat took place. My dear sir," Mr. Buxton went on, "if you will pardon mysaying it, I am astounded at the effrontery of your authorities who claimthat there was no breach. Your Puritans are wiser; they at least franklysay that the old was Anti-Christian; that His Holiness (God forgive mefor saying it!), was an usurper: and that the new Genevan theology is theold gospel brought to light again. That I can understand; and indeed mostof your churchmen think so too; and that there was a new beginning madewith Protestantism. But when her Grace calls herself a Catholic, andtells the poor Frenchmen that it is the old religion here still: and yourbishops, or one or two of them rather, like Cheyney, I suppose, say sotoo--then I am rendered dumb--(if that were possible). If it is the same,then why, a-God's name, were the altars dragged down, and the screensburned, and the vestments and the images and the stoups and the picturesand the ornaments, all swept out? Why, a-God's name, was the old massblotted out and this new mingle-mangle brought in, if it be all one? Andfor the last time, a-God's name, why is it death to say mass now, if itbe all one? Go, go: Such talk is foolishness, and worse."
Mr. Buxton was silent for a moment as Anthony eyed him; and then burstout again.
"Ah! but worse than all are the folks that stand with one leg on eitherstool. We are the old Church, say they;--standing with the Protestant legin the air,--therefore let us have the money and the buildings: they areour right. And then when a poor Catholic says, Then let us have the oldmass, and the old penance and the old images: Nay, nay, nay, they say,lifting up the Catholic leg and standing on the other, those are Popery;and we are Protestants; we have made away with all such mummery andmuniments of superstition. And so they go see-sawing to and fro. When yourun at one leg they rest them on the other, and you know not where totake them."
And so the talk went on. When the evening was over, and Anthony wasrising to return to Lambeth, Mr. Buxton put his hand on his arm.
"Good Mr. Norris," he said, "you have been very patient with me. I haveclacked this night like an old wife, and you have borne with me: and nowI ask your pardon again. But I do pray God that He may show you light andbring you to the true Church; for there is no rest elsewhere."
Anthony thanked him for his good wishes.
"Indeed," he said, too, "I am grateful for all that you have said. Youhave shown me light, I think, on some things, and I ask your prayers."
"I go to Stanfield to-morrow," said Mr. Buxton; "it is a pleasant house,though its master says so, not far from Sir Philip Sidney's: if you wouldbut come and see me there!"
"I am getting greatly perplexed," said Anthony, "and I think that in goodfaith I cannot stay long with the Archbishop; and if I leave him howgladly will I come to you for a few days; but it must not be till then."
"Ah! if you would but make the Spiritual Exercises in my house; I willprovide a conductor; and there is nothing that would resolve your doubtsso quickly."
Anthony was interested in this; and asked further details as to whatthese were.
"It is too late," said Mr. Buxton, "to tell you to-night. I will writefrom Stanfield."
Mr. Buxton came downstairs with Anthony to see him on to his horse, andthey parted with much good-will; and Anthony rode home with a heavy andperplexed heart to Lambeth.
* * * *
He spent a few days more pondering; and then determined to lay hisdifficulties before the Archbishop; and resign his position if Grindalthought it well.
He asked for an interview, and the Archbishop appointed an hour in theafternoon at which he would see him in Cranmer's parlour, the room abovethe vestry which formed part of the tower that Archbishop Cranmer hadadded to Lambeth House.
Anthony, walking up and down in the little tiled cloisters by the creek,a few minutes before the hour fixed, heard organ-music rolling out of thechapel windows; and went in to see who was playing. He came in throughthe vestry, and looking to the west end gallery saw there the back of oldDr. Tallis, seated at the little positive organ that the late Archbishophad left in his chapel, and which the present Archbishop had gladlyretained, for he was a great patron of music, and befriended manymusicians when they needed help--Dr. Tallis, as well as Byrd, Morley andTye. There were a few persons in the chapel listening, the Reverend Mr.Wilson, one of the chaplains, being among them; and Anthony thought thathe could not do better than sit here a little and quiet his thoughts,which were nervous and distracted at the prospect of his cominginterview. He heard voices from overhead, which showed that theArchbishop was engaged; so he spoke to an usher stationed in the vestry,telling him that he was ready as soon as the Archbishop could receivehim, and that he would wait in the chapel; and then made his way down toone of the return stalls at the west end, against the screen, and tookhis seat there.
