I LI3RARY I

I Ur.'IVERSITY OF I \CALIFORNIA^/

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V

THE HOUSEHOLD OF

SIR THOS MORE

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THE

HOUSEHOLD OF

SIR THOS MORE

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

THE REV. W. H. HUTTON, B.D.

FELLOW OF S. JOHn's COLLEGE, OXFORD

AND TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS

BY JOHN JELLICOE AND

HERBERT RAILTON

LONDON JOHN C. NIMMO

14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND

MDCCCXCVI

Printed by Bali.antynf., Hanson & Co. At the Ballantyne Press

LIBELLVr A- MARGARCTA- MORE, qyiNDtXiM • ANNO/ • NATA •

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

From Drawitigs by John Jellicoe and Herbert Railton.

Portrait of Sir Thomas More. From the Draavin^ by Hans Holbein

Frontispi

Title-Page.

Designed by Hkrbert Railton

Motto of Margaret More.

Designed by Herbert Railton

Sir Thom.as More's House.

Drawn by Herbert Railton ....

Erasmus and the Peacocks.

Drawn by John Jellicoe

" Anon we sit down to rest and talk."

Drawn by JOHN jELi.icoK and Herbert Railton

Jack and Cecy.

Drawn by John Jellicoe .

More in the Barrow

Drawn by JoHN Jellicoe . Margaret in the Tree.

Dragon by JOHN JELLICOE .

" I NOTICED Argus pearcht." Drawn by Herbert Railton .

Gammer Gurnev.

Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE .

More reading Wynkyn de Worde.

Drawn by John Jellicoe and Herbert Railton

viii List of Illustratio7is

-T^ T PAGE

The Jew.

Z)ra«w ^j John Jellicok 85

The Cardinal's Procession.

Drawn by John Jeli.icoe 96

" I FELL INTO DISGR.\CE FOR HOLDING SPEECH

WITH Mercy over the Pales."

Drawn by John Jellicoe and Herbert Railtun . .119

" Lord Sands sang us a New Ballad.'

Z?rflw« ^^ John Jellicoe 131

"The King was here Yesterday.'"

Drawn by JOHN Jellicoe and Herbert Railton . . 155

" She COMETH hither from Hever Castle."

Drawn by HERBERT Railton 163

The Beggar-Woman's Dog.

Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 176

In the Garden.

Drawn by Herbert Railton 180

"And sayth, low bowing as he spoke, 'Madam, my Lord is gone.'"

Drawn by John Jellicoe a?id Herbert Railton . 189

" In COMETH A Pursuivant."

Drawn by John Jellicoe 219

The Stairs.

Drawn by Herbert Rah.ton 227

" His fearlesse Passage through the Traitor's Gate."

Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT Railton . . 237

Gillian and the Flour Sacks.

Drawn by John Jellicoe 256

More returning from his Trial.

Drawn by John Jellicoe 277

" Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge-ga ie.'"

Drawn by HERBERT Railton 285

Introduction

^T is not always from the closest and most accurate historian that we receive the truest picture of an age or of a character. The artist gives a more real picture than the photographer ; and it needs imagina- tion and sympathy, as well as labour and research, to make a hero of old time live again to-day. The minutest investigation will hardly better the vivid reality of Scott's James I. or Charles II., or portray more truly than Mr. Shorthouse has done

b

I?ttroductio?i

the fragile yet fascinating personality of Charles I. Yet to say this is not to undervalue history or to contemn the labour of true students. Rather, without their aid we cannot rightly see the past at all : it comes to us only with the distor- tions of our own prejudice and our narrow modern outlook. We need both the work of the scholar and the imagination of the artist. Without the first we could not behold the past, without the second we could not understand it.

In religion, in politics, in art, in all that makes life beautiful and men true, we must know the past if we would use the present or provide for the future. And our knowledge is barren indeed if it does not touch the intimacies of human existence. What we must know is how men lived and thought, not merely how they acted. We must see them in the home, and not only in the senate or the

Introduction xi

field. It is thus that the Letters of Eras- mus, or Luther's Table Talk, are worth a ton of Sleidan's dreary commentaries or Calvin's systematic theology. And yet we cannot dispense with either. We must study past ages as a whole, and then bring the imagination of the artist and the poet to show us the truth and the passion that lies nearest to their heart. It is thus, then, in history that the imaginary portrait has its valued place.

Saturated with contemporary literature, yet alive to the influences of a wider life, the student who is also an artist turns to a great movement, and with the touch of genius fixes the true impression of its soul in poetry, on canvas, or in prose. Such was the work of Walter Pater. He taught us, through the delicate study of a secondary but most alluring painter, to " understand to how great a place in human culture the art of Italy had been

Introductio22

called." In his picture of a great scholar and a beautiful, pathetic, childlike soul, he showed the fascination of that priceless truth — that what men have thought and done, that what has interested and charmed them, can never wholly die — " no lan- guage they have spoken, nor oracle beside which they have hushed their voices, no dream which has once been entertained by actual human minds, nothing about which they have ever been passionate or expended time and zeal."

And more. He taught us not only how to understand the past, but he showed us how it understood itself " A Prince of Court Painters" — Watteau, as he was seen by one who loved him, by a sympa- thetic woman — like all such, the keenest of critics, yet the tenderest of hearts — is given to us as not even pictures or per- sonal letters could give. Sebastian van Storck, Duke Carl of Rosenmold — they

Introduction xiii

are portraits, though it is only imagina- tion that makes them live.

I remember Mr. Freeman once saying to me, as he took me his favourite walk at Somerleaze, that he had read a study of Mr. Pater's — a strange mediasval story of Denys I'Auxerrois — and could not be satisfied till he knew what it meant. Was it true .? It was a question befitting one who had made the past to live again. Truth was the first, almost the only, thing the historian prized. Denys the organ- builder may never have watched the deco- ration of the Cathedral of Saint Etienne, or made, by the mere sight of him, the old feel young again. And yet Walter Pater had painted a true portrait, as so often did Robert Browning, though it were ima- ginary ; and the artist as well as the his- torian had imaged for us the reality of a past age.

Mr. Pater, though the most perfect

xiv Introductio7t

artist of this school, was not the first. Humbler writers have long endeavoured to draw the great heroes as they thought their contemporaries saw them, by a fiction of memoir, or correspondence, or journal. And the " Prince of Court Painters " is a sketch in the same medium as " The Household of Sir Thomas More."

This charming book has passed through many editions, but its author, of her own choice, remained almost unknown. The " Dictionary of National Biography " has strangely passed her by. Almost all that her wishes sufi^er us to know is that she was sister of Mr. William Oke Manning, to whom she afi^ectionately dedicated the fourth edition of the book which is now reprinted ; that she was never married ; and that she was a genuine student and an indefatigable writer on historical and literary subjects. In " Mary Powell " she touched the heart of her generation, and

Introductio7i xv

few books of its day had a wider circula- tion. " The Household of Sir Thomas More " is a still more painstaking study, and a more complete and delightful por- trait. Its perfect sympathy and its quaint charm of manner secured for it a welcome even among those who claimed for the hero and his opinions a sanctity which Miss Manning's historical judgment did not ratify. Cardinal Manning, writing on March ii, 1887, rejoiced at its re- publication, and said : " The book is a singularly beautiful one, and I regret that I had not the pleasure of knowing the writer, whose mental gifts were of a very high order." Miss Manning was a keen critic of the Romanism of the Reforma- tion period, as her Appendices to the fourth edition of her book show ; but she did not suffer her own opinions to destroy her sympathy for him whom Reginald Pole called " the best of all the English."

xvi I?2trodiict

107t

" The Household of Sir Thomas More" is an imaginary portrait of a noble char- acter. It professes to be the journal begun by Margaret, More's eldest daughter, most learned and best beloved, when she was but fifteen years old, and continued till she had taken her father's head from the pole whereon it was exposed, to treasure it till she should lay it on her breast as she too passed into the peace of God. Among " fair women " the heroic daugh- ter is immortal : —

" Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark Ere I saw her, who clasped in her last trance Her murder'd father's head."

So Tennyson recorded the pathetic legend with which Miss Manning ended her beautiful book.

When she wrote, it was not so hard as it is now to recall the London of Henry VIII. Miss Manning herself de-

Introduction xvii

scribed very happily in 1859 what she remembered many years before.

" When we say," she wrote, " that some of our happiest and earliest years were spent on the site of Sir Thomas More's country house in the ' village of palaces,' some of our readers will hardly believe we can mean Chelsea. But, in those days, the gin-palace and tea-garden were not ; Cremorne was a quiet, aristocratic seclusion, where old Queen Charlotte

' Would sometimes counsel take, and sometimes tea.'

"A few old, quiet streets and rows, with names and sites dear to the antiquary, ran down to the Thames, then a stranger to steamboats ; a row of noble elms along its strand lent their deep shade to some quaint old houses with heavy architraves, picturesque flights of steps, and elaborate gates ; while Queen Elizabeth's Walk, the Bishop's Walk, and the Bishop's Palace

xviii s l72trociuctio7t

gave a kind of dignity to the more modern designations of the neighbourhood.

" When the Thames was the great high- way, and every nobleman had his six or eight oared barge, the banks of the river as high as Chelsea were studded with country houses. At the foot of Battersea Bridge, which in those days did not dis- figure the beautiful reach. Sir Thomas More, then a private gentleman and emi- nent lawyer in full practice, built the capital family house which was afterwards successively occupied by the Marquis of Winchester, Lord Dacre, Lord Burleigh, Sir Robert Cecil, the Earl of Lincoln, Sir Arthur Gorges, Lord Middlesex, the first Duke of Buckingham, Sir Bulstrode Whit- lock, the second Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Bristol, and the Duke of Beaufort. It stood about a hundred yards from the river ; its front exhibited a projecting porch in the centre, and four

l7itroduction xix

bay windows alternating with eight large casements ; while its back presented a confused assemblage of jutting casements, pent-houses, and gables in picturesque intricacy of detail, affording ' coigns of vantage,' we doubt not, to many a tuft of golden moss and stone-crop. This dwell- ing, which for convenience and beauty of situation and interior comfort was so highly prized by its many and distin- guished occupants, appears at length to have been pulled down when it became rickety and untenantable from sheer old age — in Ossian's words, ' gloomy, windy, and full of ghosts.' "

Nor was Miss Manning obliged to rely only on her memory for a picture of More's house as it had been. The site, when she knew it, was like the New Place at Stratford-on-Avon, where only a few stones and foundations enable us to picture how stood the house where Shake-

XX I?lt7'0dliCti07l

speare died. But while the household was still fresh in men's minds, and More was beginning to be reverenced as a martyr and a saint, Ellis Heywood published at Florence, in 1556, his sketch, " II Moro," in which he set in a true description of the Chelsea garden an imaginary picture of the Chancellor and his friends talking on matters of high import to soul and spirit. " From one part of the garden," he tells us, " almost the whole of the noble city of London was visible, and from another the beautiful Thames, with green meadows and wooded hills all around." The garden had its own charm too. " It was crowned with an almost perpetual verdure, and the branches of the fruit- trees that grew near were interwoven in a manner so beautiful that it seemed like a living tapestry worked by Nature herself" So wrote Ellis Heywood of the exter- nal beauty of the scene. Of the inner

Introduction xxi

harmony Erasmus had written years be- fore to Ulrich von Hutten : — " More has built himself a house at Chelsea. There he lives with his wife, his son, his daughter-in-law, his three daughters and their husbands, with eleven grand- children. There is not a man alive so loving as he : he loves his old wife as if she were indeed a young maiden." For Dame Alice, whom More had wedded very soon after the death of his first child - wife, was tiec bella nee puella — neither a beauty nor a girl. And be- sides these, in the year when little Mar- garet, according to Miss Manning, began to write in her " fayr Libellus " which her tutor. Master Gunnel, gave her, there were dwelling in the house the aged father. Sir John More, good judge and humorous man, with his third wife.

" And the household," said Erasmus, '.' was a very ' platonic academy ' — were

xxii Introduction

it not," he adds, ''an injustice to com- pare it with an academy where disputa- tions concerning numbers and figures were only occasionally mingled with dis- cussion on the moral virtues. I should rather call his house a school of Chris- tianity ; for though there is no one in it who does not study the liberal sciences, the special care of all is piety and virtue. No quarrelling or ill-tempered words are ever heard, and idleness is never seen."

In such a household it was that Mar- garet, M ore's dearest and most heroic child, w^as nurtured : —

" As it were An angel-watered lily, that near God (irows and is quiet."

She was one ot those fine souls to whom come alike learning and love, and in whom religion shows its fairest fruits. Holbein draws her with a Seneca in her hand, but not far away is her prayer-

Introduction xxiii

desk. All the children answered to their father's careful culture, for it is an idle tale that makes young John More but a silly fellow. Elizabeth, who married Mr, Dancey, Cecily, who became the wife of Giles Heron, a ward of her father's, the step-daughter Alice, who became Lady Alington, and the adopted child, Mar- garet Giggs, whom young Clement, some- time their fellow-scholar, wedded, were all instructed in humane letters. But Margaret was the flower of them all. To her her father wrote when she was still but a child : —

" I cannot tell you, dearest Margaret, how pleasant to me are your most delight- ful letters. Now, as I was reading them there chanced to be with me that noble youth, Reginald Pole — not so highly en- nobled, indeed, by birth as by learning and every virtue. To him your letter seemed a miracle, even before he knew

xxiv Introduction

how you were beset by shortness of time and other hindrances. And hardly would he believe that you had no help from your master, till I told him seriously that you had not only no master in the house, but that also there was no man in it that had not more need of your help in writing than you of his."

Indeed a good father and a good teacher made the household the w^onder of learned Europe. See what More WTOte to the tutor he had chosen, w^hen he was him- self abroad on an embassy : —

" I have received, my dear Gunnel, your letters, such as they are wont to be, full of elegance and affection. Your love for my children I gather from your letters ; their diligence from their own. I rejoice that little Elizabeth has shown as much modesty of deportment in her mother's absence as she could have done in her presence. Tell her that this de-

Introduction xxv

lights me above all things ; for, much as I esteem learning, which, when joined with virtue, is worth all the treasures of kings, what doth the fame of great scholarship, apart from well-regulated conduct, bring us, except distinguished infamy ? Especidly in women, whom men are ready enough to assail for their knowledge, because it is uncommon and casts a reproach on their own sluggish- ness. Among other notable benefits which solid learning bestows, I reckon this among the first, that we acquire it not for the mere sake of praise or the esteem of learned men, but for its own true value and use. Thus have I spoken, my Gunnel, somewhat the more in re- spect of not coveting vainglory, because of those words in your letter wherein you deem that the high quality of Mar- garet's wit is not to be depressed, which, indeed, is mine own opinion ; but I think

XX vi Introductio?i

that they the most truly depress and affront their wit who accustom them- selves to practise it on vain and base objects, rather than raise their minds by the study and approval of what is good in itself. It mattereth not in harvest- time whether the corn were sown by a man or a woman, and I see not why learning in like manner may not equally agree with both sexes ; for by it reason is cultivated, and, as a field, sown with wholesome precepts, which bring forth good fruit. Even if the soil of a woman's brain be of its own nature bad, and apter to bear fern than corn, by which saying men oft terrify women from learning, I am of opinion that a woman's mind is, for that very reason, all the more in need of manure and good husbandry, that the defect of nature may be redressed."

In these letters, and in many like them, there is given the best, and the most

httroduction

XXVll

authentic, picture of the household of the

great Chancellor.

Of More himself it is difficult to speak without using language which seems ex- travagant. His character was so beauti- ful, his life so simple and so pure, his conscientiousness so complete, his end so heroic, that he stands out among the sordid meannesses of the sixteenth century like a single star in the darkness of the world. Sinful popes and wicked kings, greedy statesmen and timid clergy, who will accept the king's supremacy one day and then burn what once they adored — among these More has no place. His is a steadfast soul, happy in prosperity and triumphant in the furnace of affliction. " O ye holy and humble men of heart, O ye spirits and souls of the righteous, bless ye the Lord : praise Him and mag- nify Him for ever."

And the position of More in the age

xxviii I?itrodiiCtio7t

of the Reformation is the more remark- able because he belonged so clearly to the new as well as to the old. He was, in the best sense, a Humanist. He was a scholar and a bitter foe of all obscu- rantism. He fought the battle of Greek, and so gave to England the scholarship of the succeeding generation to which true religion and sound learning owe so great a debt. He could take no part with those who could defend the old faith only with the rusty weapons of a philosophic system which had failed to meet the aspirations of the new age. No one laughed more readily than he at the sallies of Erasmus against ignorant monks and illiterate clergy. Encomium Morice, Ep is to Ice Obscurorum Virorum^ spoke his sentiments as well as those of their authors. But while he loved the new learning and adopted the new methods, he saw that there remained somethinj^

l72troductio?t xxix

among the old things that was priceless and imperishable. It may be that he did not clearly distinguish between the essen- tials and the mere offshoots of a divine faith. It may be — we should say it must be — that if he had lived a hundred years later, or in our own day, he would have thought differently on some matters. The cause of intellectual freedom was presented to him in its worst aspect, and the com- mand to cast away the childish things of mediaevalism came in a revolting form from the lips of a coarse and brutal tyrant. Had Colet lived, or Erasmus been a stronger man, all might have been dif- ferent. As it was, More saw but one side of the new world, and that the worst, and he said, " The old is better."

But while, in his final choice, he seemed to belong rather to the old world than to the new, he had absorbed all the best spirit of the Italian Renaissance, and he

XXX I?Jtroductio?2

belonged as a social reformer to an age in the far future. The Utopia^ it is true, was the work of his youth, and it is doubtful if much of it was meant seriously, and certain that some was distinctly con- trary to its author's mature convictions. But nevertheless it sets forth an exquisite ideal picture of equality in opportunity and of simplicity of life. Its whole tone speaks a protest against the selfishness and the competition of the age that degraded art and divided society. And this protest was enforced by the asceticism of the author's own life and the purity of his household.

More's life was not a long one. He was born on February 7, 1478. His family was " honourable, not illustrious." His father came to be an eminent judge. As a boy he went to school in London, and then was taken into the household of the famous Cardinal Morton, Archbishop

Introducth

ton

of Canterbury and Lord High Chancellor of England, the statesman who advised the best measures of Henry VII., who began to reform the monasteries, who heavily taxed the rich and took care for the poor. There the young More was known as a bright lad, who would often speak a piece in Christmas games for the guests' enter- tainment with a wit and readiness which made the Archbishop prophesy for him a great career. He went to Oxford ; he studied at New Inn, and then at Lincoln's Inn. He became a lawyer ; he went into Parliament ; he lectured publicly in London on theology. When a young man he was widely known as a scholar and a wit. He was a friend of all the learned men of his day, a member of that little circle of students to which Colet and Grocyn and Linacre belonged. Though he plunged into practical life, politics, and law, and exchanged epigrams with the best wits of

xxxii I?2troduction

the time, his deepest thoughts were always with rcHgion. He was near becoming a Carthusian ; he had serious thoughts of refraining from marriage ; he Hved very strictly, and was with difficulty won from a solitary life. When he decided to marry and conform outwardly to the customs of the society of his day, he did not abandon the secret rules by which his personal life was restrained. He was outwardly of the world, but in spirit he was always a recluse.

Gradually he came prominently before his contemporaries. His books made him known to scholars. Wolsey may have known him at Oxford, and now found him useful on embassies and at Court. The King sought him out and made a friend of him, would talk with him of theological matters, obtained his help for that book against Luther which won him the title of " Defender of the Faith," and

Introduction xxxiii

often at night " would have him up to the leads, there to consider with him the courses, motions, and operations of the stars and planets." So, when Wolsey fell, More, who had already been Speaker of the House of Commons, and won great praise alike from King and Cardinal, be- came Lord Chancellor — the first great layman and lawyer who held that high office. As judge men spoke of him with admiration for centuries. He was a states- man too, as well as a lawyer, and his aid was sought in all Henry's foreign negotia- tions. He might have been the greatest man in England after the King if he would have strained his conscience. But this he would not do. He never approved the Divorce ; he was known to be a cham- pion of the injured Queen Katherine, and a friend to her nephew, the Emperor Charles. As Church questions, too, came in dispute, he took more and more the

xxxiv Introduction

conservative side. He would not repu- diate the Pope's supremacy, or separate himself from the imposing unity of Chris- tendom, which it seemed to him was threatened by the nationalism of Henry VIII., as well as by the heresy of Luther. And so at last it came that the lion felt his strength : it was More's own prophecy, and he was one of the first victims.

On Monday, April 13, 1534, he was required to take oath to the succession of the issue of Anne Boleyn, and in repudia- tion of the validity of the first marriage of the King. He at once refused. He would not deny to swear to the succession, but the oath put before him he could not reconcile with his conscience. In this he persisted. Imprisonment, trial, death, came naturally and inevitably ; and of these Miss Manning, with the letters and memoirs before her, has made the faithful Margaret write as from a full heart.

Introduction xxxv

On Tuesday, July 6, 1535, he was executed on Tower Hill. " He bore in his hands a red cross, and was often seen to cast his eyes towards heaven/' He died as he had lived, with saintly calm, and still playing with a gentle humour. " That at least," he said, as he drew aside his beard from the block, " has committed no treason."