This February afternoon was growing dark, and the only lights in thechapel were those in the organ loft; but there was still enough daylightoutside to make the windows visible--those famous windows of Morton's,which, like those in King's Chapel, Cambridge, combined and interpretedthe Old and New Testaments by an ingenious system of types and antitypes,in the manner of the "Biblia Pauperum." There was then only a singlesubject in each light; and Anthony let his eyes wander musingly to andfro in the east window from the central figure of the Crucified to thetypes on either side, especially to a touching group of the unconsciousIsaac carrying the wood for his own death, as Christ His Cross. Beneath,instead of the old stately altar glowing with stuffs and precious metalsand jewels which had once been the heart of this beautiful shrine, therestoo
d now a plain solid wooden table that the Archbishop used for theCommunion. Anthony looked at it, and sighed a little to himself. Did thealtar and the table then mean the same thing?
Meanwhile the glorious music was rolling overhead in the high vaultedroof. The old man was extemporising; but his manner was evident even inthat; there was a simple solemn phrase that formed his theme, and roundthis adorning and enriching it moved the grave chords. On and ontravelled the melody, like the flow of a broad river; now slidingsteadily through a smiling land of simple harmonies, where dwelt a peopleof plain tastes and solid virtues; now passing over shallows where thesun glanced and played in the brown water among the stones, as lightarpeggio chords rippled up and vanished round about the melody; nowentering a land of mighty stones and caverns where the echoes rang hollowand resonant, as the counterpoint began to rumble and trip like bouldersfar down out of sight, in subaqueous gloom; now rolling out again andwidening, fuller and deeper as it went, moving in great masses towardsthe edge of the cataract that lies like a line across the landscape: itis inevitable now, the crash must come;--a chord or twopausing,--pausing;--and then the crash, stupendous and sonorous.
Then on again through elaborate cities where the wits and courtiersdwell, and stately palaces slide past upon the banks, and barges moveupon its breast, on to the sea--that final full close that embraces andengulfs all music, all effort, all doubts and questionings, whether inart or theology, all life of intellect, heart or will--that fathomlesseternal deep from which all comes and to which all returns, that men callthe Love of God.
* * * *
Anthony stirred in his seat; he had been here ten minutes, proposing totake his restless thoughts in hand and quiet them; and, lo! it had beendone for him by the master who sat overhead. Here he, for the moment,remained, ready for anything--glad to take up the wood and bear it to theMount of Sacrifice--content to be carried on in that river of God's Willto the repose of God's Heart--content to dwell meantime in the echoingcaverns of doubt--in the glancing shadows and lights of an activelife--in his own simple sunlit life in the country--or even to plungeover the cataract down into the fierce tormented pools in the dark--forafter all the sea lay beyond; and he who commits himself to the river isbound to reach it.
He heard a step, and the usher stood by him.
"His Grace is ready, Master Norris."
Anthony rose and followed him.
The Archbishop received him with the greatest kindness. As Anthony camein he half rose, peering with his half-blind eyes, and smiling andholding out his hands.
"Come, Master Norris," he said, "you are always welcome. Sit down;" andhe placed him in a chair at the table close by his own.
"Now, what is it?" he said kindly; for the old man's heart was a littleanxious at this formal interview that had been requested by thisfavourite young officer of his.
Then Anthony, without any reserve, told him all; tracing out the longtale of doubt by landmarks that he remembered; mentioning the effectproduced on his mind by the Queen's suspension of the Archbishop,especially dwelling on the arrest, the examination and the death ofCampion, that had made such a profound impression upon him; upon his ownreading and trains of thought, and the conversations with Mr. Buxton,though of course he did not mention his name; he ended by saying that hehad little doubt that sooner or later he would be compelled to leave thecommunion of the Church of England for that of Rome; and by placing hisresignation in the Archbishop's hands, with many expressions of gratitudefor the unceasing kindness and consideration that he had always receivedat his hands.
There was silence when he had finished. A sliding panel in the wall nearthe chapel had been pushed back, and the mellow music of Dr. Tallispealed softly in, giving a sweet and melodious background, scarcelyperceived consciously by either of them, and yet probably mellowing andsoftening their modes of expression during the whole of the interview.
"Mr. Norris," said the Archbishop at last, "I first thank you for thegenerous confidence you have shown towards me: and I shall put myselfunder a further obligation to you by accepting your resignation: and thisI do for both our sakes. For yours, because, as you confess, this actionof the Queen's--(I neither condemn nor excuse it myself)--this action hasinfluenced your thoughts: therefore you had best be removed from it to aplace where you can judge more quietly. And I accept it for my own saketoo; for several reasons that I need not trouble you with. But in doingthis, I desire you, Mr. Norris, to continue to draw your salary untilMidsummer:--nay, nay, you must let me have my say. You are at liberty towithdraw as soon as you have wound up your arrangements with Mr.Somerdine; he will now, as Yeoman of the Horse, have your duties as wellas his own; for I do not intend to have another Gentleman of the Horse.As regards an increase of salary for him, that can wait until I see himmyself. In any case, Mr. Norris, I think you had better withdraw beforeMid-Lent Sunday.
"And now for your trouble. I know very well that I cannot be of muchservice to you. I am no controversialist. But I must bear my witness.This Papist with whom you have had talk seems a very plausible fellow.His arguments sound very plain and good; and yet I think you could proveanything by them. They seem to me like that openwork embroidery such asyou see on Communion linen sometimes, in which the pattern is formed bywithdrawing certain threads. He has cleverly omitted just those pointsthat would ruin his argument; and he has made a pretty design. But anyskilful advocate could make any other design by the same methods. He hasnot thought fit to deal with such words of our Saviour as what He says onTradition; with what the Scriptures say against the worshipping ofangels; with what St. Paul says in his Epistle to the Colossians, in thesecond chapter, concerning all those carnal ordinances which were doneaway by Christ, but which have been restored by the Pope in his despite;he does not deal with those terrible words concerning the man of sin andthe mystery of iniquity. In fact, he takes just one word that Christ letfall about His Kingdom, and builds this great edifice upon it. You mightretort to him in a thousand ways such as these. Bishop Jewell, in hisbook, as you know, deals with these questions and many more; far morefully than it is possible for you and me even to dream of doing. Nay, Mr.Norris; the only argument I can lay before you is this. There aredifficulties and troubles everywhere; that there are such in the Churchof England, who would care to deny? that there are equally such, aye, andfar more, in the Church of Rome, who would care to deny, either?Meanwhile, the Providence of God has set you here and not there. Whateveryour difficulties are here, are not of your choosing; but if you flythere (and I pray God you will not) there they will be. Be content,Master Norris; indeed you have a goodly heritage; be content with it;lest losing that you lose all."
Anthony was greatly touched by this moderate and courteous line that theArchbishop was taking. He knew well in his heart that the Church of Romewas, in the eyes of this old man, a false and deceitful body, for whomthere was really nothing to be said. Grindal, in his travels abroadduring the Marian troubles, had been deeply attracted by the Genevantheology, with whose professors he had never wholly lost touch; andAnthony guessed what an effort it was costing him, and what a strain itwas on his conscience, thus to combine courtesy with faithfulness to whathe believed to be true.
Grindal apparently feared he had sacrificed his convictions, for hepresently added: "You know, Mr. Norris, that I think very much worse ofPapistry than I have expressed; but I have refrained because I think thatwould not help you; and I desire to do that more than to relieve myself."
Anthony thanked him for his gentleness; saying that he quite understoodhis motives in speaking as he had done, and was deeply obliged to him forit.
The Archbishop, however, as indeed were most of the English Divines ofthe time, was far more deeply versed in destructive than constructivetheology; and, to Anthony's regret, was presently beginning in thatdirection.
"It is beyond my imagination. Mr. Norris," he said, "that any who haveknown the simple Gospel should return to the darkness. See here," he wenton
, rising, and fumbling among his books, "I have somewhere here whatthey call an Indulgence."