The King's wrath did not cease with the execution of his faithful counsellor. Dame Alice More lost all, and had hard stress for the few years that remained to her of life. Happily his son and his daughters had all been married before the troubles came. Margaret's marriage was a happy one. Will Roper was soon weaned from his " Lutheran " fancies, and lived, thirty-four years after his wife, to write an exquisite and pathetic memoir of the great Chancellor. When the tyrant was dead M ore's family seemed almost

xxxvi Introduction

sacred in the eyes of the nation. His memory was cherished, and memorials of all kinds poured forth during the years of Mary's reign ; and when Elizabeth had been twenty years on the throne Roper died in peace, desiring to be buried with his " dear wife," where his father-in-law " did mind to be buried."

Margaret Roper herself died in 1544, and was buried in Chelsea Church. Her monument is, with the Ropers', in S. Dunstan's, Canterbury. In that ancient city the family of her husband had long dwelt, and the house itself lasted till this century. Of it Miss Manning very prettily wrote : —

" My friend, Mrs. George Frederick Young, who was born in the Ropers' house at Canterbury, tells me that it was of singular antiquity, full of queer nooks, corners, and passages, with a sort of dun- geon below, that went by the name of

Introduction xxxvii

* Dick's Hole,' the access to which was so dangerous that It at length was for- bidden to descend the staircase. The coach-house and harness-room were curi- ously antique ; the chapel had been con- verted into a laundry, but retained its Gothic windows. At length it became needful to rebuild the house, only the old gateway of which remains. While the workmen were busy, an old gentleman in Canterbury sent to beg Mrs. Young's father to dig in a particular part of the garden, for that he had dreamed there was a money-chest there. This request was not attended to, and he sent a more urgent message, saying his dream had been repeated. A third time he dreamed, and renewed his request, which at length was granted ; and, curiously enough, a chest was found, with a few coins in it, chiefly of antiquarian value, which, accordingly, were given to an archs-

xxxviii hjtroduction

ologist of the place. Here my informa- tion ceases."

More and his favourite daughter are those of whom we first think when we try to recall some memories of the " Christian academy ; " but their famous guests must not be forgotten. I cannot speak now of the soldiers and diplo- matists, the priests and scholars, who pass across the scene so rapidly as we read the letters of the Chancellor himself or the memoirs of his son-in-law and his great-grandson. But two names stand out as famous above the rest, and as both among the closest of those friends whom More delighted to honour, — Erasmus the scholar and Holbein the painter.

Of Erasmus who shall speak in a few words ? Are not the libraries of Europe full of his books, and are not his wit- ticisms still repeated to-day as if they were but the new thoughts of the newest

l7itroduction xxxix

of moderns ? The intellectual life of his age seems summed up in his person. It had no interest in which he did not mingle, nor any opinion which he did not weigh and test. If he held himself above its passions, it was simply because his was a keen critical nature, loving in its own fashion, but too cold to sym- pathise deeply with any combatant or to thrill with any passion. " He had no mind," said Miss Manning rather sharply, " to be a martyr, but only to suggest doubts which led braver men to be such."

" This worthy man," says his eighteenth century biographer, Jortin, " spent a labo- rious life in an uniform pursuit of two points : in opposing barbarous ignorance and blind superstition, and in promoting useful literature and true piety. These objects he attempted in a mild, gentle manner, never attacking the persons of

xl Introduct

to?2

men, but only the faults of the age. He knew his own temper and talents, and was conscious he was not fitted for the rough work of a reformer."

Jortin's, indeed, is the juster estimate. It was Erasmus's keen sight, not his want of moral courage, which prevented his being a martyr. He could not sym- pathise with the foreign reformers ; he had no taste for antinomianism, still less for ignorance, and he saw that the Church abroad, with all its accretions, — which none ridiculed so wittily as he, — still preserved a treasure that the human mind could not afford to lose.

Erasmus was a lifelong friend of More. They had met originally in England while Henry VII. was still on the throne. Erasmus stayed at More's house, and to- gether they discussed the wrongs and follies of the time. Encomium Morice — " The Praise of Folly " — was written by

Introduction xli

Erasmus under M ore's roof, and the title

had a punning reference to the author's

host. Later books, especially the great

edition of the New Testament which

made the sacred text, said More, " shine

with a new light," had all of them the

sanction of the faithful English friend.

He had to suffer rough handling from

the obscurantists of his day. Greek

seemed to savour of heresy, just as now

to some it seems a relic of mediaevalism

unworthy of the study of a scientific age.

Erasmus, indeed, was in a position which

has its parallel to-day. He stood boldly

forth to fight for a large and liberal

education, and for wide and rational

methods of instruction, against those who

would narrow the teaching of the young

to a merely technical and professional

training. He fought against the effort

to sacrifice sound learning to utilitarian

ends ; and he found the warmest sym-

d

xlii Introduction

pathy, and the best expression of his educational ideal, in the household of his English friend.

With More he bore reproach for a good cause. While the English lawyer pleaded for the study of Greek at the English universities, the Dutch scholar met the assaults of those who would check the publication of the New Tes- tament in the original tongue. He was justly indignant at the treatment he re- ceived.

" There are none," he said, " that bark at me more furiously than those who have never even seen the outside of my books. When you meet with one of these brawlers, let him rave on at my New Testament till he has made himself hoarse. Then ask him gently whether he has read it. If he has the impudence to say yes, urge him to produce one pas- sage that deserves to be blamed. You

Introduction

xliii

will find that he cannot. Consider, now, whether this be the behaviour of a Chris- tian, to blacken a man's reputation, which he cannot restore to him again if he would. Of all the vile ways of defam- ing him, none is more villainous than to accuse him of heresy ; and yet to this they have recourse on the slightest pro- vocation ! "

A Dominican friar at Strasburg, who had spitefully attacked Erasmus's Testa- ment, was compelled to own that he had not read one word of it. " These men," exclaims Erasmus, " first hate, next con- demn, and, lastly, seek for passages to justify their censures. And then, if any one opposes them, and calls them what they are, they say he is a disturber of the public peace; which is just as if you gave a man a blow in the face, and then bid him be quiet, and not make a noise about nothing."

xliv Introduction

But all through the babel of contend- ing voices Erasmus kept his own course. He could neither be coerced to give up his liberal scholarship nor lured to ally with Luther and the Protestant doctors. To him the way of sound learning seemed the path of the Catholic Church. And here too he was of one mind with More. The Englishman had to meet dangers which never beset the foreign scholar, and he met them, it may be, as Erasmus would not have dared to do. But it cannot be doubted that in their opinions, as in their hearts, they were never really divided.

In Mistress Margaret's Libeiius, Erasmus appears chiefly as a fellow of infinite jest, but wise withal, chatting at table as he chats in his letters, and saying, indeed, much that we have under the safe war- rant of his own pen.

If Erasmus was the typical scholar of

Introduction xlv

that age which stood between the Renais- sance and the Reformation, Hans Hol- bein was typical of its art. In his hand painting has come down from its high estate, its Madonnas and its great Doges, its classic pageants and its heroic legends, and treats of common life as men saw it every day. The German artist descended from the lofty themes which had inspired the great master of Italy, and took even the humbler work of illustrating books. Botticelli, it is true, had drawn studies of the Dhina Commedia^ but Holbein was ready to work for a printer, and to design letters and tail-pieces for the Libelli of his friends. It was through Froben, the great Basle painter, no doubt, that More and Erasmus and Holbein first came to- gether. Holbein illustrated the Utopia, and came to England with an introduc- tion from the author of the Encomium Morice. He was thirty years younger

xlvi Introduction

than the Dutch scholar, and twenty years younger than More, but they became his chiefest friends. He tarried some while in More's house, and it was there that he drew some of those marvellous sketches now preserved at Windsor, that give us our truest knowledge of the Court of Henry VIII. Fisher and Warham, the Earl of Surrey and Sir Nicholas Poins, Colet and Godsalve, each in their way representative of a class, but keenly in- dividual and vigorously characteristic, are preserved for us by those few sharp, bold strokes with a power and reality which no portrait-painter has ever surpassed. The luxury and the meanness, the trea- chery and the cold selfishness, that form the background of the great struggles of the sixteenth century are expressed for all time in those master-sketches which Holbein drew and Margaret Roper, it may be, often looked upon.

Introduction xlvii

And for More's own household we have, besides the letters and the memoirs, the very form and pressure from the great artist's own hand. The original design for the famous picture of the patriarchal family, the three generations living to- gether in love and reverence in their " Platonic Academy," is at Basle ; but in England, at Nostell and at Cokethorpe, we have very fair presentments of the great picture as it must have been. More sits by his shrewd old father in his habit as he lived. The gentle, delicate son stands by, book in hand, and near his affianced bride. The stepmother sits stately at one side of the group, and the daughters cluster around. The sorrowful eyes of the great Chancellor, and his pensive, meditative brow, speaking sound conscience and a firm resolve, are not lightly to be for- gotten ; and the plain, homely face of Margaret Roper, refined and thoughtful

xlviii Introductio'^

through all its solid strength, may well linger in the memories of those who know her beautiful life.

To the number of these Miss Manning's book has added many. She teaches others to love her heroes because she loved them herself Erasmus and More and Holbein, Gunnel and Clement, Will Roper and faithful Patteson, she knew as if she had lived among them. These, and such as these, are the characters of whom she so skilfully d"rew portraits which were much more than the fictions of imagination. She wrote from a considerable knowledge of the literature of the time, and with a genuine love of all things beautiful and good. In her style she imitated the quaintness of old English without any precise restriction to the period of Henry VIII. ; and in the same way the vocabu- lary and the spelling which she adopted were not claimed by her as minutely

I?itroductio7i xlix

accurate. Over her book and her char- acters I would gladly linger. But the first speaks for itself, and my office is only to direct readers to it ; and for the char- acters, what I can say is said in my own Life of the great Chancellor and Saint himself, the father of the gentle Margaret whom Miss Manning so happily drew.

But there is a special feature in this reprint of which I must needs say a word. Mr. Herbert Railton and Mr. John Jellicoe show that they too are skilled in the drawing of imaginary por- traits— that they have seen More's house as indeed we think it must have been, and his family in their habits as they lived. As the barge brings us past old London Bridge to the Chelsea stairs, the mansion of the Chancellor stands before us in the warm sun as when Ellis Heywood saw it three centuries and a half ago. The chil- dren play in the garden, the Jew tells his

1 Introduction

story, the peacocks flaunt their gay colours, and More reads his old books and cracks his jests, as if the old time had come back again. Bright pictures indeed, and a worthy setting ; and the old story is told anew as More himself and Holbein might have loved to think of it. But good wines need no bush, and good pictures no prologue.

W. H. HUTTON.

The Great House, Burford, July 9, 1895.

THE HOUSEHOLD OF

SIR THOS MORE

Jill TneV- Mout:

Chelsea^ "June i8M.

I

N asking Mr. Gimnel to what Use I should put this fayr Libellus^ he did suggest my making it a Kinde of family Register, wherein to note the more important of our domestick Passages, whether of Joy

or

A

The Household

or Griefe — my Father's Journies and Absences — the Visits of learned Men, theire notable Sayings, etc. " You are " ready at the Pen, Mistress Margaret^' he was pleased to say ; " and I woulde " humblie advise your journalling in the " same fearless Manner in the which you " framed that Letter which soe well " pleased the Bishop of Exeter^ that he " sent you a Portugal Piece. 'Twill be " well to write it in English, which 'tis " expedient for you not altogether to " negleckt, even for the more honourable " Latin."

Methinks I am close upon Woman- hood. ..." Humblie advise," quotha ! to me, that have so oft humblie sued for his Pardon, and sometimes in vayn !

'Tis well to make trial of Goncllus his " humble " Advice : albeit, our daylie Course is so methodicall, that 'twill afford

scant

of Sir Thos. More

scant Subject for the Pen — F/'tam continet una Dies.

... As I traced the last Word, me- thoughte I heard the well-known Tones of Erasmus his pleasant Voyce ; and, look- ing forthe of my Lattice, did indeede be- holde the deare little Man coming up from the River Side with my Father, who, be- cause of the Heat, had given his Cloak to a tall Stripling behind him to bear. I flew up Stairs, to advertise Mother, who was half in and half out of her grogram Gown, and who stayed me to clasp her Owches ; so that, by the Time I had fol- lowed her down Stairs, we founde 'em alreadie in the Hall.

So soon as I had kissed their Hands, and obtayned their Blessings, the tall Lad stept forthe, and who should he be but

William

The Household

William Roper^ returned from my Father's Errand over-seas ! He hath grown huge- lie, and looks mannish ; but his Manners are worsened insteade of bettered by forayn Travell ; for, insteade of his old Franknesse, he hung upon Hand till Father bade him come forward ; and then, as he went his Rounds, kissing one after another, stopt short when he came to me, twice made as though he would have saluted me, and then held back, making me looke so stupid, that I could have boxed his Ears for his Payns. 'Speciallie as Father burst out a-laughing, and cried, " The third Time's lucky ! "

After Supper, we took deare Erasmus entirely over the House, in a Kind of family Procession, e'en from the Buttery and Scalding-house to our own deare Academia^ with its cool green Curtain flapping in the Evening Breeze, and

blowing

o/^Sir Thos. More 5

blowing aside, as though on Purpose to give a glimpse of the cleare-shining 'Thames ! Erasmus noted and admired the Stone Jar, placed by Mercy Giggs on the Table, full of blue and yellow Irises, scarlet Tiger-Lilies, Dog-Roses, Honey- suckles, Moonwort, and Herb-Trinity ; and alsoe our various Desks, eache in its own little Retirement, — mine own, in speciall, so pleasantly situate ! He pro- tested, with everie Semblance of Sincerity, he had never scene so pretty an Academy. I should think not, indeede ! Bess, Daisy, and I, are of Opinion, that there is not likelie to be such another in the World. He glanced, too, at the Books on our Desks ; Bessy's being Livy ; Daisy's, Sal- lust ; and mine, St. Augustine, with Father s Marks where I was to read, and where de- sist. He tolde Erasmus, laying his Hand fondlie on my Head, " Here is one who

" knows

6 The Household

" knows what is implied in the Word " Trust." Dear Father^ well I may ! He added, " there was no Law against laugh- " ing in his Academia^ for that his Girls " knew how to be merry and wise."

From the House to the new Building, the Chapel and Gallery, and thence to visitt all the dumb Kinde, from the great horned Owls to Cecy s pet Dormice. Eras- mus was amused at some of theire Names, but doubted whether Duns Scotus and the Venerable Bede would have thoughte themselves complimented in being made Name-fathers to a couple of Owls ; though he admitted that Argus and Juno were goode Cognomens for Peacocks. Will Roper hath broughte Mother a pretty little forayn Animal called a Marmot, but she sayd she had noe Time for suchlike Playthings, and bade him give it to his little Wife. Methinks, I being neare six- teen

8 'The Household

teen and he close upon twenty, we are too old for those childish Names now, nor am I much flattered at a Present not intended for me ; however, I shall be kind to the little Creature, and, perhaps, grow fond of it, as 'tis both harmlesse and diverting.

To return, howbeit, to Erasmus ; Cecy, who had hold of his Gown, and had alreadie, through his familiar Kindnesse and her own childish Heedlessness, some- what transgrest Bounds, began now in her Mirthe to fabricate a Dialogue, she pre- tended to have overhearde, between Argus and Juno as they stoode pearcht on a stone Parapet. Erasmus was entertayned with her Garrulitie for a while, but at length gentlie checkt her, with " Love " the Truth, little Mayd, love the Truth, " or, if thou liest, let it be with a Cir- " cumstance," a Qualification which made Mother stare and Father laugh.

Sayth

o/Siv Thos. More

Sayth Erasmus, "There is no Harm in a " Fabella, Apologus, or Parabola, so long " as its Character be distinctlie recognised " for such, but contrariwise, much Goode ; " and the same hath been sanctioned, not " only by the wiser Heads of Greece and " Rome, but by our deare Lord Himself. " Therefore, Ceci/ie, whom I love exceed- " inglie, be not abasht, Child, at my Re- " proof, for thy Dialogue between the " two Peacocks was innocent no less than " ingenious, till thou wouldst have insisted " that they, in sooth, sayd Something like " what thou didst invent. Therein thou " didst Violence to the Truth, which St. " Pail/ hath typified by a Girdle, to be " worn next the Heart, and that not only " confineth within due Limits, but addeth " Strength. So now be Friends ; wert " thou more than eleven and I no Priest, " thou shouldst be my little Wife, and

" darn

lo The Household

" darn my Hose, and make me sweet " Marchpane, such as thou and I love. " But, oh ! this pretty Chelsea ! What " Daisies ! what Buttercups ! what joviall " Swarms of Gnats ! The Country all " about is as nice and flat as Rotterdam^

Anon, we sit down to rest and talk in the Pavilion.

Sayth Erasjnus to my Father^ " I mar- " vel you have never entered into the " King's Service in some publick Capa- " citie, wherein your Learning and Know- " ledge, bothe of Men and Things, would " not onlie serve your own Interest, but " that of your Friends and the Pub- " lick."

Father smiled and made Answer, " I " am better and happier as I am. As " for my Friends, I alreadie do for them " alle I can, soe as they can hardlie con- " sider me in their Debt ; and, for my-

" self.

I \

..-.>'

%C

^Sir Thos. More 13

" self, the yielding to theire Solicitations " that I would putt myself forward for "the Benefit of the World in generall, " would be like printing a Book at " Request of Friends, that the Publick " may be charmed with what, in Fact, " it values at a Doit. The Cardinall " offered me a Pension, as retaining Fee " to the King a little while back, but " I tolde him I did not care to be a " mathematical Point, to have Position " without Magnitude."

Erasmus laught and sayd, " I woulde " not have you the Slave of anie King ; " howbeit, you mighte assist him and " be useful to him."

" The Change of the Word," sayth Father^ " does not alter the Matter ; I " shoulde he a Slave, as completely as if " I had a Collar rounde my Neck."

" But would not increased Useful-

" nesse,"

14 T^he Household

" nesse," says Erasmus^ " make you hap- " pier ? "

" Happier ? " says Father, somewhat heating ; " how can that be compassed " in a Way so abhorrent to my Genius ? " At present, I live as I will, to which " very few Courtiers can pretend. Half- " a-dozen blue-coated Serving-Men answer " my Turn in the House, Garden, Field, " and on the River : I have a few strong " Horses for Work, none for Show, plenty " of plain Food for a healthy Family, " and enough, with a hearty Welcome, for " a score of Guests that are not dainty. " The lengthe of my Wife's Train in- " fringeth not the Statute ; and, for my- " self, I soe hate Bravery, that my Motto " is, ' Of those whom you see in Scarlet, " not one is happy.' I have a regular " Profession, which supports my House, " and enables me to promote Peace and

" Justice ;

^Sir Thos. More 15

"Justice; I have Leisure to chat with " my Wife, and sport with my Children ; " I have Hours for Devotion, and Hours " for Philosophic and the liberall Arts, " which are absolutelie medicinall to me, " as Antidotes to the sharpe but con- " tracted Habitts of Mind engendered by " the Law. If there be aniething in a " Court Life which can compensate for " the Losse of anie of these Blessings, " deare Desiderius, pray tell me what it " is, for I confesse I know not."

" You are a comicall Genius," says Erasmus.

"As for you," retorted Father^ "you " are at your olde Trick of arguing on " the wrong Side, as you did the firste " Time we mett. Nay, don't we know " you can declaime backward and for- " warde on the same Argument, as you " did on the Venetian War ? "

Erasmus

The Household

Erasmus smiled quietlie, and sayd, " What coulde I do ? The Pope changed " his holy Mind." Whereat Father smiled too.

" What Nonsense you learned Men " sometimes talk ! " pursues Father. " I " — wanted at Court, quotha ! Fancy a " dozen starving Men with one roasted "Pig betweene them; — do you think " they would be really glad to see a " Thirteenth come up, with an eye to a " small Piece of the Crackling ? No ; " believe me, there is none that Courtiers " are more sincerelie respectfull to than " the Man who avows he hath no In- " tention of attempting to go Shares ; " and e'en him they care mighty little " about, for they love none with true " Tendernesse save themselves."

" We shall see you at Court yet," says Frasmus.

Sayth

^Sir Thos. More 17

Sayth Father, "Then I will tell you " in what Guise. With a Fool's Cap " and Bells. Pish ! I won't aggravate " you, Churchman as you are, by allud- " ing to the Blessings I have which you " have not ; and I trow there is as much " Danger in taking you for serious when " you are onlie playful and ironicall as " if you were Plato himself."

Sayth Eras?nus, after some Minutes' Silence, "I know full well that you holde " Plato, in manie Instances, to be sport- " ing when I accept him in very Deed " and Truth. Speculating he often was ; " as a brighte, pure Flame must needs " be struggling up, and, if it findeth no " direct Vent, come forthe of the Oven's " Mouth. He was like a Man shut into " a Vault, running hither and thither, " with his poor, flickering Taper, agoniz- " ing to get forthe, and holding himself

in

1 8 The Household

" in readinesse to make a Spring forward " the Moment a Door should open. But " it never did. ' Not manie Wise are " called.' He had clomb a Hill in the " Darke, and stoode calling to his Com- " panions below, ' Come on, come on ! this " Way lies the East ; I am avised we " shall see the Sun rise anon.' But they " never did. What a Christian he woulde " have made ! Ah ! he is one now. He " and Socrates — the Veil long removed " from their Eyes — are sitting at Jesus' " Feet. Sancte Socrates^ ora pro nobis ! "

Bessie and I exchanged Glances at this so strange Ejaculation ; but the Subjeckt was of such Interest, that v^^e listened w^ith deep Attention to what followed.