He searched for a few minutes, and presently shook out of the leaves ofJewell's book a paper which he peered at, and then pushed over toAnthony.
It was a little rectangular paper, some four or five inches long; bearinga figure of Christ, wounded, with His hands bound together before Him,and the Cross with the superscription rising behind. In compartments oneither side were instruments of the Passion, the spear, and the reed withthe sponge, with other figures and emblems. Anthony spelt out theinscription.
"Read it aloud, Mr. Norris," said the Archbishop.
"'To them,'" read Anthony, "'that before this image of pity devoutly sayfive paternosters, five aves and a credo, piteously beholding these armsof Christ's Passion, are granted thirty-two thousand seven hundred andfifty-five years of pardon.'"
"Now, Mr. Norris," said the Archbishop, "have you considered that it isto that kind of religion that you are attracted? I will not comment onit; there is no need."
"Your Grace," said Anthony slowly, laying the paper down, "I need notsay, I think, that this kind of thing is deeply distasteful to me too.Your Grace cannot dislike it more than I do. But then I do not understandit; I do not know what indulgences mean; I only know that were they asmad and foolish as we Protestants think them, no truthful or good mancould remain a Papist for a day; but then there are many thoughtful andgood men Papists; and I conclude from that that what we think theindulgences to be, cannot be what they really are. There must be someother explanation.
"And again, my lord, may I add this? If I were a Turk I should find manythings in the Christian religion quite as repellent to me; for example,how can it be just, I should ask, that the death of an innocent man, suchas Christ was, should be my salvation? How, again, is it just that faithshould save? Surely one who has sinned greatly ought to do somethingtowards his forgiveness, and not merely trust to another. But you, mylord, would tell me that there are explanations of these difficulties,and of many more too, of which I should gradually understand more andmore after I was a Christian. Or again, it appears to me even now,Christian as I am, judging as a plain man, that predestinationcontradicts free-will; and no explanation can make them both reasonable.Yet, by the grace of God, I believe all these doctrines and many more,not because I understand them, for I do not; but because I believe thatthey are part of the Revelation of God. It is just so, too, with theRoman Catholic Church. I must not take this or that doctrine by itself;but I must make up my mind whether or no it is the one only CatholicChurch, and then I shall believe all that she teaches, because sheteaches it, and not because I understand it. You must forgive my dulness,my lord; but I am but a layman, and can only say what I think in simplewords."
"But we must judge of a Christian body by what that body teaches," saidthe Archbishop. "On what other grounds are you drawn to the Papists,except by what they teach?"
"Yes, your Grace," said Anthony, "I do judge of the general body ofdoctrine, and of the effect upon the soul as a whole; but that is not thesame as taking each small part, and making all hang upon that."
"Well, Mr. Norris," said the Archbishop, "I do not think we can talk muchmore now. It is new to me that these difficulties are upon you. But Ientreat you to talk to me again as often as you will; and to othersalso--Dr. Redmayn, Mr. Chambers and others will be happy if they can beof any service to you in these matters: for few things indeed wouldgrieve me more than that you should turn Papist."
Anthony thanked the Archbishop very cordially for his kindness, and,after receiving his blessing, left his presence. He had two or three moretalks with him before he left, but his difficulties were in no wayresolved. The Archbishop had an essentially Puritan mind, and could notenter into Anthony's point of view at all. It may be roughly said thatfrom Grindal's standpoint all turned on the position and responsibilityof the individual towards the body to which he belonged: and that Anthonyrather looked at the corporate side first and the individual second.Grindal considered, for example, the details of the Catholic religion inreference to the individual, asking whether he could accept this or that:Anthony's tendency was rather to consider the general question first, andto take the difficulties in his stride afterwards. Anthony also hadinterviews with the Archdeacon and chaplain whom Grindal had recommended;but these were of even less service to him, as Dr. Redmayn was so franklycontemptuous, and Mr. Chambers so ignorant, of the Romish religion thatAnthony felt he could not trust their judgment at all.
In the meanwhile, during this last fortnight of Anthony's Lambeth life,he received a letter from Mr. Buxton, explaining what were the SpiritualExercises to which he had referred, and entreating Anthony to come andstay with him at Stanfield.