Sayth Father^ " Whether Socrates were " what Flato painted him in his Dia- " logues, is with me a great Matter of *' Doubte ; but it is not of Moment.

" When

o/'Sir Thos. More 19

" When so many Contemporaries coulde " distinguishe the fancifulle from the fic- " titious, Plato's Object coulde never have " beene to deceive. There is something " higher in Art than gross Imitation. He " who attempteth it is always the leaste " successfull ; and his Failure hath the " Odium of a discovered Lie ; whereas, " to give an avowedlie fabulous Narrative " a Consistence within itselfe which per- " mitts the Reader to be, for the Time, " voluntarilie deceived, is as artfulle as it " is allowable. Were I to construct a " Tale, I woulde, as you sayd to Cecy, lie " with a Circumstance, but shoulde con- " sider it noe Compliment to have my " Unicorns and Hippogriffs taken for live " Animals. Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, " magis tamen arnica Veritas. Now, Plato " had a much higher Aim than to give a " very Pattern of Socrates his snub Nose.

"He

20 The Household

" He wanted a Peg to hang his Thoughts " upon "

" A Peg ? A Statue by Phidias,'' in- terrupts Erasmus.

" A Statue by Phidias, to clothe in the " most beautiful Drapery," sayth Father ; " no Matter that the Drapery was his " own, he wanted to show it to the best " Advantage, and to the Honour rather " than Prejudice of the Statue. And, " having clothed the same, he got a Spark " of Prometheus his Fire, and made the " aforesayd Statue walk and talk, to the " Glory of Gods and Men, and sate him- " self quietlie down in a Corner. By the " Way, Desiderius, why shouldst thou not " submitt thy Subtletie to the Rules of " a Colloquy ? Set Eckius and Martin " Luther by the Ears ! Ha ! Man, what " Sport ! Heavens ! if I were to com- " pound a Tale or a Dialogue, what

" Crotchets

of^u Thos. More 21

" Crotchets and Quips of mine own " woulde I not putt into my Puppets' " Mouths ! and then have out my Laugh " behind my Vizard, as when we used to " act Burlesques before Cardinall Morton. " What rare Sporte we had, one Christ- <' mas, with a Mummery we called the " 'Triall of Feasting' ! Dinner and Supper " were broughte up before my Lord Chief " Justice, charged with Murder. Theire " Accomplices were Plum-pudding, Mince- '' pye. Surfeit, Drunkenness, and suchlike. " Being condemned to hang by the Neck, " I, who was Supper, stuft out with I " cannot tell you how manie Pillows, " began to call lustilie for a Confessor ; " and, on his stepping forthe, commenct " a List of all the Fitts, Convulsions, " Spasms, Payns in the Head, and so " forthe, I had inflicted on this one and " t'other. ' Alas ! good Father,' says I,

" King

2 2 The Household

" King John layd his Death at my Door ; " — indeede, there's scarce a royall or " noble House that hath not a Charge " agaynst me ; and I'm sorelie afrayd ' " (giving a Poke at a fat Priest that sate " at my Lord CardinalPs Elbow) ' I shall " have the Death of that holy Man to " answer for.' "

Eras?nus laughed, and sayd, " Did I " ever tell you of the Retort of Willibald " Pirkheimer f A Monk, hearing him " praise me somewhat lavishly to another, " could not avoid expressing by his Looks " great Disgust and Dissatisfaction ; and, " on being askt whence they arose, con- " fest he could not, with Patience, heare " the Commendation of a Man soe noto- " riously fond of eating Fowls. ' Does he " steal them .? ' says Pirkhei?}jer. ' Surely " no,' says the Monk. ' Why, then,' " quoth Willibald^ ' I know of a Fox who

"is

o/'Siv Thos. More 23

" is ten times the greater Rogue ; for, " look you, he helps himself to many a " fat Hen from my Roost without ever " offering to pay me. But tell me now, " dear Father, is it then a Sin to eat " Fowls ? ' ' Most assuredlie it is,' says " the Monk, ' if you indulge in them to "Gluttony.' 'Ah! if, if!' quoth Pirk- " heimer. ' If stands stiff, as the Lacede- " monians told Philip of Macedon ; and 'tis " not by eating Bread alone, my dear " Father, you have acquired that huge " Paunch of yours. I fancy, if all the fat " Fowls that have gone into it could raise " their Voices and cackle at once, they " woulde make Noise enow to drown " the Drums and Trumpets of an Army.' " Well may Luther say," continued Eras- mus^ laughing, " that theire fasting is easier " to them than our eating to us ; seeing " that every Man Jack of them hath to

" his

24 The Household

" his Evening Meal two Quarts of Beer, " a Quart of Wine, and as manie as he " can eat of Spice Cakes, the better to " relish his Drink. While I . . . 'tis " true my Stomach is Lutheran, but my " Heart is Catholic ; that's as Heaven " made me, and I'll be judged by you " alle, v^^hether I am not as thin as a " Weasel."

'Twas now^ growing dusk, and Cecys tame Hares were just beginning to be on the alert, skipping across our Path, as we returned towards the House, jumping over one another, and raysing 'emselves on theire hind Legs to solicitt our Notice. Erasmus was amused at theire Gambols, and at our making them beg for Vine- tendrils; and Father told him there was hardlie a Member of the Householde who had not a dumb Pet of some Sort. " I encourage the Taste in them," he

sayd,

^Sir Thos. More 25

sayd, " not onlie because it fosters Huma- " nitie and affords harmlesse Recreation, " but because it promotes Habitts of Fore- " thoughte and Regularitie. No Child " or Servant of mine hath Liberty to " adopt a Pet which he is too lazy or " nice to attend to himself A little " Management may enable even a young " Gentlewoman to do this, without soyl- " ing her Hands ; and to negleckt giving " them proper Food at proper Times " entayls a Disgrace of which everie one " of 'em would be ashamed. But, hark ! " there is the Vesper-bell."

As we passed under a Pear-tree, Eras- mus told us, with much Drollerie, of a Piece of boyish Mischief of his, — the Theft of some Pears off a particular Tree, the Fruit of which the Superior of his Convent had meant to reserve to himself. One Morning, Erasmus had climbed the

Tree,

26 The Household

Tree, and was feasting to his great Con- tent, when he was aware of the Superior approaching to catch him in the Fact; soe, quickly sHd down to the Ground, and made off in the opposite Direction, limping as he went. The Malice of this Act consisted in its being the Counterfeit of the Gait of a poor lame Lay Brother, who was, in fact, smartlie punisht for Erasmus his Misdeede. Our Friend men- tioned this with a Kinde of Remorse, and observed to my Father^ — " Men laugh N.' " at the Sins of young People and little " Children, as if they were little Sins ; " albeit, the Robbery of an Apple or " Cherry - orchard is as much a break- " ing of the Eighth Commandment as " the stealing of a Leg of Mutton from " a Butcher's Stall, and ofttimes with far " less Excuse. Our Church tells us, in- " deede, of Venial Sins, such as the Theft

"of

y^Sir Thos. More

" of an Apple or a Pin ; but, I think," (looking hard at Ceciiie and Jack^) " even " the youngest among us could tell how " much Sin and Sorrow was brought into " the World by stealing an Apple."

At Bedtime, Bess and I did agree in wishing that alle learned Men were as apt to unite Pleasure with Profit in theire Talk as Erasmus. There be some that can write after the Fashion of Paul, and others preach like unto Apollos ; but this, methinketh, is scattering Seed by the Way- side, like the Great Sower.

Tuesday. IS singular, the Love that Jack and Cecy have for one another ; it resem- bleth that of Twins. Jack is not forward at his Booke ; on the other Hand, he hath

a

2 8 The Household

a Resolution of Character which Cecy altogether wants. Last Night, when Erasmus spake of Children's Sins, I ob- served her squeeze Jack's Hand with alle her Mighte. I know what she was thinking of Having bothe beene for- bidden to approach a favourite Part of the River Bank which had given way from too much Use, one or the other of 'em transgressed, as was proven by the smalle Footprints in the Mud, as well as by a Nosegay of Flowers, that grow not, save by the River ; to wit. Purple Loosestrife, Cream - and - codlins, Scor- pion-grass, Water Plantain, and the like. Neither of 'em woulde confesse, and Jack was, therefore, sentenced to be whipt. As he walked off with Mr. Drew, I ob- served Cecy turn soe pale, that I whis- pered Father I was certayn she was guilty. He made Answer, " Never mind, we can-

" not

o/^Siv Thos. More 29

" not beat a Girl, and 'twill answer the " same Purpose ; in flogging him, we flog " both." Jack bore the firste Stripe or two, I suppose, well enow, but at lengthe

we hearde him cry out, on which Cecy coulde not forbeare to doe the same, and then stopt bothe her Ears. I expected everie Moment to heare her say, " Father^ " 'twas I ; " but no, she had not Courage

for

30 The Household

for that ; onlie, when "Jack came forthe all smirched with Tears, she put her Arm about his Neck, and they walked off together into the Nuttery. Since that Hour, she hath beene more devoted to him than ever, if possible ; and he, Boy-like, finds Satisfaction in making her his little Slave. But the Beauty lay in my Father s Improvement of the Circum- stance. Taking Cecy on his Knee that Evening, (for she was not ostensiblie m Disgrace,) he beganne to talk of Atone- ment and Mediation for Sin, and who it was that bare our Sins for us on the Tree. 'Tis thus he turns the daylie Accidents of our quiet Lives into Lessons of deepe Import, not pedanticallie delivered, ex cathedra^ but welling forthe from a full and fresh Mind.

This Morn I had risen before Dawn, being minded to meditate on sundrie

Matters

^Sir Thos. More 31

Matters before Bess was up and doing, she being given to much Talk during her dressing, and made my Way to the Pavilion, where, methought, I should be quiet enow ; but beholde ! Father and Erasmus were there before me, in fluent and earneste Discourse. I would have withdrawne, but Father, without inter- rupting his Sentence, puts his Arm rounde me and draweth me to him ; soe there I sit, my Head on 's Shoulder, and mine Eyes on Erasmus his Face.

From much they spake, and othermuch I guessed, they had beene conversing on the present State of the Church, and how much it needed Renovation.

Erasmus sayd, the Vices of the Clergy and Ignorance of the Vulgar had now come to a Poynt, at the which, a Remedie must be founde, or the whole Fabric would falle to Pieces.

— Sayd,

32 The Household

— Sayd, the Revival of Learning seemed appoynted by Heaven for some greate Pur- pose, 'tw^as difficulte to say how greate.

— Spake of the new Art of Printing, and its possible Consequents.

— Of the active and fertile Minds at present turning up new Ground and fer- reting out old Abuses.

— Of the Abuse of Monachism, and of the evil Lives of Conventualls. In special, of the Fanaticism and Hypocrisie of the Dominicans.

Considered the Evills of the Times such, as that Societie must shortlie, by a vigorous Effort, shake 'em off.

Wondered at the Patience of the Laitie for soe many Generations, but thoughte 'em now waking from theire Sleepe. The People had of late begunne to know theire physickall Power, and to chafe at the Weighte of theire Yoke.

Thoughte

^Sir Thos. More 33

Thoughte the Doctrine of Indulgences altogether bad and false.

Father sayd, that the graduallie increast Severitie of Church Discipline concerning minor Offences had become such as to render Indulgences the needfulle Remedie for Burthens too heavie to be borne. — Condemned a Draconic Code, that visitted even Sins of Discipline with the extream Penaltie. Quoted how ill such excessive Severitie answered in our owne Land, with regard to the Civill Law ; twenty Thieves oft hanging together on the same Gibbet, yet Robberie noe Whit abated.

Othermuch to same Purport, the which, if alle set downe, woulde too soon fill my Libellus. At length, unwillinglie brake off, when the Bell rang us to Matins.

At Breakfaste, William and Rupert were

earneste with my Father to let 'em row

him c

34 T^It-^ Household

him to Westminster^ which he was disin- clined to, as he was for more Speede, and had promised Erasmus an earhe Caste to Lambeth ; howbeit, he consented that they should pull us up to Putney in the Even- ing, and JVilliam should have the Stroke- oar. Erasmus sayd, he must thank the Archbishop for his Present of a Horse ; " tho' I'm full faine," he observed, " to " believe it a Changeling. He is idle and " gluttonish, as thin as a Wasp, and as " ugly as Sin. Such a Horse, and such a " Rider ! "

In the Evening IVill and Rupert had made 'emselves spruce enow, with Nose- gays and Ribbons, and we tooke Water bravelie ; — John Harris in the Stern, play- ing; the Recorder. We had the six-oared Barge ; and when Rupert Allington was tired of pulling, Mr. Clement tooke his Oar; and when he wearied, John Harris

gave

^Sir Thos. More 35

gave over playing the Pipe ; but William and Mr. Gunnel never flagged.

Erasmus was full of his Visitt to the Archbishops who, as usuall, I think, had given him some Money.

" We sate down two hundred to " Table," sayth he ; " there was Fish, " Flesh, and Fowl ; but Wareham onlie " played with his Knife, and drank noe " Wine. He was very cheerfulle and " accessible ; he knows not what Pride " is ; and yet, of how much mighte he " be proude ! What Genius ! What Eru- " dition ! what Kindnesse and Modesty ! " From Wareham^ who ever departed in " Sorrow ? "

Landing at Fiilham^ we had a brave Ramble thro' the Meadows. Erasmus^ noting the poor Children a gathering the Dandelion and Milk-thistle for the Herb- market, was avised to speak of forayn

Herbes

36 . The Household

Herbes and theire Uses, bothe for Food and Medicine.

" For me," says Father^ " there is manie " a Plant I entertayn in my Garden and " Paddock which the Fastidious woulde " cast forthe. I like to teache my Chil- " dren the Uses of common Things — to " know, for Instance, the Uses of the " Flowers and Weeds that grow in our " Fields and Hedges. Manie a poor " Knave's Pottage woulde be improved, " if he were skilled in the Properties of " the Burdock and Purple Orchis, Lady's- " smock. Brook-lime, and Old Man's " Pepper. The Roots of Wild Succory " and Water Arrow-head mighte agree- " ablie change his Lenten Diet ; and " Glasswort afford him a Pickle for his " Mouthfulle of Salt-meat. Then, there " are Cresses and Wood - sorrel to his " Breakfast, and Salep for his hot even-

" ing

^Sir Thos. More 37

" ing Mess. For his Medicine, there is " Herb-twopence, that will cure a hun- " dred Ills ; Camomile, to lull a raging " Tooth ; and the Juice of Buttercup to " cleare his Head by sneezing. Vervain " cureth Ague ; and Crowfoot affords the " leaste painfulle of Blisters. St. Atithony s " Turnip is an Emetic ; Goose - grass " sweetens the Blood ; Woodruffe is good " for the Liver ; and Bindweed hath nigh " as much Virtue as the forayn Scam- " mony. Pimpernel promoteth Laugh- " ter ; and Poppy, Sleep : Thyme giveth " pleasant Dreams ; and an Ashen Branch " drives evil Spirits from the Pillow. As " for Rosemarie, I lett it run alle over my " Garden Walls, not onlie because my " Bees love it, but because 'tis the Herb " sacred to Remembrance, and, therefore, " to Friendship, whence a Sprig of it " hath a dumb Language that maketh

"it

38 The Household

" it the chosen Emblem at our Funeral " Wakes, and in our Buriall Grounds. " Howbeit, I am a Schoolboy prating in " Presence of his Master, for here is John " Clement at my Elbow, who is the best " Botanist and Herbalist of us all."

— Returning Home, the Youths being warmed with rowing, and in high Spiritts, did entertayn themselves and us with manie Jests and Playings upon Words, some of 'em forced enow, yet provocative of Laughing. Afterwards, Mr. Gunnel proposed Enigmas and curious Questions. Among others, he woulde know which of the famous Women of Greece or Rome we Maidens would resemble. Bess was for Cornelia^ Daisy for Clelia^ but I for Damo, Daughter of Pythagoras, which William Roper deemed stupid enow, and thoughte I mighte have found as good a Daughter, that had not died a Maid.

Sayth

^Sir Thos. More 39

Sayth Erasmus, with his sweet, inexpres- sible Smile, " Now I will tell you, Lads " and Lasses, what manner of Man /would " be, if I were not Erasmus. I woulde " step back some few Years of my Lite, " and be half-way 'twixt thirty and forty ; " I would be pious and profounde enow " for the Church, albeit noe Churchman ; " I woulde have a blythe, stirring, Eng- " lish Wife, and half-a-dozen merrie Girls " and Boys, an English Homestead, neither " Hall nor Farm, but betweene both ; " neare enow to the Citie for Conve- " nience, but away from its Noise. I " woulde have a Profession, that gave me " some Hours davlie of regular Businesse, " that should let Men know my Parts, " and court me into Publick Station, tor " which my Taste made me rather with- " drawe. I woulde have such a private " Independence, as should enable me to

" give

40 The Household

" give and lend, rather than beg and " borrow. I woulde encourage Mirthe " without Buffoonerie, Ease without " Neghgence ; my Habitt and Table " shoulde be simple, and for my Looks " I woulde be neither tall nor short, fat " nor lean, rubicund nor sallow, but of " a fayr Skin with blue Eyes, brownish " Beard, and a Countenance engaging and " attractive, soe that alle of my Companie " coulde not choose but love me."

" Why, then, you woulde be Father " himselfe," cries Cecy^ clasping his Arm in bothe her Hands with a Kind of Rap- ture ; and, indeede, the Portraiture was soe like, we coulde not but smile at the Resemblance.

Arrived at the Landing, Fathei' pro- tested he was wearie with his Ramble ; and, his Foot slipping, he wrenched his Ankle, and sate for an Instante on a

Barrow,

^Sir Thos. More 41

Barrow, the which one of the Men had left with his Garden-tools, and before he could rise or cry out, William^ laughing, rolled him up to the House-door; which, considering Father s Weight, was much

for a Stripling to doe. Father sayd the same, and, laying his Hand on Will's Shoulder with Kindnesse, cried, " Bless " thee, my Boy, but I woulde not have thee " overstrayned like Biton and Clitobusy

June

42 The Household

'June 20. HIS Morn, hinting to Bess that she was lacing herselfe too straitlie, she briskHe re- plyed, " One would think " 'twere as great Meritt to " have a thick Waiste as to be one of the " earlie Christians ! "

These humourous Retorts are ever at her Tongue's end ; and albeit, as Jacky one Day angrilie remarked when she had beene teazing him, " Bess^ thy Witt is " Stupidnesse ; " yet, for one who talks soe much at Random, no one can be more keene when she chooseth. Father sayd of her, half fondly, half apologeticallie, to Erasmus^ " Her Wit hath a fine Subtletie " that eludes you almoste before you have " Time to recognize it for what it really " is." To which Erasmus readilie assented,

adding,

of^'w Thos. More 43

adding, that it had the rare Meritt of playing less on Persons than Things, and never on bodilie Defects.

Hum ! — I wonder if they ever sayd as much in Favour of me. I knov^^, indeede, Erasmus calls me a forward Girl. Alas ! that may be taken in two Senses.

Grievous Work, overnighte, with the^ churning. Nought would persuade Gillian but that the Creame was bewitched by Gammer Gurney^ who was dissatisfyde last Friday with her Dole, and hobbled away mumping and cursing. At alle Events, the Butter would not come ; but Mother was resolute not to have soe much good Creame wasted ; soe sent for Bess and me, Daisy and Mercy Giggs ; and insisted on our churning in turn till the Butter came, if we sate up alle Night for 't. 'Twas a hard Saying ; and mighte have hampered her like as 'Jephtha his rash Vow : how-

beit.

4-4

The Household

beit, soe soone as she had left us, we turned it into a Frolick, and sang Chevy Chase from end to end, to beguile Time ; ne'er- thelesse, the Butter would not come ; soe then we grew sober, and, at the Instance of sweete Mercy ^ chaunted the 1 1 9th Psalme ; and, by the Time we had attained to " Lucerna Fedibus^' I hearde the Buttermilk separating and splashing in righte earneste. 'Twas neare Midnighte, however ; and Daisy had fallen asleep on the Dresser. Gillian will ne'er be con- vinced but that our Latin brake the Spell.

^\st. .RASMUS went to Richmond this Morning with Polus, (for soe he Latinizes Regi- nald Pole^ after his usual Fashion,) and some other of his Friends. On his Return, he made

us

%j^^

o/ Sir Thos. More 45

us laugh at the following. They had clomb the Hill, and were admiring the Prospect, when Po/e, casting his Eyes aloft, and beginning to make sundrie Gesticula- tions, exclaimed, " What is it I beholde ? " May Heaven avert the Omen ! " with suchlike Exclamations, which raised the Curiositie of alle. " Don't you beholde," cries he, " that enormous Dragon flying " through the Sky ? his Horns of Fire ? " his curly Tail ? "

" No," says Erasmus, " nothing like it. " The Sky is as cleare as unwritten " Paper."

Howbeit, he continued to affirme and to stare, untill at lengthe, one after another, by dint of strayning theire Eyes and theire Imaginations, did admitt, first, that they saw Something ; next, that it mighte be a Dragon ; and last, that it was. Of course, on theire Passage homeward, they

could

46 The Household

could talk of little else — some made serious Reflections ; others, philosophical! Specu- lations ; and Fole waggishly triumphed in having beene the Firste to discerne the Spectacle.

" And you trulie believe there v^as a " Signe in the Heavens ? " we inquired of Erasmus.

" What know I ? " returned he smil- ing ; " you know, Constantine saw a Cross. " Why shoulde Polus not see a Dragon .? " We must judge by the Event. Perhaps " its Mission may be to fly away with " him. He swore to the curly Tail."

How difficulte it is to discerne the supernatural from the incredible ! We laughe at Gillian s Faith in our Latin ; Erasmus laughs at Polus his Dragon. Have we a righte to believe noughte but what we can see or prove ? Nay, that will never doe. Father says a Capacitie

for

o/Siv Thos. More 47

for reasoning increaseth a Capacitie for believing. He believes there is such a Thing as • Witchcraft, though not that poore olde Gammer Gurney is a Witch ; he believes that Saints can work Miracles, though not in alle the Marvels reported of the Canterbury Shrine.

Had I beene Justice of the Peace, like' the King's Grandmother, I would have beene very jealous of Accusations of Witchcraft ; and have taken infinite Payns to sift out the Causes of Malice, Jealousie, &c., which mighte have wroughte with the poore olde Women's Enemies. HoUe Writ sayth, " Thou shalt not suffer a " Witch to live ; " but, questionlesse, manie have suffered Hurte that were noe Witches ; and for my Part, I have alwaies helde ducking to be a very un- certayn as well as very cruel Teste.

I cannot helpe smiling, whenever I

think

48 The Household

think of my Rencounter with William this Morning. Mr. Gunnell had set me Homer s tiresome List of Ships ; and, because of the excessive Heate within Doors, I took my Book into the Nuttery, to be beyonde the Wrath of far-darting Phcebus Apcllo^ where I clomb into my favourite Filbert Seat. Anon comes William through the Trees without seeing me ; and seats him at the Foot of my Filbert ; then, out with his Tablets, and, in a Pos- ture I should have called studdied, had he known anie one within Sighte, falls a poetizing, I question not. Having noe Mind to be interrupted, I lett him be, thinking he would soone exhaust the Vein ; but a Caterpillar dropping from the Leaves on to my Page, I was fayn, for Mirthe sake, to shake it down on his Tablets. As ill Luck would have it, how- ever, the little Reptile onlie fell among

his

V-' /

^Sir Thos. More 51

his Curls ; which soe took me at Vantage that I collide not helpe hastilie crying, " I beg your Pardon." 'Twas worth a World to see his Start ! " Why ! " cries he, looking up, " are there indeede Ha?7ia- " dryads f " and would have gallanted a little, but I bade him hold down his Head, while that with a Twig I switched off the Caterpillar. Neither coulde for- beare laughing ; and then he sued me to step downe, but I was minded to abide where I was. Howbeit, after a Minute's Pause, he sayd, in a grave, kind Tone, " Come, little Wife ; " and taking mine Arm steadilie in his Hand, I lost my Balance and was faine to come down whether or noe. We walked for some Time juxta Fluvium ; and he talked not badlie of his Travels, insomuch as I founde there was really more in him than one would think. — Was there ever Aniething soe per- verse.

52 The Household

verse, unluckie, and downrighte disagree- able ? We hurried our Afternoone Tasks, to goe on the Water with my Father ; and, meaning to give Mr. Gunnel my hatin Traduction, which is in a Booke like unto this, I never knew he had my Journalle insteade, untill that he burst out a laughing. " Soe this is the famous " hibellus^' quoth he. ... I never waited for another Word, but snatcht it out of his Hand ; which he, for soe strict a Man, bore well enow. I do not believe he could have read a Dozen Lines, and they were towards the Beginning ; but I should hugelie like to know which Dozen Lines they were.

Hum ! I have a Mind never to write another Word. That will be punishing myselfe, though, insteade of Gunnel. And he bade me not take it to Heart like the late Bishop of Durham, to whom a like

Accident

^Sir Thos. More

53

Accident befel, which soe annoyed him that he died of Chagrin. I will never again, howbeit, write Aniething savouring ever soe little of Levitie or Absurditie. The Saints keepe me to it ! And, to know it from my Exercise Book, I will henceforthe bind a blue Ribbon round it. Furthermore, I will knit the sayd Ribbon in soe close a Knot, that it shall be worth no one else's Payns to pick it out. Lastlie, and for entire Securitie, I will carry the Same in my Pouch, which will hold bigger Matters than this.

22W. jHIS Daye, at Dinner, Mr. Clement tooke the Pistoller's Place at the Reading-desk ; and, insteade of continuing the Subject in Hand, read a Paraphrase of the io3rde Psalm ; the

Faithfulnesse

54 T^he Household

Faithfulnesse and elegant Turne of which, Erasmus highHe commended, though he took Exceptions to the Phrase " renewing " thy Youth Hke that of the Phoenix," whose fabulous Story he believed to have beene unknowne to the Psalmist, and, therefore, however poeticall, unfitt to be introduced. A deepe Blush on sweet Mercy's Face ledd to the Detection of the Paraphrast, and drew on her some de- served Commendations. Erasmus^ turning to my Father^ exclaymed with Anima- tion, " I woulde call this House the " Academy of Plato^ were it not Injus- " tice to compare it to a Place where the " usuall Disputations concerning Figures " and Numbers were onlie occasionallie " intersperst with Disquisitions concerning " the moral Virtues." Then, in a graver Mood, he added, " One mighte envie you, " but that your precious Privileges are

" bound

o/Siv Thos. More 55

" bound up with soe paynfulle Anxieties. " How manie Pledges have you given to " Fortune ! "

" If my Children are to die out of the " Course of Nature, before theire Parents," Father firmly replyed, " I would rather " they died well-instructed than ignorant."

" You remind me," rejoyns Erasmus^ " of Phocion ; whose Wife, when he was " aboute to drink the fatal Cup, ex- " claimed, ' Ah, my Husband ! you die " innocent.' ' And woulde you, my " Wife,' he returned, ' have me die " guilty ? ' "

Awhile after, Gonellus askt leave to see Erasmus his Signet-ring, which he handed down to him. In passing it back, William^ who was occupyde in carving a Crane, handed it soe negligentlie that it felle to the Ground. I never saw such a Face as Erasmus made, when 'twas picked out

from

56 The Household

from the Rushes ! And yet, ours are re- newed almost daylie, which manie think over nice. He took it gingerHe in his faire, Woman - Hke Hands, and washed and wiped it before he put it on ; which escaped not my Step-mother's displeased notice. Indeede, these Dutchmen are scrupulouslie cleane, though Mother calls 'em swinish, because they will eat raw Sallets ; though, for that Matter, Father loves Cresses and Ramps. She alsoe mis- likes Erasmus for eating Cheese and Butter together with his Manchet ; or what he calls Boetram ; and for being, generallie, daintie at his Sizes, which she sayth is an ill Example to soe manie young People, and becometh not one with soe little Money in 's Purse : howbeit, I think 'tis not Nicetie, but a weak Stomach, which makes him loathe our Salt -meat Com- mons from Michaelmasse to Easter, and

eschew

^Sir Thos. More 57

eschew Fish of the coarser Sort. He cannot breakfaste on colde Milk, like Fathe?\ but liketh Furmity a little spiced. At Dinner, he pecks at, rather than eats, Ruffs and Reeves, Lapwings, or anie smalle Birds it may chance ; but affects Sweets and Subtilties, and loves a Cup of Wine or Ale, stirred with Rosemary. Father never toucheth the Wine-cup but to grace a Guest, and loves Water from the Spring. We growing Girls eat more than either ; and Father says he loves to see us slice away at the Cob-loaf; it does him goode. What a kind Father he is ! I wish my Step-f?iother were as kind. I hate all sneaping and snubbing, flowting, fleering, pinching, nipping, and such-like ; it onlie creates Resentment insteade of Penitence, and lowers the Minde of either Partie. Gillian throws a Rolling-pin at the Turnspit's Head, and we call it Low- life ;

58 The Household

life ; but we looke for such Unmannerli- nesse in the Kitchen. A Whip is onlie fit for Tisiphone.

As we rose from Table, I noted Argus pearcht on the Window - sill, eagerlie watching for his Dinner, which he looketh for as punctuallie as if he could tell the Diall ; and to please the good, patient Bird, till the Scullion broughte him his Mess of Garden-stuff, I fetched him some Pulse, which he took from mine Hand, taking good Heede not to hurt me with his sharp Beak. While I was feeding him, Erasmus came up, and asked me concerning Mercy Giggs ; and I tolde him how that she was a friendlesse Orphan, to whom deare Father afforded Protection and the run of the House ; and tolde him of her Gratitude, her Meekness, her Patience, her Docilitie, her Aptitude for alle goode Works and Alms-deeds ; and

how.

|;tl|,i

jt'' % ■ -%"& jp ^^l^§^

of Sir Thos. More 6i

how, in her Httle Chamber, she improved eache spare Moment in the Way of Studdy and Prayer. He repeated " Friendlesse ? " she cannot be called Friendlesse, who " hath More for her Protector, and his " Children for Companions ; " and then woulde heare more of her Parents' sad Story. Alsoe, would hear somewhat of Rupert Allington^ and how Father gained his Lawsuit. Alsoe, of Daisy ^ whose Name he tooke to be the true Abbrevia- tion for Margaret^ but I tolde him how that my Step -sister, and Mercy ^ and I, being all three of a Name, and I being alwaies called Meg^ we had in Sport given one the Significative of her characteristic Virtue, and the other that of the French Marguerite^ which may indeed be rendered either Pearl or Daisy. And Chaucer^ speaking of our English Daisy, saith

" Si douce est la Marguerite.''

Zird.

62 The Household

2yd. INCE the little Wisdom I have Capacitie to acquire, soe oft gives me the Headache to Distraction, I marvel not at y up iter s Payn in his Head, v^^hen the Goddess of Wisdom sprang therefrom full growne.

This Morn, to quiet the Payn brought on by too busie Application, Mr. Gunnel would have me close my Book and ramble forth wdth Cecy into the Fields. We strolled towards Walham Greene; and she was seeking for Shepherd's Purses and Shepherd's Needles, when she came run- ning back to me, looking rather pale. I askt what had scared her, and she made

answer

^Sir Thos. More 63

answer that Gammer Gurney was coming along the Hedge. I bade her set aside her Feares ; and anon we came up with Gam?7ie7\ who was pulhng at the purple Blossoms of the Deadly Nightshade. I sayd, " Gammer^ to what Purpose gather " that Weed ? knowest not 'tis Evill ? "

She sayth, mumbling, " What God " hath created, that call not thou evill."

" Well, but," quo' I, " 'tis Poison."

" Aye, and Medicine too," returns Gammer. " I wonder what we poor Souls " might come to, if we tooke Nowt for " our Ails and Aches but what we could " buy o' the Potticary. We've got noe " Dr. Clement^ we poor Folks, to be our " Leech o' the Household."

" But hast no Feare," quo' I, " of an " Over-dose .? "

" There's manie a Doctor," sayth she, with an unpleasant Leer, " that hath

" given

64 The H^usehald

** pwca that at iirE(- In Time he gets '^ lus HaDd iJD ; asid Vvc had a Plcntj o* "" Practice— Thanks to Sdf and Sifter."

^I knew not,** quoth I, "that them " hadit a Sirter--

^ Hcrw shook! jc, MistiefiE,'^ letunis she shortlie, " when je nerer oomes nig^ tm ? '^ We've gnahbed on together this many a "Year.-

'^*1fSSoe£u-,''I retunicd, half ashamed.

"Why, soe it be,** answers Gammer; ^ iai iTosxk JJeigfabonni, nr from Church, ** and hr from Prist ; howbeit, my did '^ Legs carries me to ymr Hoctte o* "'Fridap; but 1 know not whtther I "shall e'er come agayn — the Rye Bread ** was sioe hard last Time ; it may serre ** for young Teeth, and £or them as "has got none; but mine, you see, are "oolie on dae gtt;** and she opened her Mouth with a ghastly Smile. '^Tls

"not,"

^Sir Thos. More 65

" not," she added, " that Fm ungrate- *' fiille ; but thou sees. Mistress, I really '' cant eat Crusts."

-Aiter a Moment. I asked, "Where lies " your Dwelling ? "

" Out bv yonder," quoth she, pointing

-' V

to a shapeless Mass like a huge Bird's Xest in the Comer of the Field. "There *' bides poor J^n and L Wilt come and " looke \sithin. Mistress, and see how a " Christian can die ? "

I

66 'The Household

I mutelie complyed, in spite of Cecys pulling at my Skirts. Arrived at the wretched Abode, which had a Hole for its Chimney, and another for Door at once and Window, I found, sitting in a Corner, propped on a Heap of Rushes, dried Leaves, and olde Rags, an aged sick Woman, who seemed to have but a little While to live. A Mug of Water stoode within her Reach ; I saw none other Sustenance ; but, in her Visage, oh, such Peace ! . . . Whispers Ga??imer with an awfulle Look, " She sees 'em now ! "

" Sees who ? " quoth L

" Why, Angels in two long Rows, afore *' the Throne of God, a bending of them- " selves, this Way, with theire Faces to " th' Earth, and Arms stretched out afore " 'em."

" Hath she seen a Priest ? " quoth L

" Lord love ye," returns Gammer, "what

" coulde

of^'iv Thos. More 67

" collide a Priest doe for her ? She's in " Heaven alreadie. I doubte if she can " heare me." And then, in a loud, dis- tinct Voyce, quite free from her usuall Mumping, she beganne to recite in Eng- lish^ " Blessed is every one that feareth " the Lord, and walketh in his Ways," etc. ; which the dying Woman hearde, although alreadie speechlesse ; and reach- ing out her feeble Arm unto her Sister's Neck, she dragged it down till their Faces touched ; and then, looking up, pointed at Somewhat she aimed to make her see . . . and we alle looked up, but saw Noughte. Howbeit, she pointed up three severall Times, and lay, as it were, trans- figured before us, a gazing at some trans- porting Sighte, and ever and anon turning on her Sister Looks of Love ; and, the While we stoode thus agaze, her Spiritt passed away without even a Thrill or a

Shudder.

68 The Household

Shudder. Cecy and I begahne to weepe ; and, after a While, soe did Gammer ; then, putting us forthe, she sayd, " Goe, " Children, goe ; 'tis noe goode crying ; " and yet I'm thankfulle to ye for your " Teares."

I sayd, " Is there Aught we can doe " for thee ? "

She made Answer, " Perhaps you can " give me Tuppence, Mistress, to lay on " her poor Eyelids and keep 'em down. " Bless 'ee, bless 'ee ! You're like the " good Samaritan — he pulled out Two- " pence. And maybe, if I come to 'ee " To-morrow, you'll give me a Lapfulle " of Rosemarie, to lay on her poor Corpse. "... I know you've Plenty. God be " with 'ee. Children ; and be sure ye " mind how a Christian can die."

Soe we left, and came Home sober enow. Cecy sayth, " To die is not soe

" fearfulle.

of Sir Thos. More 69

*' fearfulle, Meg, as I thoughte, but shoulde "■^ you fancy dying without a Priest ? I " shoulde not ; and yet Gammer sayd she " wanted not one. Howbeit, for certayn, " Gammer Giirney is noe Witch, or she *' woulde not soe prayse God."

To conclude, Father, on hearing Alle, hath given Gammer more than enow for her present Needes ; and Cecy and I are the Almoners of his Mercy.

'June 2^th. ^ESTERNIGHTE, being -5"/. Johns Eve, we went into Town to see the mustering of the Watch. Mr. Rastall had secured us a Window opposite the King's Head, in Chepe, where theire Majestys went in State to see the Show. The Streets were

a

yo The Household

a Marvell to see, being like unto a Continuation of fayr Bowres or Arbours, garlanded acrosse and over the Doors with greene Birch, long Fennel, Orpin, St. Johns Wort, white Lilies, and such like ; with innumerable Candles inter- sperst, the which, being lit up as soon as 'twas Dusk, made the Whole look like enchanted Land ; while, at the same Time, the leaping over Bon-fires com- menced, and produced Shouts of Laughter. The Youths woulde have had Father goe downe and joyn 'em ; Rupert^ speciallie, begged him hard, but he put him off with, " Sirrah, you Goose-cap, dost think " 'twoulde befitt the Judge of the SheriffV " Court ? "

At length, to the Sound of Trumpets, came marching up Cheapside two Thou- sand of the Watch, in white Fustian, with the City Badge ; and seven hundred

Cressett

o/Sir Thos. More 71

Cressett Bearers, eache with his Fellow to supplie him with Oyl, and making, with theire flaring Lights, the Night as cleare as Daye, After 'em, the Morris- dancers and City Waites ; the Lord Mayor on horseback, very fine, with his Giants and Pageants ; and the Sheriff and his Watch, and /ji's Giants and Pageants. The Streets very uproarious on our way back to the Barge, but the homeward Passage delicious ; the Nighte Ayre cool ; and the Stars shining brightly. Father and Erasmus had some astronomick Talk ; howbeit, methoughte Erasmus less familiar with the heavenlie Bodies than Father is. Afterwards they spake of the King, but not over-freelie, by reason of the Barge- men overhearing. Thence, to the ever- vext Question oi Martin Luther^ of whome Erasmus spake in Terms of earneste, yet qualifyde Prayse.

"If

72 The Household

" If huther be innocent," quoth he, " I " woulde not run him down by a wicked " Faction ; if he be in Error, I woulde " rather have him reclaymed than de- " stroyed ; for this is most agreeable to " the Doctrine of our deare Lord and " Master, who woulde not bruise the " broken Reede, nor quenche the smok- *' ing Flax." And much more to same Purpose.

We younger Folks felle to choosing our favourite Mottoes and Devices, in which the Elders at length joyned us. Mother s was loyal — " Cleave to the Crown " though it hang on a Bush." Erasmus s pithie — " Festina lente'' William sayd he was indebted for his to St. Paul — " I " seeke not yours, but you." For me, I quoted one I had scene in an olde Coun- trie Church, " Mieux etre que paroitre^' which pleased Father and Erasmus much.

June

^Sir Thos. More 73

'June 2^th. OOR Erasmus caughte colde on the Water last Nighte, and keeps House to-daye, taking warm Possets. 'Tis my Week of Housekeeping under Mother's Guidance, and I never had more Pleasure in it ; delighting to suit his Taste in sweete Things, which, methinks, all Men like. I have enow of Time left for Studdy, when alle's done.

He hathe beene the best Part of the Morning in our Academia, looking over Books and Manuscripts, taking Notes of some, discoursing with Mr. Gunnel on others ; and, in some Sorte, interrupting our Morning's Work ; but how plea- santlie ! Besides, as Father sayth, " Va- " rietie is not always Interruption. That

" which

74 ^^^ Household

" which occasionallie lets and hinders our " accustomed Studdies, may prove to the " ingenious noe less profitable than theire " Studdies themselves."

They beganne with discussing the Pro- nunciation of Latin and Greek, on which Erasmus differeth much from us, though he holds to our Pronunciation of the Theta. Thence, to the absurde Partie of the Ckeronians now in Italie^ who will admit noe Author save Tully to be read nor quoted, nor any Word not in his Writings to be used. Thence to the Latinitie of the Fathers^ of whose Style he spake slightlie enow, but rated Jerome above Augustine. At length, to his Greek and Latin Testament^ of late issued from the Presse, and the incredible Labour it hath cost him to make it as perfect as possible : on this Subject he so warmed that Bess and I listened with suspended

Breath.

^Sir Thos. More 75

Breath. " May it please God," sayth he, knitting ferventlie his Hands, " to make " it a Blessing to all Christendom ! I " look for noe other Reward. Scholars " and Believers yet unborn may have " Reason to thank, and yet may forget " Erasmus^ He then went on to explain to Gunnel what he had much felt in want of, and hoped some Scholar might yet undertake ; to wit, a Sort of Index Bibli- orum^ showing in how manie Passages of Holy Writ occurreth anie given Word, etc. ; and he e'en proposed it to Gunnel^ saying 'twas onlie the Work of Patience and Industry, and mighte be layd aside, and resumed as Occasion offered, and completed at Leisure, to the great Thank- fullenesse of Scholars. But Gunnel onlie smiled and shooke his Head. Howbeit, Erasmus set forth his Scheme soe playnlie, that I, having a Pen in Hand, did privilie

note

76 The Household

note down alle the Heads of the same, thinking, if none else would undertake it, why should not I ? since Leisure and Industrie were alone required, and since 'twoulde be soe acceptable to manie, 'speciallie to Erasmus.

'June 2()th. ^EARDE Mother say to Bar- bara, " Be sure the Sirloin is " well basted for the King's '' Physician ; " which avised me that Dr. Linacre was expected. In Truth, he returned with Father in the Barge ; and they tooke a Turn on the River Bank before sitting down to Table. I noted them from my Lattice ; and anon. Father, beckoning me, cries, " Child, bring out my favourite " Treatyse on Fisshynge, printed by

" Wynkyn

--A

A '^. y

"^U^ V^""^ .« i«)^

o/^Sir Thos. More 79

" Wynkyji de Worde ; I must give the " Doctor my loved Passage."