"Now come, dear Mr. Norris," he wrote, "as soon as you leave theArchbishop's service; I will place three or four rooms at your disposal,if you wish for quiet; for I have more rooms than I know what to do with;and you shall make the Exercises if you will with some good priest. Theyare a wonderful method of meditation and prayer, designed by IgnatiusLoyola (one day doubtless to be declared saint), for the bringing about aresolution of all doubts and scruples, and so clearing the eye of thesoul that she discerns God's Will, and so strengthening her that shegladly embraces it. And that surely is what you need just now in yourperplexity."
The letter went on to describe briefly the method followed, and ended byentreating him again to come and see him. Anthony answered this bytelling him of his resignation of his post at Lambeth, and accepting hisinvitation; and he arranged to spend the last three weeks before Easterat Stanfield, and to go down there immediately upon leaving Lambeth. Hedetermined not to go to Great Keynes first, or to see Isabel, lest hisresolution should be weakened. Already, he thought, his motives weresufficiently mixed and perverted without his further aggravating theirearthly constituents.
He wrote to his sister, however, telling her of his decision to leaveLambeth; and adding that he was going to stay with a friend until Easter,when he hoped to return to the Dower House, and take up his abode therefor the present. He received what he thought a very strange letter inreturn, written apparently under excitement strongly restrained. He readin it a very real affection for himself, but a certain reserve in it too,and even something of compassion; and there was a sentence in it thatabove all others astonished him.
"J. M. has been here, and is now gone to Douai. Oh! dear brother, sometime no doubt you will tell us all. I feel so certain that there is muchto explain."
Had she then guessed his part in the priest's release? Anthony wondered;but at any rate he knew, after his promise to the Queen, that he must notgive her any clue. He was also surprised to hear that James had been toGreat Keynes. He had inquired for him at the Tower on the Monday afterhis visit to Greenwich, and had heard that Mr. Maxwell was already goneout of England. He had not then troubled to write again, as he had nodoubt but that his message to Lady Maxwell, which he had sent in his noteto Isabel, had reached her; and that certainly she, and probably Jamestoo, now knew that he had been an entirely unconscious and innocentinstrument in the priest's arrest. But that note, as has been seen, neverreached its destination. Lady Maxwell did not care to write to thebetrayer of her son; and Isabel on the one hand hoped and believed nowthat there was some explanation, but on the other did not wish to ask forit again, since her first request had been met by silence.
As the last days of his life at Lambeth were coming to an end, Anthonybegan to send off his belongings on pack-horses to Great Keynes; and bythe time that the Saturday before Mid-Lent Sunday arrived, on which hewas to leave, all had gone except his own couple of horses and the bagscontaining his personal luggage.
His last interview with the Archbishop affected him very greatly.
He found the old man waiting for him, walking up and down Cranmer'sparlour in an empty part of the room, where there was no danger of hisfalling. He peered anxiously at Anthony as he entered.
"Mr. Norris," he said, "you are greatly on my mind.
I fear I have notdone my duty to you. My God has taken away the great charge he called meto years ago, to see if I were fit or not for the smaller charge of mineown household, and not even that have I ruled well."
Anthony was deeply moved.
"My lord," he said, "if I may speak plainly to you, I would say that tomy mind the strongest argument for the Church of England is that shebrings forth piety and goodness such as I have seen here. If it were notfor that, I should no longer be perplexed."
Grindal held up a deprecating hand.
"Do not speak so, Mr. Norris. That grieves me. However, I beseech you toforgive me for all my remissness towards you, and I wish to tell youthat, whatever happens, you shall never cease to have an old man'sprayers. You have been a good and courteous servant to me always--morethan that, you have been my loving friend--I might almost say my son: andthat, in a world that has cast me off and forgotten me, I shall noteasily forget. God bless you, my dear son, and give you His light andgrace."
When Anthony rode out of the gateway half an hour later, with his servantand luggage behind him, it was only with the greatest difficulty that hecould keep from tears as he thought of the blind old man, living inloneliness and undeserved disgrace, whom he was leaving behind him.