Joyning 'em w^ith the Booke, I found Father telling him of the Roach, Dace, Chub, Barbel, etc., we oft catch opposite the Church ; and hastilie turning over the Leaves, he beginneth v^dth Unction to read the Passage ensuing, w^hich I love to the full as much as he : —

He observeth, if the Angler's Sport shoulde fail him, " he at the best hathe " his holsom Walk and mery at his Ease, " a swete Ayre of the swete Savour of the " Meade of Flov^^ers, that maketh him " hungry ; he heareth the melodious Har- " monie of Fowles, he seeth the young " Sv^ans, Herons, Ducks, Cotes, and manie " other Fowles, with theire Broods, which " me seemeth better than alle the Noise " of Hounds, Faukenors, and Fowlers can " make. And if the Angler take Fysshe,

" then

8o The Household

" then there is noe Man merrier than he " is in his Spryte." And, " Ye shall not " use this foresaid crafty Disporte for no " covetysnesse in the encreasing and spar- " ing of your Money onlie, but prynci- " pallie for your Solace, and to cause the " Health of your Bodie, and speciallie of " your Soule, for when ye purpose to goe " on your Disportes of Fysshynge, ve will " not desire greatlie manie Persons with " you, which woulde lett you of vour " Game. And thenne ye may serve God " devoutlie, in saying affectuouslie vour " customable Prayer ; and thus doing, ye " shall eschew and voyd manie Vices."

" Angling is itselfe a Vice," cries Eras- mus^ from the Thresholde ; " for mv Part " I will fish none, save and except for " pickled Oysters."

" In the Regions below," answers Father; and then laughinglie tells LInacre

of

^Sir Thos. More 8i

of his firste Dialogue with Erasmus, who had beene feasting in my Lord Mayor's Cellar : — " ' Whence come you ? ' ' From " below.' ' What were they about there ? ' " ' Eating live Oysters, and drinking out " of Leather Jacks.' ' Either you are " Erasmus,' etc. ' Either you are More " or Nothing.' "

" ' Neither more nor less,' you should " have rejoyned," sayth the Doctor.

" How I wish I had ! " says Father ; " don't torment me with a Jest I might " have made and did not make ; 'speciallie " to put downe Erasmus.''

" Concedo nulli," sayth Erasmus.

" Why are you so lazy } " asks Linacre ; " I am sure you can speak English if you

will.

" Soe far from it," sayth Erasmus, " that " I made my Incapacitie an Excuse for " declining an English Rectory. Albeit,

" you

82 The Household

" you know how Wareham requited me ; " saying, in his kind, generous Way, I '' served the Church more by my Pen " than I coulde by preaching Sermons in " a countrie Village."

Sayth Linacre, " The Archbishop hath " made another Remark, as much to the " Purpose : to wit, that he has received " from you the Immortalitie which Em- " perors and Kings cannot bestow."

" They cannot even bid a smoking *' Sirloin retain its Heat an Hour after " it hath left the Fire," sayth Father. " Tilly-vally ! as my good Alice says, — " let us remember the universal Doom, " ' Fruges consumere nati,' and philosophize " over our Ale and Bracket."

" Not Cambridge Ale, neither," sayth Erasmus.

" Will you never forget that unlucky *' Beverage .? " sayth Father. " Why, Man,

" think

^Sir Thos. More 83

" think how manie poor Scholars there " be, that content themselves, as I have " hearde one of St. "Johns declare, with a " penny piece of Beef amongst four, stewed " into Pottage with a little Salt and Oat- " meal ; and that after fasting from four " o'clock in the Morning ! Say Grace for " us this Daye,£r^j-;;?z/j-, with goode Heart." At Table, Discourse flowed soe thicke and faste that I mighte aim in vayn to chronicle it — and why should I ? dwelling as I doe at the Fountayn Head .? Onlie that I find Pleasure, alreadie, in glancing over the foregoing Pages whensoever they concern Father and Erasmus^ and wish they were more faithfullie recalled and better writ. One Thing sticks by me,— a funny Reply of Father s to a Man who owed him Money and who put him off with ^'Memento Morieris.'" "I bid you," retorted. Father^ " Memento Mori Mris, and

"I

84 T^he Household

" I wish you woulde take as goode Care to " provide for the one as I do for the other."

Linacre laughed much at this, and sayd, — " That was real Wit ; a Spark struck " at the Moment ; and with noe 111- " nature in it, for I am sure your Debtor " coulde not help laughing."

" Not he," quoth Erasmus. " More s " Drollerie is like that of a young Gentle- " woman of his Name, which shines with- " out burning," . . . and, oddlie enow, he looked acrosse at jue. I am sure he meant Bess.

July 1st. '^^^^^^^ATHER broughte home a strange Guest to-daye, — a converted Jt"ic\ with grizzlie Beard, furred Gown, and Eyes that shone like Lamps lit in dark Cavernes.

He

^Sir Thos. More

85

He had beene to Benmarine and Tremegen^ to the Hoiie Citie and to Damascus^ to Urmia and Assyria, and I think alle over the knowne World ; and tolde us manie strange Tales, one hardlie knew how to believe ; as, for Example, of a Sea-coast

Tribe, called the Balouches, who live on Fish and build theire Dwellings of the Bones. Alsoe, of a Race of his Countrie- men beyond Euphrates who believe in

Christ^

86 T^he Household

Christy but know nothing of the Pope ; and of whom were the Magians that followed the Star. This agreeth not with our Legend. He averred that, though soe far apart from theire Brethren, theire Speech was the same, and even theire Songs ; and he sang or chaunted one which he sayd was common among the Jews alle over the World, and had beene soe ever since theire Citie was ruinated and the People captivated, and yet it was never sett down in Prick-song. Erasmus^ who knows little or nought of Hebrew, listened to the Words with Curiositie, and made him repeate them twice or thrice : and though I know not the Character, it seemed to me they sounded thus : —

Adir Hu yh'iie bethcha beccaro, El, b'ne ; El, b'nc : El, Une ; Bethcha beccaro.

Though

of^iv Thos. More 87

Though Christianish, he woulde not eat Pig's Face ; and sayd Swine's Flesh was forbidden by the Hebrew Law for its unwholesomenesse in hot Countries and hot Weather, rather than by way of arbitrarie Prohibition. Daisy took a great Dislike to this Man, and woulde not sit next him.

In the Hay-field alle the Evening. Swathed Father in a Hay-rope, and made him pay the Fine, which he pretended to resist. Cecy was just about to cast one round Erasmus^ when her Heart failed and she ran away, colouring to the Eyes. He sayd, he never saw such pretty Shame. Father reclining on the Hay, with his Head on my Lap and his Eyes shut, Bess asked if he were asleep. He made answer, " Yes, and dreaming." I askt, " Of what ? " " Of a far-off " future Daye, Meg ; when thou and I

" shall

88 The Household

" shall looke back on this Hour, and this " Hay-field, and my Head on thy Lap."

" Nay, but what a stupid Dream, Mr. " More,'' says Mother. " Why, what " woulde you dreame of, Mrs. Alice ? " " Forsooth, if I dreamed at alle, when I " was wide awake, it shoulde be of being " LoriJ Chajicellor at the leaste." " Well, " Wife, I forgive thee for not saying at " the most. Lord Chancellor, quotha ! " And you woulde be Dame Alice, I trow, " and ride in a Whirlecote, and keep a " Spanish Jennet, and a Couple of Grey- " hounds, and wear a Train before and " behind, and carry a Jerfalcon on your " Fist." " On my Wrist." " No, that's " not such a pretty Word as t'other ! Go '' to, go ! "

Straying from the others, to a remote Corner of the Meadow, or ever I was aware, I came close upon Ga??i??ier Gurney,

holding

of ^ir Thos. More 89

holding Somewhat with much Care. " Give ye good den, Mistress Meg,'' quoth she, " I cannot abear to rob the Birds of " theire Nests ; but I knows you and " yours be kind to dumb Creatures, soe '' here's a Nest o' young Owzels for ye — " and I can't call 'em dumb nowther, for " they'll sing bravelie some o' these Days." " How hast fared, of late, Gammer F " quoth I. " Why, well enow for such as " I," she made Answer ; " since I lost the '' Use o' my right Hand, I can nowther " spin, nor nurse sick Folk, but I pulls " Rushes, and that brings me a few Pence, " and I be a good Herbalist ; onlie, be- " cause I says one or two English Prayers, " and hates the Priests, some Folks thinks " me a Witch." " But why dost hate the " Priests ? " quoth I. " Never you mind," she gave Answer, " Fve Reasons manie ; " and for my English Prayers, they were

" taught

90

The Household

" taught me by a Gentleman I nursed, " that's now a Saint in Heaven, along " with poor yoan.''

And soe she hobbled off, and I felt kindlie towards her, I scarce knew why — perhaps because she spake soe lovingly of her dead Sister, and because of that Sister's Name. My Mother's Name was Joan.

July 2nd. ^RASMUS is gone. His last Saying to Father was, " They will have you at " Court yet ; " and Father s Answer, " When Plato s " Year comes round."

To me he gave a Copy, how precious ! of his Testament. " You are an elegant " Latinist, Margaret^' he was pleased to say, " but, if you woulde drink deeplie

"of

^ Sir Thos. More 91

" of the Well-springs of Wisdom, applie " to Greek. The Latins have onlie " shallow Rivulets ; the Greeks, copious " Rivers, running over Sands of Gold. " Read Plato ; he wrote on Marble, with " a Diamond ; but above alle, read the " New Testament. 'Tis the Key to the " Kingdom of Heaven."

To Mr. Gunnel, he said smiling, " Have " a Care of thyself, dear Gone//us, and " take a little Wine for thy Stomach's " Sake. The Wages of most Scholars " now-a-days, are weak Eyes, Ill-health, " an empty Purse, and shorte Commons. " I neede only bid thee beware of the " two first."

To Bess, " Farewell, Bessy ; thank you " for mending my bad Latin. When I " write to you, I will be sure to signe " myselfe ' Roterodamius.' Farewell, sweete " Cecil ; let me always continue your

" ' desired

92

The Household

u c

desired Amiable.' And you, Jacky^ — " love your Book a little more."

" 'Jack's deare Mother, not content " with her Girls," sayth Father^ " was " alwaies wishing for a Boy, and at last " she had one that means to remain a " Boy alle his Life."

" The Dutch Schoolmasters thoughte " tne dulle and heavie," sayth Erasmus, " soe there is some Hope of Jacky yet." And soe, stepped into the Barge, which we watched to Chelsea Reach. How dulle the House has beene ev^er since ! Rupert and William have had me into the Pavil- lion to hear the Plot of a Miracle-play they have alreadie begunne to talke over for Christmasse, but it seemed to me down- righte Rubbish. Father sleepes in Town to-nighte, soe we shall be stupid enow. Bessy hath undertaken to work Father 3. Slipper for his tender Foot ; and is happie,

tracine

of Sir Thos. More 93

tracing for the Pattern our three Moor- cocks and Colts ; but I am idle and tiresome.

If I had Paper, I woulde beginne my projected Oprn ; but I dare not ask Gunnel for anie more just yet; nor have anie Money to buy Some. I wish I had a couple of Angels. I think I shall write to Father for them to-morrow ; he alwaies likes to heare from us if he is twenty-four Hours absent, providing we conclude not with " I have Nothing more to say."

July \th. HAVE writ my Letter to Father. I almoste wish, now, that I had not sent it. Rupert and Will still full of theire Moralitie, which reallie has some Fun in it. To

ridicule

94

The Household

ridicule the Extravagance of those who, as the Saving is, carry theire Farms and Fields on theire Backs, Williajn proposes to come in, all verdant, with a reall Model of a Farm on his Back, and a Windmill on his Head.

this Epistle.

July sth. 0\V sweete, how gracious an Answer from Father ! John Harris has broughte me with it the two Angels ; less prized than

July loth. IXTEENTH Birthdaye. Father away, which made it sadde. Mother gave me a payr of blue Hosen with Silk Clocks ; Mr. Gun?7e/, an ivorie-handled Stylus ; Bess, a Bodkin

for

^Sir Thos. More 95

for my Hair ; Daisy, a Book-mark ; Mercy, a Saffron Cake ; Jack, a Basket ; and Cecil, a Nosegay. William's Present was fayrest of alle, but I am hurte with him and myselfe ; for he offered it soe queerlie and tagged it with such ... I refused it, and there's an End. 'Twas unman- nerlie and unkinde of me, and I've cried aboute it since.

Father alwaies gives us a Birthdaye Treat ; soe, contrived that Mother shoulde take us to see my Lord Cardinal of Tork goe to Westminster in State. We had a merrie Water-partie ; got goode Places and saw the Show ; Crosse-bearers, Pillar- bearers, Ushers and alle. Himselfe in crimson engrayned Sattin, and Tippet of Sables, with an Orange in his Hand helde to 's Nose, as though the common Ayr were too vile to breathe. What a pompous Priest it is ! The Archbishop

mighte

96

'The Household

mighte well say, "That Man is drunk " with too much Prosperitie."

Betweene Dinner and Supper, we had a fine Skirmish in the Straits of Ther- mopylae. Mr. Gz//zmV headed the Persians,

and Will was Leonidas^ with a swashing Buckler, and a Helmet a Yard high ; but Mr. Gunnel gave him such a Rap on the Crest that it went over the Wall ; soe then William thought there was Nothing

left

o/Siv Thos. More 97

left for him but to die. Howbeit, as he had beene layd low sooner than he had reckoned on, he prolonged his last Agonies a goode deal, and gave one of the Persians a tremendous Kick just as they were aboute to rifle his Pouch. They therefore thoughte there must be Somewhat in it they shoulde like to see ; soe, helde him down in spite of his hitting righte and lefte, and pulled there- from, among sundrie lesser Matters, a carnation Knot of mine. Poor Varlet, I wish he would not be so stupid.

After Supper, Mother proposed a Con- cert ; and we were alle singing a Rounde, when, looking up, I saw Father standing in the Door-way, with such a happy Smile on his Face ! He was close behind Rupert and Daisy, who were singing from the same Book, and advertised them of his Coming by gentlie knocking theire

Heads

G

98 The Household

Heads together ; but I had the firste Kiss, even before Mother^ because of my Birthdaye.

July nth. [T turns out that Father s Lateness Yester-even was caused by Press of Busi- nesse ; a forayn Mission having beene proposed to him, which he resisted as long as he could, but was at length reluctantlie induced to accept. Lengthe of his Stay uncertayn, which casts a Gloom on alle ; but there is soe much to doe as to leave little Time to think, and Father is busiest of alle ; yet hath founde Leisure to concert with Mother for us a Journey into the Country, which will occupy some of the Weeks of his Absence. I am full of care-

fulle

o/^Siv Thos. More 99

fulle Thoughts and Forebodings, being naturallie of too anxious a Disposition. Oh, let me caste alle my Cares on another ! Fecisti nos ad te, Domine ; et inquietum est cor nostrum^ donee requiescat in te.

May

lOO The Household

May 2'/th^ 1523. \IS soe manie Months agone since that I made an Entry in my Libellus^ as that my Motto, ''Nulla Dies sine " Lijiea^' hath somewhat of Sarcasm in it. How manie Things doe I beginne and leave unfinisht ! and yet, less from Caprice than Lack of Strength ; like him of whom the Scrip- ture was writ, — " This Man beganne to " build and was not able to finish." My Opus^ for Instance ; the which my Father s prolonged Absence in the Autumn, and my Winter Visitt to Aunt Nan and Aunt Fan gave me such Leisure to carrie forward. But alack ! Leisure was less to seeke than Learninge ; and when I came back to mine olde Taskes, Leisure

was

^Sir Thos. More loi

was awanting too ; and then, by reason of my sleeping in a separate Chamber, I was enabled to steale Hours from the earlie Morn and Hours from the Night, and, like unto Solomon s virtuous Woman, my Candle went not out. But 'twas not to Purpose that I worked, like the virtu- ous Woman, for I was following a Jack- o-Lantern ; having forsooke the straight Path laid downe by Erasmus for a foolish Path of mine owne ; and soe I toyled, and blundered, and puzzled, and was mazed ; and then came on that Payn in my Head. Father sayd, " What makes " Meg soe pale ? " and I sayd not : and, at the last, I tolde Mother there was somewhat throbbing and twisting in the Back of mine Head, like unto a little Worm that woulde not die ; and she made Answer, " Ah, a Maggot," and soe by her Scoff I was shamed. Then I gave

over

I02 The Household

over mine Opus^ but the Payn did not yet goe ; soe then I was longing for the deare Pleasure, and fondlie turning over the Leaves, and wondering woulde Father be surprised and pleased with it some Daye, when Father himself came in or ever I was aware. He sayth, " What hast thou, Meg ? " I faltered and woulde sett it aside. He sayth, " Nay, " let me see ; " and soe takes it from me ; and after the firste Glance throws himself into a Seat, his Back to me, and firste runs it hastilie through, then beginnes with Methode and such Silence and Gravitie as that I trembled at his Side, and felt what it must be to stand a Prisoner at the Bar, and he the Judge. Sometimes I thought he must be pleased, at others not : at lengthe, alle my fond Hopes were ended by his crying, " This " will never doe. Poor Wretch, hath this

" then

^Sir Thos. More 103

" then beene thy Toyl ? How couldst " find Time for soe much Labour ? for " here hath beene Trouble enow and to " spare. Thou must have stolen it, sweet " Meg, from the Night, and prevented " the Morning Watch. Most dear'st ! " thy Father s owne loved Child ; " and soe, caressing me till I gave over my Shame and Disappointment.

" I neede not to tell thee, Meg'' Father sayth, " of the unprofitable Labour of " Sisyphus, nor of drawing Water in a " Sieve. There are some Things, most " deare one, that a Woman, if she trieth, " may doe as well as a Man ; and some " she cannot, and some she had better " not. Now, I tell thee firmlie, since " the firste Payn is the leaste sharpe, that, " despite the Spiritt and Genius herein " shewn, I am avised 'tis Work thou " canst not and Work thou hadst better

" not

I04 T^he Household

" not doe. But judge for thyselfe ; if " thou wilt persist, thou shalt have Leisure " and Quiet, and a Chamber in my new " Building, and alle the Help my Gallery " of Books may afford. But thy Father " says, Forbear."

Soe, what coulde I say, but " My " Father shall never speak to me in vayn."

Then he gathered the Papers up and sayd, " Then I shall take Temptation out " of your Way ; " and pressing 'em to his Heart as he did soe, sayth, " They are as " deare to me as they can be to you ; " and soe left me, looking out as though I noted (but I noted not) the cleare-shining Thames. 'Twas Twilighte, and I stoode there I know not how long, alone and lonely ; with Tears coming, I knew not why, into mine Eyes. There was a Weight in the Ayr, as of coming Thunder; the Screaming, ever and anon, of 'Juno

and

^Sir Thos. More 105

and Argus ^ inclined me to Mellancholie, as it alwaies does : and at length I be- ganne to note the Moon rising, and the deepening Clearnesse of the Water, and the lazy Motion of the Barges, and the Flashes of Light whene'er the Rowers dipt theire Oars. And then I beganne to attend to the Cries and different Sounds from acrosse the Water, and the Tolling of a distant Bell ; and I felle back on mine olde heart-sighinge, " Fecisti nos ad '' te, Domifie ; et inquietum est cor nostrum^ " do?iec requiescat i?i teT

Or ever the Week was gone, my Father had contrived for me another Journey to New Hall^ to abide with the Lay Nuns, as he calleth them. Aunt Nan and Aunt Fan, whom my Step-mother loveth not, but whom I love and whom Father loveth. Indeede, 'tis sayd in Essex that at first he inclined to Aunt Nan rather than to my

Mother ;

io6 The Household

Mother ; but that, perceiving my Mother affected his Companie and Aunt Nan affected it not, he diverted his hesitating Affections unto her and took her to v^ife. Howbeit, Aunt Nan loveth him dearlie as a Sister ought : indeed, she loveth alle, except, methinketh, herself, to whom, alone, she is rigid and severe. How holie are my Aunts' Lives ! Cloistered Nuns could not be more pure, and could scarce be as usefulle. Though wise, they can be gay ; though noe longer young, they love the Young. And theire Reward is, the Young love them ; and I am fulle sure in this World they seeke noe better. Returned to Chelsea^ I spake much in Prayse of mine Aunts, and of single Life. On a certayn Evening, we Maids were sett at our Needles and Samplers on the Pavilion Steps ; and, as Follie will out, 'gan talk of what we would fayn have to

our

^Sir Thos. More 107

our Lots, shoulde a good Fairie starte up and grant cache a Wish. Daisy was for a Countess's Degree, with Hawks and Hounds. Bess was for founding a Col- lege, Mercy a Hospital, and she spake soe experimentallie of its Conditions that I was fayn to goe Partners with her in the same. Cecy commenced, " Supposing I " were married ; if once that I were mar- " ried " — on which, Father^ who had come up unperceived, burst out laughing and sayth, " Well, Dame Cecily^ and what " State would you keep ? " Howbeit, as he and I afterwards paced together, jtixta Fluvium^ he did say, " Mercy hath well " propounded the Conditions of an Hos- " pital or Alms-house for aged and sick " Folk, and 'tis a Fantasie of mine to sett " even such an one afoot, and give you " the Conduct of the same."

From this careless Speech, dropped as

'twere

io8

T^he Household

'twere by the Way, hath sprung mine House of Refuge ! and oh, what Pleasure have I derived from it ! How good is my Father ! how the Poor bless him ! and how kind is he, through them, to me ! Laying his Hand kindly on my Shoulder, this Morning, he sayd, " Meg^ " how fares it with thee now ? Have I " cured the Payn in thy Head ? " Then, putting the House-key into mine Hand, he laughingly added, " 'Tis now yours, " my Joy, by Livery and Seisin.''

Aug. 6th. WISH William would givt me back my Testament. 'Tis one thing to steal a Knot or a Posie, and an- other to borrow the most valuable Book in the House, and keep it

Week

o/^Sir Thos. More 109

Week after Week. He soughte it with a kind of Mysterie, soe as that I forbeare to ask it of him in Companie, lest I should doe him an ill Turn ; and yet I have none other Occasion.

Alle Parties are striving which shall have Erasmus, and alle in vayn. E'en thus it was with him when he was here last, — the ^iieen would have had him for her Preceptor, the Ki/?g and Cardinall prest on him a royall Apartment and Salarie, Oxford and Cambridge contended for him, but his Saying was, " Alle these " I value less than my Libertie, my Stud- " dies, and my literarie Toyls." How much greater is he than those who woulde confer on him Greatnesse ! Noe Man of Letters hath equall Reputation, or is soe much courted.

Aug.

no The Household

Aug. jth. ESTER-EVEN, after over- looking the Men playing at Loggats, Father and I strayed away along Ther- 7nopyla into the Home- field ; and as we sauntered together under the Elms, he sayth with a Sigh, " Jack " is Jack^ and no More ... he will " never be anything. An' 'twere not for " my beloved Wenches, I should be an " unhappy Father. But what though ! — " My Meg is better unto me than ten " Sons ; and it maketh no Difference at " Harvest-time whether our Corn were put " into the Ground by a Man or a Woman." While I was turning in my Mind what Excuse I might make for yohn^ Father taketh me at unawares by a sudden Change

of

^ Sir Thos. More iii

of Subject ; saying, " Come, tell me, Meg^ " why canst not affect Will Roper f "

I was a good while silent, at length made Answer, " He is so unlike alle I " esteem and admire ... so unlike alle " I have been taught to esteem and admire " by you." —

" Have at you," he returned laugh- ing, " I wist not I had been sharpening " Weapons agaynst myself. True, he is '' neither Achilles nor Hector^ nor even " Paris^ but yet well enough, meseems, " as Times go — smarter and comelier than " either Heron or DanceyT

I, faltering, made Answer, "Good Looks " affect me but little — 'tis in his better " Part I feel the Want. He cannot . . . " discourse, for instance, to one's Mind " and Soul, like unto you, dear Father^ or " Erasmus y

" I should marvel if he could," re- turned

1 12

The Household

turned Father gravelie, " thou art mad, " my Daughter, to look, in a Youth of " wars Years, for the Mind of a Man " of fifty. What were Erasmus and I, " dost thou suppose, at WilPs age ? Alas, " Meg^ I should not like you to know " what I was I Men called me the Boy- " sage, and I know not what, but in my " Heart and Head was a World of Sin " and Folly. Thou mightst as well ex- " pect Will to have my Hair, Eyes, and " Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear, " as to have the Fruits of my life-long " Experience, in some Cases full dearly " bought. Take him for what he is, " match him by the young Minds of his " owne standing : consider how long and " closelie we have known him. His Parts " are, surelie, not amiss : he hath more " Book-lore than Dancey^ more mother " Wit than Allington!'

" But

^Sir Thos. More 113

" But why need I to concern myself ' about him ? " I exclaymed ; " Will is ' very well in his way : why should we ' cross each other's Paths ? I am young, I ' have much to learn, I love my Studdies, ' — why interrupt them with other and ' less wise Thoughts ? "

" Because nothing can be wise that is ^ ' not practical," returned Father^ " and I ' teach my Children Philosophic to fitt ' them for living in the World, not above ' it. One may spend a Life in dream- ' ing over Plato^ and yet goe out of it ' without leaving the World a whit the ' better for our having made Part of it. ' 'Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if ' it onlie makes us exact Perfections in ' others which they may in vayn seek for ' in ourselves. It is not even necessary or ' goode for us to live entirelie with con- ' geniall Spiritts. The vigourous tempers

" the

H

114 The Household

" the inert, the passionate is evened by " the cool-tempered, the prosaic balances " the visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit '' me better, dost thou suppose, if she " coulde discuss Polemicks like Luther or " Melancthon f E'en thine owne sweet " Mother, Meg^ was less affected to Studdy '' than thou art, — she learnt to love it for " my Sake, but I made her what she was." And, with a suddain Burste of fond Re- collection, he hid his Eyes on my Shoulder, and for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. As for me, I shed, oh ! such salt Teares ! . . .

Aug. ijth. ^NTERING, o' the suddain, into Mefxys Chamber, I founde her all be-wept and waped, poring over an old Kirtle of Mother's she had bidden her re-line with Buckram. Coulde

not

(9/^ Sir Thos. More 115

not make out whether she were sick of her Task, had had Words with Mother, or had some secret Inquietation of her owne ; but, as she is a Girl of few Words, I found I had best leave her alone after a Caress and kind Saying or two. We alle have our Troubles.

Wednesday^ i()t/i.

RULIE may I say soe. Here have they ta'en a Fever of some low Sorte in my House of Refuge, and Mother^ fearing it may be the Sicknesse, will not have me goe neare it, lest I should bring it home. Mercy^ howbeit, hath besought her soe earnestlie to let her goe and nurse the Sick, that Mother hath granted her Prayer,

on

1 1 6 The Household

on Condition she returneth not till the Fever bates . . . thus setting her Life at lower Value than our owne. Deare Mercy I I woulde fayn be her Mate.

2\st. ,E are alle mightie glad that Rupert All'uigton hath at lengthe zealouslie embraced the Studdy of the Law. 'Twas much to be feared at the Firste there was noe Application in him, and though we alle pitied him when Father first broughte him Home, a pillaged, portionlesse Client, with none other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a Pitie soone allied with Contempt when we founde how emptie he was, caring for nought but Archerie and Skittles and the Popinjaye out o' the House, and Dicing

and

^Sir Thos. More 117

and Tables within, which Father would on noe Excuse permitt. Soe he had to con- form, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie on Hand for awhile. I mind me of Bess s saying, about Christmasse^ " Heaven send " us open Weather while Allingtou is here ; " I don't believe he is one that will bear " shutting up." Howbeit, he seemed to incline towards Daisy, who is handsome enow, and cannot be hindered of Two- hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within Bounds, and when Father got him his Cause he was mightilie thankfulle, and woulde have left us out of Hand, but Father persuaded him to let his Estate recover itself, and turn the mean Time to Profitt, and, in short, soe wrought on him, that he hath now become a Student in righte earneste.

22 fhL

1 1 8 The Household

22nd. |OE we are going to lose not only Mr. Clement^ but Mr. Gunnel ! How sorrie we alle are ! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and agaynst the Church, and at length finds his Mind soe stronglie set towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well ! we shall lose a good Master, and the Church will gayn a good Servant. Drew will supplie his Place, that is, according to his beste, but our worthy Welshman careth soe little for young People, and is soe abstract from the World about him, that we shall oft feel our Loss. Father hath promised Gonellus his Interest with the Car- dinall.

I fell

'»^-^^ , -^ - „: >i^' A.->^ -Al^" .. ^«^ V — T

«k

of Sir Thos. More 121

I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech with Mercy over the Pales, but she is confident there is noe Danger ; the Sick are doing well, and none of the Whole have fallen sick. She sayth Gammer Gurney is as tender of her as if she were her Daughter, and will let her doe noe vile or paynfull Office, soe as she hath little to doe but read and pray for the poor Souls, and feed 'em with savourie Messes, and they are alle so harmonious and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in a Nest. Mercy deserves theire Blessings more than I. Were I a free Agent, she should not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom agayn.

30M.

122

The Household

30//Z. USIED with my Flowers the chief o' the Forenoon, I was fayn to rest in the Pavilion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon but WUUam^ layd at length on the Floor, with his Arms under his Head, and his Book on the Ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he called out, " Don't goe away, since you " are here," in a Tone soe rough, soe unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused in a Maze, and then saw that his Eyes were red. He sprung to his Feet and sayd, " Meg^ come and talk to me ; " and, taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie forthe without another Word sayd, till we reached the Elm-tree Walk. I mar- velled to see him soe moven, and expected

to

^Sir Thos. More 123

to hear Somewhat that shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what ; however, I might have guest at it from then till now, without ever nearing the Truth. His first Words were, " I wish Erasmus " had ne'er crost the Thresholde ; he has " made me very unhappie ; " then, seeing me stare, " Be not his Council just now, " deare Meg^ but bind up, if thou canst, " the Wounds he has made. . . . There " be some Wounds, thou knowest, though " but of a cut Finger or the like, that " we cannot well bind up for ourselves."

I made Answer, " I am a young and " unskilled Leech."

He replyed, " But you have a quick " Wit, and Patience, and Kindnesse, and for " a Woman, are not scant of Learning."

" Nay," I sayd, " but Mr. Gunnel—'

" Gunnel would be the Last to help " me," interrupts Will^ " nor can I speak

"to

124 ^^ Household

" to your Father. He is alwaies too " busie now . . . besides, — "

" Father Francis F " I put in.

" Father Fi^ancis f " repeats Wiii, with a Shake o' the Head and a ruefulle Smile ; " dost thou think, Meg, he coulde answer " me if I put to him Pilate's Question, " ' What is Truth ? ' "

" We know alreadie," quoth I.

Sayth Will, "What do we know ? "

I paused, then made Answer reverentHe, " That Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and " the Life."

" Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his Hands together in a strange Sort of Passion ; " that we doe know, blessed be " God, and other Foundation can or ought " noe Man to lay than that is layd, which " is Jesus Christ. But, Meg, is this the " Principle of our Church } "

" Yea, verily," I steadfastlie replied.

" Then,

o/Siv Thos. More 125

" Then, how has it beene overlayd," he hurriedHe went on, " with Men's In- " ventions ! St. Pan/ speaks of a Sacrifice " once offered : we holde the Host to be " a continuall Sacrifice. Holy Writ telleth " us, where a Tree falls it must lie ; we are " taughte that our Prayers may free Souls " from Purgatorie. The Word sayth, ' By "Faith ye are saved;' the Church sayth, " we may be saved by our Works. It is " written, ' The Idols he shall utterly " abolish ; ' we worship Figures of Gold " and Silver . . ." " Hold, hold," I sayd, " I dare not listen to this. . . . You are " wrong, you know you are wrong."

" How and where ? " he sayth ; " onlie " tell me. I long to be put righte."

" Our Images are but Symbols of our " Saints," I made Answer ; " 'tis onlie the " Ignorant and Unlearned that worship " the mere Wood and Stone."

" But

126 The Household

" But . why worship Saints at alle ? " persisted Will ; " where's your Warrant " for it ? "

I sayd, " Heaven has warranted it by " sundrie and speciall Miracles at divers " Times and Places. I may say to you, " Will^ as Socrates to Agathon^ ' You may " easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot " argue agaynst the Truth.' "

" Oh, put me not off with Flato^' he impatientlie replyed, " refer me but to " Holie Writ."

" How can I," quoth I, " when you " have ta'en away my Testament ere I had " half gone through it ? 'Tis this Book, " I fear me, poor WilU hath unsettled " thee. Our Church, indeed, sayth the Un- " learned wrest it to theire Destruction."

" And yet the xA.postle sayth," rejoyned Will^ " that it contayns alle Things neces- " sarie to our Salvation."

" Doubtlesse

^ Sir Thos. More 127

" Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but " where to find them," I replied.

" And how find, unlesse we seeke ? " he pursued, " and how know which Road '' to take, when we find the Scripture " and the Church at Issue ? "

" Get some wiser Head to advise us," I rejoyned.

" But an' if the Obstacle remains the " same ? "

" I cannot suppose that," I somewhat impatientlie returned, " God's Word and " God's Church must agree ; 'tis only we " that make them at Issue."

" Ah, Meg^ that is just such an Answer " as Father Francis mighte give — it solves " noe Difiicultie. If, to alle human Reason, '' they pull opposite Ways, by which " shall we abide t I know ; I am certain. '' ' Tu^ Domifie Jesu^ es 'Justicia me a / ' "

He looked soe rapt, with claspt Hands

and

12 8 The Household

and upraysed Eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him and hear him with Solemnitie. At length I sayd, " If you " know and are certayn, you have noe " longer anie Doubts for me to lay, and " with your Will, we will holde this Dis- " course noe longer, for however moving " and however considerable its Subject " Matter may be, it approaches forbidden " Ground too nearlie for me to feel it " safe, and I question whether it savoureth " not of Heresie. However, Will^ I most " heartilie pitie you, and will pray for " you."

" Do, Meg^ do," he replyed, " and say " nought to any one of this Matter."

" Indeede I shall not, for I think " 'twoulde bring you if not me into " Trouble ; but, since thou haste soughte " my Council, Will^ receive it now and " take it. . . ."

He

(5/^ Sir Thos. More 129

He sayth, " What is it ? "

" To read less, pray more, fast, and use " such Discipline as our Church recom- " mends, and I question not this Tempta- " tion will depart. Make a fayr Triall."

And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more ; and I have kept mine owne Worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to see him in such Case.

Sept. 2ud. ^OOR Will^ I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe, without think- ing I know the Cause of his secret Discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my Council to the Letter, for though the Men's Quarter of the House is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through

Bar hew a.

130 The Household

Barbara^ who had it from her Brother, that Mr. Roper hath of late lien on the Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts and Inquietations, I have been at some Payns to make an Abstracte of such Passages from the Fathers, and such Nar- ratives of noted and undeniable Miracles as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his Soul's Comfort.

Tuesday^ \th. UPPED with my Lord Sands. Mother played Mumchance with my Lady, but Father, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich

Man's

of ^\r Thos. More 131

Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea of Businesse. My Lord tolde him the King had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his Manor

as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of

fine-toned

132 The Household

iine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high ; the largest in England^ except that of the Lady Mary Dudley. The Sound, indeed, is pow^erfull, but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord Sands sang us a new Ballad, " The Kings Hunfs up,'' which Father affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he being soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me ; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus. . . .

The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up,

And it is zuell nigh Daye,

Harry our King has gone hunting

To bring his Deere to baye.

The East is bright with Morning Lighte,

And Darkness it is fled,

A nd the nierrie Horn zvakes up the Morn

To leave his idle Bed.

Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes,

Are . . ."

—The

^Sir Thos. More 133

— The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of Hey- tantara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a merry Heart.

1524,

134 ^^^ Household

I 524, October. 'AYTH Lord Rutland to my Father, in his acute sneering Way, " Ah, ah, " Sir Thomas., Honores mu- " tant Mores.'' " Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns Father^ " but have a Care lest we translate " the Proverb, and say Honours change " Manners.''

It served him right, and the Jest is worth preserving, because 'twas not pre- meditate, as my Lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and in Self-defence. I don't believe Honours have changed the Mores. As Father told Mother^ there's the same Face under the Hood. 'Tis comique, too, the Fulfilment of Erasmus his Prophecy. Plato's Year has not come

rounde.

^/'Sir Thos. More 135

rounde, but they have got Father to Court, and the King seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed Spiritts and unconstrayned Course of Life as ever, neither lett nor hindered in our daylie Studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and see more Companie. Mother s Head was a httle turned, at first, by the Change and En- largement of the Householde . . . the Acquisition of Clerk of the Kitchen, Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the Pastrie, etc., but, as Father laughinglie tolde her, the Increase of her Cares soon steddied her Witts, for she found she had twenty Unthrifts to look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with him- self His Responsibilities are soe increast, that he grutches at everie Hour the Court steals from his Family, and vows, now and then, he will leave off joking, that

the

136 The Household

the King may the sooner wearie of him. But this is onlie in Jest, for he feels it is a Power given him over lighter Minds, which he may exert to usefull and high Purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from needing Damocles his Sword ; he trusts not in the Favour of Princes nor in the Voyce of the People, and keeps his Soul as a weaned Child. 'Tis much for us now to get an Hour's Leisure with him, and makes us feel what our olde Privilleges were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper Level,

The King tooke us by Surprise this Morning : Mother had scarce time to slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere he was in the House. His Grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round, which Bessy took humourously, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy

humblie.

^ Sir Thos. More 137

humblie, I distastefullie, and Mother de- lightedlie. She calls him a fine Man ; he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big ; with long slits of Eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say, " Who dare let or hinder us ? " His Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his Eyebrows are supercilious, and his Cheeks pufFy. A rolling, straddling Gait, and abrupt Speech.

T'other Evening, as Father and I were, unwontedly, strolling together down the Lane, there accosts us a shabby poor Fellow, with something unsettled in his Eye. . . .

" Master, Sir Knight, and may it please " your Judgeship, my name is Patteson'^

" Very likely," says Father^ " and my '' Name is More^ but what is that to the " Purpose ? "

" And that is more to the Purpose, you " mighte have said," returned the other.

" Why,

138 The Household

'" \Vhy, soe I mighte," savs Father^ '* but how shoulde I have proved it r "

" You who are a Lawyer shoulde " know best about that," rejovned the poor Knave ; " 'tis too hard for poor '^ Pattesonr

" Well, but who are you r " savs Father^ '' and what do you want of me ? '"

*' Don't you mind me : " says Patteson ; '' I played Hold-vour-tongue, last Christ- " masse Revel was five Years, and they " called me a smart Chap then, but last " Martinmass: I tell from the Church " Steeple, and shook my Brain-pan, I " think, for its Contents have seemed " addled ever since ; soe what I want '* now is to be made a Fool."

'• Then vou are not one already r '" savs Father.

" If I were," says Pdtzcs'^n^ " I shoulde " not have come to you^

•• Why,

of Sir Thos. More 139

" Why, Like cleaves to Like, you " know they say," says Father.

" Aye," says t'other, " but Fve Reason '^ and Feeling enow, too, to know you '' are no Fool, though I thoughte you " might want one. Great People like '' 'em at their Tables, Fve hearde say, " though I am sure I can't guesse why, for '' it makes me sad to see Fools laughed " at ; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at ^' alreadie, methinketh I may as well get '' paid for the Job if I can, being unable, '' now, to doe a Stroke of Work in hot " Weather. And Fm the onlie Son of '' my Mother, and she is a Widow. But " perhaps Fm not bad enough."

" I know not that, poor Knave," says Father, touched with quick Pity, " and, " for those that laugh at Fools, my " Opinion, Patteson, is that they are the " greater Fools who laugh. To tell you

"the

140 The Household

" the Truth, I had had noe Mind to take " a Fool into mine Establishment, having " alwaies had a Fancy to be prime Fooler " in it myselfe ; however, you incline me to " change my Purpose, for as I said anon, " Like cleaves to Like, soe, I'll tell you " w^hat we will doe — divide the Businesse '■ and goe Halves — I continuing the Fool- " ing, and thou receiving the Salary ; that " is, if I find, on Inquiry, thou art given to " noe Vice, including that of Scurrillitie."

" May it like your Goodness," says poor Patteson^ " I've been the Subject, oft, " of Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to " offend that Way myself. I ever keep " a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially " among young Ladies."

" That minds me," says Father^ " of a " Butler who sayd he always was sober, " especially when he only had Water to " drink. Can you read and write ? "

" Well,

^Sir Thos. More 141

" Well, and what if I cannot ? " returns Patteson, " there ne'er was but one, I " ever heard of, that knew Letters, never " having learnt, and well he might, for " he made them that made them."

" Meg^ there is Sense in this poor " Fellow," says Father, " we will have " him Home and be kind to him."

And, sure enow, we have done so and been so ever since.

Tuesday, 2^th. GLANCE at the anteced- ing Pages of this Libellus me-sheweth poor Will Roper at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious Disquietations. Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters, and made him infi- nitely

142

The Household

nitely more rationall, and by Consequents, more agreeable. 'Twas one of those Pre- ferences young People sometimes mani- fest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him. There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate Regard. I have neither Bess's Witt nor white Teeth, nor Daisy's dark Eyes, nor Mercy's Dimple. A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle Spiritts, — that's alle.

26//Z. ATTESON'S latest Jest was taking Precedence oi Father yesterday with the Saying, " Give place. Brother ; you " are but Jester to King Harry, and I'm Jester to Sir Thomas

" More ;

^Sir Thos. More 143

" More; I'll leave you to decide which is " the greater Man of the two."

" Why, Gossip," cries Father^ " his " Grace woulde make two of me."

" Not a Bit of it," returns Patteson^ " he's big enow for two such as you are, " I grant ye, but the King can't make " two of you. No ! Lords and Commons " may make a King, but a King can't " make a Sir Thomas More.''

"Yes, he can," rejoyns Father., "he can " make me Lord Chancellor, and then " he will make me more than I am " already ; ergo^ he will make Sir Thomas " more."

" But what I mean is," persists the Fool, " that the King can't make such " another as you are, any more than all " the King's Horses and all the King's " Men can put Humpty-dumpty together " again, which is an ancient Riddle, and

" full

144 ^^^^ Household

" full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, " if ever he lifts thy Head off from thy " Shoulders, which God forbid ! "

Father delighteth in sparring with Patteson far more than in jesting with the King, whom he alwaies looks on as a Lion that may, any Minute, fall on him and rend him. Whereas, with t'other, he ungirds his Mind. Their Banter commonly exceeds not Pleasantrie, but Patteson is ne'er without an Answer ; and although, maybe, each amuses him- selfe now and then with thinking, " I'll " put him up with such a Question," yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the Reel without a Knot, and shews the excellent Nature of both, soe free are they alike from Malice and Over-license. Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than common Listeners apprehend. I've seene Rupert and /F/'//, in fencing, make theire

Swords

of^ir Thos. More 145

Swords flash in the Sun at every Parry and Thrust ; agayn, owing to some Change in mine owne Position, or the Decline of the Sun, the Scintillations have escaped me, though I've known their Rays must have been emitted in some Quarter alle the same.

Pattesoti, with one of Argus s cast Feathers in his Hand, is at this Moment beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone Balustrade ; while Bessy, whom he much affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her Peacocks. Sayth Patteson, " Canst tell " me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe " manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can " onlie see with two in theire Heads ? "

" Because those two make them soe " vain alreadie. Fool," says Bess, " that " were they always beholding theire owne " Glory, they woulde be intolerable."

" And besides that," says Patleson, " the

" less

K

146 The Household

" less we see or heare, either, of what " passes behind our Backs, the better for " us, since Knaves will make Mouths " at us then, for as glorious as we may " be. Canst tell me, Mistress, why the " Peacock was the last Bird that went " into the Ark ? "

" First tell me, Fool," returns Bess^ " how thou knowest that it was soe r "

" Nay, a Fool may ask a Question " would puzzle a Wiseard to answer," rejoyns Patteson ; " I mighte ask you, for " example, where they got theire fresh " Kitchen-stuff in the Ark, or whether " the Birds ate other than Grains, or the " wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs " must have been a Granary."

" We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says Bess, " as in seeking to know more " than is written. They had enough, if " none to spare, and we scarce can tell

" how

^Sir Thos. More 147

" how little is enough for bare Sustenance " in a State of perfect Inaction. If the " Creatures were kept low, they were all " the less fierce."

" Well answered, Mistress," says Fatte- son^ " but tell me, why do you wear two " Crosses ? "

" Nay, Fool," returns Bess^ " I wear " but one."

" Oh, but I say you wear two," says Patteson, " one at your Girdle, and one " that nobody sees. We alle wear the " unseen one, you know. Some have " theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, " soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross " . . . like my Lord Cardinall, for In- " stance . . . but it is one, for alle that. " And others, of Iron, that eateth into " their Hearts . . . methinketh Master " Roper s must be one of 'em. For me, " I'm content with one of Wood, like

" that

148 The Household

" that our deare Lord bore ; what was " goode enow for him is goode enow for " me, and I've noe Temptation to shew " it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it " for being rougher than my Neighbour's, " nor yet to make myself a second because " it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, *' Mistress ? "

" I take you for what you are," says Bess^ " a poor Fool."

" Nay, Niece," says Patteson^ " my " Brother your Father hath made me

" rich."

" I mean," says Bess^ " you have more " Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool " has neither, therefore you are only a " make-believe Fool."

" Well, there are many make-believe " Sages," says Patteson ; " for mine owne " Part, I never aim to be thoughte a " Hiccius Docciusy

" A hie

^Sir Thos. More 149

" A hie est doctus^ Fool, you mean," interrupts Bess.

" Perhaps I do," rejoins Patteson, "since " other Folks soe oft know better what " we mean than we know ourselves. " AUe I woulde say is, I ne'er set up " for a Conjuror. One can see as far into " a Millstone as other People, without " being that. For Example, when a Man " is overta'en with Qualms of Conscience " for having married his Brother's Widow, " when she is noe longer soe young and " fair as she was a Score of Years ago, " we know what that's a Sign of. And " when an Ipswich Butcher's Son takes " on him the State of my Lord Pope^ we " know what that's a Sign of Nay, if " a young Gentlewoman become dainty " at her Sizes, and sluttish in her Apparel, " we ... as I live, here comes Giles " Heron, with a Fish in's Mouth."

Poor

i^o T^he Household

Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her Head quicklie towards the Watergate ; on which, Patteson, laughing as he lay on his Back, points upward with his Peacock's Feather, and cries, " Overhead, " Mistress ! see, there he goes. Sure, you " lookt not to see Master Heron making '' towards us between the Posts and " Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling ? " laughing as wildly as though he were verily a Natural.

Bess, without a Word, shook the Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning into the House, when he withholds her a Minute in a perfectly altered Fashion, saying, " There be some Works, Mistress, " our Confessors tell us be Works of " Supererogation ... is not that the " Word ? I learn a long one now and " then . . . such as be setting Food " before a full Man, or singing to a

" deaf

^Sir Thos. More 151

" deaf one, or buying for one's Pigs a " Silver Trough, or, for the Matter of " that, casting Pearls before a Dunghill *■' Cock, or fishing for a Heron, which is '' well able to fish for itself, and is an '' ill-natured Bird after all, that pecks '' the Hand of his Mistress, and, for all '' her Kindness to him, will not think of '' Bessy More.''

How apt alle are to abuse unlimited License I Yet 'twas good Counsel.

1525, Jii/y 2.

^OE my Fate is settled. Who knoweth at Sunrise what will chance before Sunsett ? No ; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of Chance and of Fate, but we must not.

Ria/i's

152 The Household

Ruth's Hap was to light on the Field of Boaz : but what she thought casual, the Lord had contrived.

Firste, he gives me the Marmot. Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having kept the Creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then Wiii must come in and find me drying mine Eyes. Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I could not have loved the poor Animal for its owne Sake soe much as for his ; and, thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte Earneste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please Father . . . and hating to be per- verse, . . . and thinking much better of JVili since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite Opinions . . . I say, I supposed it must be soe, some

Time

of^'iv Thos. More 153

Time or another, soe 'twas noe Use hang- ing back for ever and ever, soe now there's an End, and I pray God give us a quiet Life.

Noe one woulde suppose me reckoning on a quiet Life if they knew how I've cried alle this Forenoon, ever since I got quit of Will, by Father s carrying him off to Westt7iinster. He'll tell Father, I know, as they goe along in the Barge, or else coming back, which will be soone now, though I've ta'en no Heed of the Hour. I wish 'twere cold Weather, and that I had a sore Throat or stiff Neck, or somewhat that might reasonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow Morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the Dog-days, and Cook is thumping the Rolling-pin on the Dresser, and Dinner is being served, and here comes Father.

.528,

154 The Household

1528, Sept.

u4THER hath had some Words with the Cardinall. 'Twas touching the Draught of some foraynTreaty which the Cardinall offered for his Criticism, or rather, for his Commen- dation, which Father could not give. This nettled his Grace, who exclaimed, — " By " the Mass, thou art the veriest Fool of all " the Council." Father., smiling, rejoined, " God be thanked, that the King our '' Master hath but one Fool therein."

The Cardinall may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal Favour. The King was here yesterday, and walked for an Hour or soe about the Garden, with his Arm round Father s Neck. Will coulde not help felicitating Father upon it after- wards ;

-(

i^it

o/Siv Thos. More 157

wards ; to which Father made Answer, " I thank God I find his Grace my very " good Lord indeed, and I believe he " doth as singularly favour me as any " Subject within this Realm. Howbeit, " son Roper, I may tell thee between " ourselves, I feel no Cause to be proud " thereof, for if my Head would win him " a Castle in France^ it shoulde not fail "to % off."

— Father is graver than he used to be. No Wonder. He hath much on his Mind ; the Calls on his Time and Thoughts are beyond Belief; but God is very good to him. His Favour at home and abroad is immense : he hath good Health, soe have we alle ; and his Family are established to his Mind, and settled alle about him, still under the same fostering Roof. Considering that I am the most ordinarie of his Daughters, 'tis

singular

158 The Household

singular I should have secured the best Husband. Daisy lives peaceablie v^ith Rupert Aliington, and is as indifferent, me seemeth, to him as to alle the World beside. He, on his Part, loves her and theire Children with Devotion, and w^oulde pass half his Time in the Nur- serie. Dancey alv^^ays had a hot Temper, and now and then plagues Bess ; but she lets noe one know it but me. Some- times she comes into my Chamber and cries a little, but the next kind Word brightens her up, and I verilie believe her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. Giles Heron lost her through his own Fault, and might have regained her good Opinion after all, had he taken half the Pains for her Sake he now takes for her younger Sister : I cannot think how Cecy can favour him ; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine own deare //77/, 'tis

the

^Sir Thos. More 159

the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, the . . . and yet how I was senselesse enow once to undervalue him !

Yes, I am a happy Wife ; a happy Daughter ; a happy Mother. When my little Bill stroaked dear Father s Face just now, and murmured " Pretty ! " he burst out a-laughing, and cried, —

" You are like the young Cyriis^ who " exclaimed, — ' Oh ! Mother, how pretty " is my Grandfather ! ' And yet, according " to Xenophon^ the old Gentleman was soe " rouged and made up, as that none but " a Child woulde have admired him ! "

" That's not the Case," I observed, " with Bill's Grandfather."

" He's a More all over," says Father^ fondly. " Make a Pun, Meg, if thou " canst, about Amor, Amore, or A mores. " 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first " on our Name. Here, little Knave, see

" these

i6o The Household

" these Cherries : tell me who thou art, '' and thou shalt have one. ' More ! ^^ Morel' I knew it, sweet Villain. " Take them all."

I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watch- ing Hans Holbein at his Brush. He hath a rare Gift of limning ; and has, besides, the Advantage of deare Rrastiius his Recom- mendation, for whom he hath alreddie painted our Likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His Portraiture of my Grandfather is marvellous ; ne'er- thelesse, I look in vayn for the Spiritual- litie which our Lucchese Friend, Antonio Bonvisi^ tells us is to be found in the Productions of the Italian Schools.

Holbein loves to paint with the Lighte coming in upon his Work from above. He says a Lighte from above puts Ob- jects in theire proper Lighte, and shews theire just Proportions ; a Lighte from

beneath

^Sir Thos. More i6i

beneath reverses alle the naturall Shadows. Surelie, this hath some Truth if we spi- rituallize it.

yune 2d. UPERTS Cousin, Rosamond

AUington^ is our Guest.

She is as beautiful as . . .

not as an Angel, for she

lacks the Look of Good- ness, but very beautiful indeed. She Cometh hither from Hever Castle^ her Account of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress Anne is not there at pre- sent ; indeed, she is now always hanging about Court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to Solomon s Spouse — to forget her Father's House. The King likes well enow to be compared with Solomon^ but Mistress Anne is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be,

I hope.

1 62 T^he Household

I hope. Flattery and Frenchified Habitts have spoilt her, I trow.

Rosamond says there is not a good Chamber in the Castle ; even the Ball- room, which is on the upper Floor of alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy Day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne were playing at Shuttlecock therein, when Rosamond's Foot tripped at some Uneven- nesse in the Floor, and Mistress Anne^ with a Laugh, cried out, " Mind you goe " not down into the Dungeon " — then pulled up a Trap-door in the Ball-room Floor, by an iron Ring, and made Rosa- mond look down into an unknown Depth ; alle in the blacknesse of Darkness. 'Tis an awfulle Thing to have onlie a Step from a Ball-room to a Dungeon ! I'm glad we live in a modern House ; we have noe such fearsome Sights here,

Sept.

Mi

''If''

r!'?>;

Ae Coindk hiitier

/-fri

o/Siv Thos. More 165

Sept. 26. OW many, many Tears have I shed I Poor, imprudent lVi//f

To think of his Escape from the CardmalP s Fangs, and yet that he will probablie repeat the Offence I This Morning Father and he had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless De- bate in the Garden ; on returning from which. Father took me aside and sayd, — " Meg^ I have borne a long Time with " thine Husband ; I have reasoned and " argued with him, and still given him " my poor, fatherly Counsel ; but I per- " ceive none of alle this can call him " Home agayn. And therefore, Meg., I " will noe longer dispute with him." . . . " Oh, Father /'..." Nor yet will I

" give

i66

The Household

*' give him over ; but I will set another " Way to work, and get me to God and " pray for him."

And have not I done so alreadie ?

27M. FEARE me they parted unfriendlie ; I hearde Father say, " Thus much '' I have a Right to bind " thee to, that thou in- not her in thine owne Thou shalt not imperill the " Salvation of my Child."

Since this there has beene an irresistible Gloom on our Spiritts, a Cloud between my Husband's Soul and mine, without a Word spoken. I pray, but my Prayers seem dead.

doctrinate Heresies.

Thursday^

^Sir Thos. More 167

Thursday^ 28///.

'AST Night, after seeking unto this Saint and that, methought, " Why not " appHe unto the Foun- " tain Head ? Maybe these " hoHe Spiritts may have Limitations sett " to the Power of theire Intercessions — at " anie Rate, the Ears of Mary-mother are " open to alle."

Soe I beganne, '' Kia mater, tons " amorist . . .

Then methoughte, " But I am onHe " asking /ler to intercede — I'll mount a " Step higher still." . . .

Then I turned to the greate Intercessor of alle. But methought, " Still he inter- " cedes with another, although the same.

"And

1 68 The Household

" And his owne Saying was, ' In that Day " ve shall ask 7ne nothing. Whatsoever ye " shall ask in my Name, he will give it " you.' " Soe I did.

I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on my Cheek. Will had not come up Stairs. Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not such as giveth Rest ; and a dark, wild Dream. Methought I was tired of wait- ing for Will^ and became alarmed. The Night seemed a Month long, and at last I grew soe weary of it, that I arose, put on some Clothing, and went in search of him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I founde him, sitting in a Muse ; and said, " /^/7/, deare Will V but he hearde me not ; and, going up to touch him, I was amazed to be broughte short up or ever I reached him, by Something invisible betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, . . . in short, a Wall of Ice ! Soe it

seemed.

<9/Sir Thos. More 169

seemed, in my strange Dreame. I pushed at it, but could not move it ; called to him, but coulde not make him hear : and all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised a Vapour on the glassy Substance, that grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie to hide him from me. I coulde discerne his Head and Shoulders, but not see down to his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes in Despair, and when I opened 'em, he was hidden altogether.

Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow agaynst the Ice, and I kept a weeping hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer kept issuing from my Lips ; and still I was persisting, when, or ever I knew how, the Ice beganne to melt ! I felt it giving Way ! and, looking up, coulde in joyfulle Surprize just discerne the Linea- ments of a Figure close at t'other Side ; the Face turned away, but yet in the

Guise

I JO The Household

Guise of listening. And, Images being apt to seem magnified and distorted through Vapours, methought 'twas altogether bigger than Will^ yet himself, nothingthelesse ; and, the Barrier between us having sunk away to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand on's Shoulder, and he turned his Head, smiling, though in Silence ; and . . . oh. Heaven ! 'twas not Will^ but .

What coulde I doe, even in my Dreame, but fall at his Feet ? What coulde I doe, waking, but the same ? 'Twas Grey of Morn ; I was feverish and unrefreshed, but I wanted noe more lying a-bed. Will had arisen and gone forthe ; and I, as quicklie as I coulde make myself readie, sped after him.

I know not what I expected, nor what I meant to say. The Moment I opened the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. There he stoode, in the Centre of the

Chamber ;

^Sir Thos. More 171

Chamber ; his Hand resting flat on an open Book, his Head raised somewhat up, his Eyes fixed on Something or some One, as though in speaking Communion with 'em ; his whole Visage Hghtened up and glorifide with an unspeakeable Calm and Grandeur that seemed to transfigure him before me ; and, when he hearde my Step, he turned about, and 'steade of histing me away, helde out his Arms. . . . We parted without neede to utter a Word.

June, 1530. .VENTS have followed too quick and thick for me to note 'em. Firste, Father s Embassade to Cambray, which I shoulde have grieved at more on our owne Accounts, had it not broken off alle further Collision

with

172

The Household

with WilL Thoroughlie homesick, while abroad, poor Father was ; then, on his Return, he noe sooner sett his Foot a-land, than the King summoned him to Wood- stock. 'Twas a Couple o' Nights after he left us, that Will and I were roused by Pattesons shouting beneath our Window, " Fire, Fire, quoth Jeremiah ! " and the House was a-fire, sure enow. Create Part of the Men's Quarter, together with alle the Out-houses and Barns, consumed without Remedie, and alle through the Carelessnesse of John Holt. Howbeit, noe Lives were lost, nor any one much hurt ; and we thankfullie obeyed deare Father s Behest, soe soone as we received the same, that we woulde get us to Church, and there, upon our Knees, return humble and harty Thanks to Almighty God for our late Deliverance from a fearfulle Death. Alsoe, at Father s Desire, we made up to

the

of Sir Thos. More 173

the poor People on our Premises theire various Losses, which he bade us doe, even it it left him without soe much as a Spoon.

But then came an equallie unlookt-for, and more appalling Event : the Fall of mv Lort/ Cardinally whereby my Father was shortlie raised to the highest Pinnacle of professional Greatnesse ; being made Lord Chancellor^ to the Content, in some Sort, of IVolsey himself, who sayd he was the onlie Man ht to be his Successor.

The unheard-of Splendour of his In- stallation dazzled the A'ulgar ; while the Wisdom that marked the admirable Dis- charge of his daylie Duties, won the Respect of alle thinking Men, but sur- prized none who alreadie knew Father. On the Day succeeding his being sworn in, Patteson marched hither, and thither, bearing a huge Placard, inscribed, " Part- " nership Dissolved ; " and apparelled him- self

1 74 The Household

self in an old Suit, on which he had bestowed a Coating of black Paint, with Weepers of white Paper ; assigning for't that "his Brother was dead." "For " now," quoth he, " that they've made " him Lord Chancellor^ we shall ne'er see " Sir Thomas more."

Now, although the poor Cardinall was commonlie helde to shew much Judgment in his Decisions, owing to the naturall Soundness of his Understanding, yet, being noe Lawyer, Abuses had multiplied during his Chancellorship, more especiallie in the Way of enormous Fees and Gratuities. Father^ not content with shunning base Lucre in his proper Person, will not let anie one under him, to his Knowledge, touch a Bribe ; whereat Dancey, after his funny Fashion, complains, saying, —

" The Fingers of my Lord CardinalTs " veriest Door-keepers were tipt with Gold,

"but

^Sir Thos. More 175

" but I, since I married your Daughter, " have got noe Pickings ; which in your " Case may be commendable, but in mine " is nothing profitable."

Father^ laughing, makes Answer, — " Your Case is hard, Son Dancey^ but I " can onlie say for your Comfort, that, soe " far as Honesty and Justice are concerned, " if mine owne Father, whom I reverence " dearly, stoode before me on the one " Hand, and the Devil, whom I hate " extremely, on the other, yet, the Cause " of the latter being just, I shoulde give " the Devil his Due."

Giles Heron hath found this to his Cost. Presuming on his near Connexion with my Father, he refused an equitable Accommo- dation of a Suit, which, thereon, coming into Court, Father s Decision was given flat agaynst him.

His Decision agaynst MoZ/zcr was equallie

impartiall.

176

The Household

impartiall, and had Something comique in it. Thus it befelle. — A Beggar-woman's little Dog, which had beene stolen from her, was offered my Mother for Sale, and she bought it for a Jewel of no greate Value. After a Week or soe, the Owner

finds where her Dog is, and cometh to make Complaynt of the Theft to Father^ then sitting in his Hall. Sayth Father^ " Let's have a faire Hearing in open Court ; " thou. Mistress, stand there where you " be, to have impartial Justice ; and thou,

" Dame

of^'w Thos. More 177

" Dame Alice^ come up hither, because " thou art of the higher Degree. Now '' then, call each of you the Puppy, and " see which he will follow." Soe Sweet- hearty in spite oi Mother^ springs off to the old Beggar-woman, who, unable to keep from laughing, and yet moved at Mother's Losse, sayth, —

" Tell 'ee what. Mistress . . . thee " shalt have 'un for a Groat."

" Nay," sayth Mother^ " I won't mind " giving thee a Piece of Gold ; " soe the Bargain was satisfactorily concluded.

Father s Despatch of Businesse is such, that, one Morning before the End of Term, he was tolde there was noe other Cause nor Petition to be sett before him ; the which, being a Case unparalleled, he desired mighte be formally recorded.

He ne'er commences Businesse in his owne Court without first stepping into

the

M

lyS The Household

the Court of King's Bench, and there kneehng down to receive my Grand- father's Blessing. Will sayth 'tis worth a World to see the Unction with which the deare old Man bestows it on him.

In Rogation-week, following the Rood as usuall round the Parish, Heron coun- selled him to go a Horseback for 'the greater Seemlinesse, but he made Answer that 'twoulde be unseemlie indeede for the Servant to ride after his Master going afoot.

His Grace of Norfolk^ coming yesterday to dine with him, finds him in the Church- choir, singing, with a Surplice on.

" What ? " cries the Dukt\ as they walk Home together, " my Lord Chancellor " playing the Parish-clerk } Sure, you " dishonour the King and his Office."

" Nay," says Father^ smiling, " your " Grace must not deem that the King,

" your

(9/^ Sir Thos. More 179

" your Master and mine, will be offended " at my honouring his Master."

Sure, 'tis pleasant to heare Father taking the upper Hand of these great Folks : and to have 'em coming and going, and wait- ing his Pleasure, because he is the Man whom the King delighteth to honour.

True, indeed, with Wolsey 'twas once the same ; but Father neede not feare the same Ruin ; because he hath Him for his Friend, whom Wolsey said woulde not have forsaken him had he served Him as he served his earthly Master. 'Twas a misproud Priest ; and there's the Truth on't. And Father is not misproud ; and I don't believe we are ; though proud of him we cannot fail to be.

And I know not why we may not be pleased with Prosperitie, as well as patient under Adversitie ; as long as we say, " Thou, Lord, hast made our Hill soe

" strong."

i8o

The Household

strong." 'Tis more difficult to bear with Comelinesse, doubtlesse ; and envious Folks there will be ; and we know alle Things have an End, and everie Sweet hath its Sour, and everie Fountain its Fall ; but . . . 'tis very pleasant for all that.

f^^^^-:.'-

Tiiesday^

^Sir Thos. More i8i

Tuesday, i^ist, 1532. IHO coulde have thoughte that those ripe Grapes whereof dear Gaffer ate soe plentifullie, should have ended his Dayes ? This Event hath filled the House with Mourning. He had us all about his Bed to receive his Blessing ; and 'twas piteous to see Father fall upon his Face, as 'Joseph on the Face of Jacob, and weep upon him and kiss him. Like Jacob, my Grandsire lived to see his duteous Son attain to the Height of earthlie Glory, his Heart unspoyled and untouched.

July,

l82

T^he Household

July, 1532. HE Days of Mourning for mv Grandsire are at an end ; yet Father still goeth heavilie. This Forenoon, looking forthe of my Lattice, I saw him walking along the River Side, his Arm cast about WilVs Neck ; and 'twas a dearer Sight to my Soul than to see the King walking there with his Arm around Father s Neck. They seemed in such earnest Converse, that I was avised to ask W^ill, afterwards, what they had been saying. He told me that, after much friendly Chat together on this and that, Father fell into a Muse, and presently, fetching a deep Sigh, says, —

" Would to God, Son Roper, on Con- " dition three Things were well established

m

^Sir Thos. More 183

" in Christendom, I were put into a Sack, " and cast presently into the Thames'' Will sayth, —

" What three soe great Things can " they be. Father^ as to move you to such ^' a Wish ? "

'' In Faith, Will^' answers he, " they " be these. — First, that whereas the most " Part of Christian Princes be at War, " they were at universal Peace. Next, " that whereas the Church of Christ is at " present sore afflicted with divers Errors " and Heresies, it were well settled in a " godly Uniformity. Last, that this Matter " of the Kings Marriage were, to the Glory " of God, and the Quietness of alle Parties, " brought to a good Conclusion."

Indeed, this last Matter preys on my Father's Soul. He hath even knelt to the King, to refrain from exacting Com- pliance with his Grace's Will concerning

it ;

1 84 T'fie Household

it ; movingly reminding him, even with Tears, of his Grace's own Words to him on dehvering the Great Seal, " First look " unto God, and, after God, unto me." But the King is heady in this Matter ; stubborn as a Mule or wild Ass's Colt, whose Mouths must be held with Bit and Bridle if they be to be governed at alle ; and the King hath taken the Bit between his Teeth, and there is none dare ride him. Alle for Love of a brown Girl, with a Wen on her Throat, and an extra Finger.

July 18//Z. ,OW short a Time agone it seemeth, that in my Prosperity I sayd, " We " shall never be moved ; " Thou, Lord, of Thygood- " ness hast made our Hill soe strong ! "

"... Thou

o/^iv Thos. More 185

. . . Thou didst turn away thy Face, and I was troubled ! "

28M. ,HUS sayth Plato : of Him whom he soughte, but hardly found : " Truth is " his Body, and Light his " Shadow/' A marvellous Saying for a Heathen.

Hear also what St. "John sayth : " God '' is Light ; and in him is no Darkness at '• all." " And the Light was the Life of " Men : and the Light shineth in Dark- " ness, and the Darkness comprehended " it not."

Hear also what St. Augustine sayth : " They are the most uncharitable towards " Error who have never experienced how " hard a Matter it is to come at the " Truth."

Hard,

1 86 The Household

Hard, indeed. Here's Father agaynst Will^ and agaynst Erasmus^ of whom he once could not speak well enough ; and now he says that if he upholds such and such Opinions his dear Erasmus may be the Devil's Erasmus for what he cares. And here's Father at Issue with half the learned Heads in Christendom concerning the King's Marriage. And yet, for alle that, I think Father is in the Right.

He taketh Matters soe to Heart that e'en his Appetite fails. Yesterday he put aside his old favourite Dish of Brewis, saying, " I know not how 'tis, good ^^ Alice ; I've lost my Stomach, I think, " for my old Relishes "... and this, e'en with a Tear in his Eye. But 'twas not the Brewis, I know, that made it start.

Aug.

^Sir Thos. More 187

Aug, E hath resigned the Great Seal ! And none of us knew of his having done soe, nor e'en of his medi- tating it, till after Morning Prayers to-day, when, insteade of one of his Gentlemen stepping up to my Mother in her Pew with the Wofds, " Madam, " my Lord is gone," he cometh up to her himself, with a Smile on's Face, and sayth, low bowing as he spoke, " Madam, " my Lord is gone." She takes it for one of the manie Jests whereof she misses the Point ; and 'tis not till we are out of Church, in the open Air, that she fully comprehends my hord Chancellor is indeed gone, and she hath onlie her Sir Thomas More.

A Burst

1 88 The Household

A Burst of Tears was no more than was to be lookt for from poor Mother ; and, in Sooth, we alle felt aggrieved and mortyfide enough ; but 'twas a short Sorrow ; for Father declared that he had cast Pelion and Ossa off his Back into the bottomless Pit ; and fell into such funny Antics that we were soon as merry as ever we were in our Lives. Pattesofi^ so soon as he hears it, comes leaping and skipping across the Garden, crying, " A " fatted Calf ! let a fatted Calf be killed, " Masters and Mistresses, for this my " Brother who was dead is alive again ! " and falls a kissing his Hand. But poor Pattesons Note will soon change ; for Father s diminished State will necessitate the Dismissal of all extra Hands ; and there is manie a Servant under his Roof whom he can worse spare than the poor Fool.

In

bj/ |J|2J ^1-^ J^ylK low bcwmt^

"W^Wlh <y he j-pt'ke,' /!&clwri , ipy

of ^\r Thos. More 191

In the Evening he gathers us alle about him in the Pavilion, w^here he throv^s himself into his old accustomed Seat, casts his Arm about Mother, and cries, " How " glad must Cincinnatus have been to " spy out his Cottage again, with Raciiia " standing at the Gate ! " Then, called for Curds and Cream ; sayd how sweet the soft Summer Air was coming over the River, and bade Cecil sing " The King's " Hunt's up." After this, one Ballad after another was called for, till alle had sung their Lay, ill or well, he listing the While with closed Eyes, and a composed Smile about his Mouth ; the two Furrows be- tween his Brows relaxing graduallie till at length they could no more be scene. At last he says, —

" Who was that old Prophet that could " not or would not prophesy for a King " of Juchih till a Minstrel came and played

" unto

192 The Household

" unto him ? Sure, he must have loved, " as I do, the very lovely Song of one that " playeth well upon an Instrument, yclept " the Human Heart ; and have felt, as I " do now, the Spirit given him to speak " of Matters foreign to his Mind. 'Tis " of res augusta domi^ dear Brats, I must " speak ; soe, the sooner begun, the sooner " over. Here am I, with a dear Wife " and eight loved Children ... for my " Daughters' Husbands and my Son's " Wife are my Children as much as any ; " and Mercy Giggs is a Daughter too . . . " nine Children, then, and eleven Grand- " children, and a Swarm of Servants to " boot, all of whom have as yet eaten " what it pleased them, and drunken what " it suited them at my Board, without its " being any one's Businesse to say them " nay. 'Twas the dearest Privilege of my " Lord Chancellor ; but now he's dead and

*' gone,

^Sir Thos. More 193

" gone, how shall we contract the Charges " of Sir Thomas More / "

We looked from one to another, and were silent.

" I'll tell ye, dear ones," he went on. " I have been brought up at Oxford^ at an " Inn of Chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, and " at the King's Court ; from the lowest " Degree, that is, to the highest ; and yet " have I in yearly Revenues at this Pre- " sent, little above one Hundred Pounds " a-year ; but then, as Chilo sayth, ' honest " Loss is preferable to dishonest Gain : " by the first, a Man suffers once ; by the " second, for ever ; ' and I may take up my " Parable with Samuel^ and say : ' Whose " Ox have I taken ? whose Ass have I " taken ? whom have I defrauded ? whom " have I oppressed ? of whose Hand have " I received any Bribe to blinde mine Eyes " therewith ? ' No, my worst Enemies

" cannot

N

1 94 "^^^ Household

" cannot lay to my Charge any of these " Things ; and my Trust in you is, that, " rather than regret I should not have " made a Purse by any such base Methods, " you will all cheerfully contribute your " Proportions to the common Fund, and " share and share alike with me in this " my diminished State."

We all gat about him, and by our Words and Kisses gave Warrant that we would.

" Well, then," quoth he, " my Mind " is, that since we are all of a Will to " walk down-hill together, we will do " soe at a breathing Pace, and not drop " down like a Plummet. Let all Things " be done decently and in order : we " won't descend to Oxford Fare first, nor " yet to the Fare of New Ltn. We'll " begin with Lincoln s Inn Diet, whereon " many good and wise Men thrive well ; *' if we find this draw too heavily on the " Common-Purse,

^Sir Thos. More 195

Common-Purse, we will, next Year, come down to Oxford Fare, with which many great and learned Doctors have been conversant ; and, if our Purse stretch not to cover e'en this, why, in Heaven's Name ! we'll go begging to- gether, with Staff and Wallet, and sing a Salve Regina at every good Man's Door, whereby we shall still keep Company, and be merry together ! "

Sept. 2.2(1. [OW that the first Surprise and Grief, and the first Fervour of Fidelity and Self-devotion have passed off, we have subsided into how deep and holy a Quiet !

We read of the Desertion of the World, as a Matter of Course ; but, when our own Turn comes, it does seem strange, to

find

196 "The Household

find ourselves let fall down the Stream without a single Hand outstretched to help us ; forgotten, in a Moment, as though we had never been, by those who lately ate and laughed at our Table. And this, without any Fault or Offence of ours, but merely from our having lost the Light of the King s Countenance. I say, it does seem strange ; but how fortunate, how blessed are those to whom such a Course of Events only seems strange, un- accompanied by Self-reproach and Bit- terness ! I could not help feeling this, in reading an affectionate Letter deare Father writ this Forenoon to Erasmus^ wherein he sayd, " I have now obtained " what, from a Child, I have continually " wished ! that, being entirely quit of " Businesse and all publick Affairs, I " might live for a Time only to God and " myself."

Having

^Sir Thos. More 197

Having no Hankering after the old Round he soe long hath run, he now, in Fact, looks younger every Day ; and yet, not with the same Kind of Youth he had before his Back was bowed under the Chancellorship. 'Tis a more composed, chastised Sort of Rejuvenescence : rather the soft Warmth of Autumn, which some- times seems like May, than May itself: the enkindling, within this mortal Taber- nacle, of a heavenly Light that never grows dim, because it is immortal ; and burns the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever : a Youthfulness of Soul and Mind characterised by Growth ; Something with which this World and its fleeting Fancies has nothing to do : Something that the King can neither impart nor take away.

. . . We have had a tearfull Morning . . . poor Patteson has gone. My Father hath obtained good Qiiarters for him with

my

198 The Household

my Loni Mayor, with a Stipulation that he shall retain his Office with the Lord Mayor for the Time being, as long as he can till it at all. This suits Pattcso?i, who says he will sooner shift Masters year by year, than grow too fond of any Man again, as he hath of Father; but there has been sad blubbering and blowing of Noses.

Sept. i\th. ^^^^^^HIS Afternoon, coming upon Mercy seated in the Alcove, like unto the Image of some Saint in a Niche, her Hands folded on her Lap, and her Eyes steadfastly agaze on the setting Sun, I could not but mark how Years were silentlie at work upon her, as doubtless upon us alle ; the ten- der, fearfulle Girl having thus graduallie

changed

(9/ Sir Thos. More 199

changed into the sober, high-minded Woman. She is so seldom seene in Repose, so constantly astir and afoot in this or that kind Office, mostly about the Children, that I had never thought upon it before ; but now I was alle at once avised to marvel that she who had so long seemed fitter for Heaven than Earth, shoulde never literallie have vowed herself the Spouse of Christ ; more in especiall as all Expectation of being the Spouse of anie else must long since have died within her.

I sayd, " Mercy, thou lookst like a " Nun : how is't thou hast ne'er become " one in Earnest ? "

She started ; then sayd, " Could I be " more usefull ? more harmless ? less ex- " posed to Temptation ? or half so happy " as I am now ? In sooth, Meg, the " Time has been when methought, how

" sweet

200 The Household

*' sweet the living Death of the Cloister ! *' How good that must needs be which '' had the Suffrages of Chrysostom the *' golden-mouthed, and holy Aj7ibrose^ and *' our own Auselm ! How peacefull, to " take Wing like the Dove, and fly away *' from a naughty World, and be at Rest ! *' How brave, to live alone, like St. '''Antony^ in the Desert I onlv I would " have had some Books with me in my " Cave, and 'tis uncertayn whether St. " Antony had Knowledge of Letters, be- " yond the heaven-taught Lesson, ' God " is Love,' ... for methought so much '' Reflection and no Action would be too " much for a Woman's Mind to bear — "' I might goe mad : and I remembered *' me how the Dove that gladly flew away " from the Ark, gladly flew back, and " abode in the Ark till such Time as a '' Fiew Home was ready for her. And

" methought.

^Sir Thos. More 201

" methought, cannot I live apart from " Sin here, and now ; and as to Sorrow, *' where can we live apart from that ? " Sure, we may live on the Skirts of the *' World in a Spiritt as truly unworldlie, " as though we were altogether out of " it : and here I may come and go, and " range in the fresh Air, and love other " Folks' Children, and read my Psalter, *' and pore over the Sayings of the wise " Men of old, and look on the Faces I " love, and sit at the Feet of Sir Thotnas " More. Soe there, Meg^ are my poor " Reasons for not caring to be a Nun. " Our deare Lord is in himself all that^ " our highest, holiest Affections can seek " or comprehend ; for he made these our " Hearts ; he gave us these our Affec- " tions ; and through them the Spirit " speaks. Aspiring to their Source, they " rise up like the white Smoke and bright

" Flame ;

2Q2

The Household

' Flame ; while, on Earth, if left un- ' mastered, they burn, suffocate, and de- ' stroy. Yet they have their natural and ' innocent Outlets even here ; and a ' Woman may warm herself by them ' without Scorching, and yet be neither ' a Wife nor a Nun."

Sept. 2^th. V'ER since Father s Speech to us in the Pavilion, we have beene of one Heart and one Soul ; neither have any of us said that aught ot the Things we possessed were our own, hut we have had all Things in Common. And we have eaten our Meat with Glad- ness and Singleness of Heart.

This Afternoon, expressing to Father my gratefull Sense of our present Hap- piness ..." Yes, Meg, ' returns he, " I,

" too.

q/Siv Thos. More 203

" too, am deeply thankful for this breath- " ing Space."

" Do you look on it as no more, then ?" I sayd.

" As no more, Meg : we shall have a " Thunder-clap by-and-by. Look out on " the Thames. See how unwontedlie clear " it is, and how low the Swallows fly. "... How distinctlie we see the green " Sedges on Battersea Bank, and their re- " fleeted Images in the Water. We can " almost discern the Features of those " poor Knaves digging in the Cabbage " Gardens, and hear 'em talk, so still is " the Air. Have you ne'er before noted " these Signs ? "

" A Storm is brewing," I sayd.

" Aye, we shall have a Lightning-flash " anon. So still, Meg., is also our moral " Atmosphere just now. God is giving " us a breathing Space, as he did to the

" Egyptians

204 Tf^^ Household

" Egyptians before the Plague of Hail, '' that they might gather their live Stock '^ within Doors. Let us take for Example *• them that believed and obeyed him ; "and improve this holy Pause."

fust at this Moment, a few heavie Drops fell agaynst the Window Pane, and were seene by both. Our Eyes met ; and I felt a silent Pang.

" Five Days before the Passover^" re- sumed Father^ " all seemed as still and '' quiet as we are now ; but Jesus knew '' his Hour was at hand. E'en while he '' yet spake familiarly among the People, " there came a Sound from Heaven, and " they that stood by said it thundered ; '' but he knew it for the Voice of his dear "" Father. Let us, in like Manner, when " the Clap Cometh, recognise in it the '' \'oice of God, and not be afraid with '' any Amazement."

Nov.

o/^Sir Thos. More 205

Nov. 2<r/.

\AMMER GURNET h dead, and I must say I am glad of it. The Change, to her, must be blessed, and there seemed some Danger lest, after having escaped being ducked for a Witch, she shoulde have been burnt for a Heretic. Father looked on her as an obstinate old Woman ; Wiii counted her little short of a Saint and Prophetess, and kept her well supplied with alle she could need. Latterly she was stone deaf; so 'tis a happy Release.

The settled Purpose of Father s Soul, just now, is to make up a Marriage between Mercy and Dr. Cle?nent. 'Tis high Advancement for her, and there seems to have been some old Liking between 'em we never knew of.

2o6

The Household

HOUGH some Months have passed since my Father uttered his warn- ing Voice, and all con- tinues to go quiet, I cannot forbear, now and then, to call his Monition to Mind, and look about for the Cloud that is to bring the Thunder- clap ; but the Expectation sobers rather than saddens me.

This Morning, leaning over the River Wall, I was startled by the cold, damp Hand of some one from behind being laid on mine. At the same Time a familiar Voice exclaimed, " Canst tell us. Mistress, " why Fools have hot Heads and Hands " icy cold .? "

I made Answer, " Canst tell me, Pat-

" tcso?i.

o/^Sir Thos. More 207

" teson, why Fools should stray out of " Bounds ? "

" Why, that's what Fools do every " Day," he readily replied ; " but this is " A// Fools' Day, mine own special Holi- " day ; and I told my Lonl Mayor over- " night, that if he lookt for a Fool this " Morning, he must look in the Glass. " In sooth. Mistress Meg, I should by " Rights wear the Gold Chain and he the " Motley ; for a proper Fool he is, and I " shall be glad when his Year's Service " to me is out. The worst o' these Lord " Mayors is, that we can't part with 'em " till their Time's up. Why now, this " present one hath not so much Under- " standing as would foot an old Stocking ; " 'twas but yesterday when, in Quality " of my Taster, he civilly enough makes " over to me a half-eaten Plate of Gurnet, " which I wave aside, thus, saying, I eat

" no

2o8 The Household

" no Fish of which I cannot affirm, ' rari " sunt Boni^ few are the Bones . . . and I " protest to you he knew it not for Fool's " Latin. Thus Fm driven, from mere " Discouragement, to leave prating for " listening, which thou knowest. Mistress, " is no Fool's Office ; and among the " sundrie Matters I hear at my Lord's " Table . . . for he minds not what he " says before his Servants, thereby giving " new Proof 'tis he shoulde w^ear the " Motley ... I note his saying that the " Kings private Marriage will assuredlie " be made publick this coming Easter, and " my Lady Anne will be crow^ned . . . " more by token, he knows the Merchant " that will supply the Genoa Velvet and " Cloth of Gold, and the Masquers that " are to enact the Pageant. For the Love " o' Safety, then. Mistress Meg^ bid thy " good Father e'en take a Fool's Advice,

(9/Sir Thos. More 209

" and eat humble Pie betimes, for doubt " not this proud Madam to be as vindic- " tive as Hcrodias^ and one that, unless " he appease her full early, will have his " Head set before her in a Charger. I've " said my Say."

April \th. HREE Bishops have been here this Forenoon, to bid Father to the Corona- tion, and offer him twenty Pounds to provide his Dress ; but Father hath, with Courtesie, declined to be present. After much friendly pressing, they parted, seemingly on good Terms ; but I have Misgivings of the Issue.

April

2IO

The Household

April ()th. RIDICULOUS Charge

hath beene got up 'gainst dear Father ; no less than of Bribery and Corruption. One Parnell complaineth of a Decree given agaynst him in favour of one Vaughan^ whose Wife, he deponeth, gave Father a giU Flaggon. To the noe small Surprise of the Council, Father ad- mitted that she had done soe : " But, my " Lords," proceeded he, when they had uttered a few Sentences of Reprehension somewhat too exultantlie, " will ye list " the Conclusion of the Tale ? I bade " my Butler hll the Cup with Wine, and " having drunk her Health, I made her " pledge me, and then restored her Gift, '' and would not take it again."

As

^Sir Thos. More 211

As innocent a Matter, touching the offering him a Pair of Gloves containing Forty Pounds, and his taking the first and returning the last, saying he preferred his Gloves without Lining, hath been made publick with like Triumph to his own good Fame ; but alack ! these Feathers, show which way sets the Wind.

April I ph. HEAVIER Charge than either of the above hath been got up, concerning the wicked Woman of Kent., with whom they accuse him of having tampered, that, in her pretended Revelations and Rhapsodies, she might utter Words against the King's Divorce. His Name hath, indeed, been put in the Bill of Attainder ; but, out of Favour, he

hath

212 The Household

hath been granted a private Hearing, his Judges being, the new Archbishop, the new Chancellor, his Grace of Norfolk^ and Master Cromwell.

He tells us that they stuck not to the Matter in Hand, but began cunningly enow to sound him on the King s Matters ; and finding they could not shake him, did proceed to Threats, which, he told 'em, might well enow scare Children, but not him ; and as to his having provoked his Grace the King to sett forth in his Book aught to dishonour and fetter a good Christian, his Grace himself well knew the Book was never shewn him save for verbal Criticism when the Subject-matter was completed by the Makers of the same^ and that he had warned his Grace not to express soe much Submission to the Pope. Whereupon they with great Displeasure dismissed him, and he took Boat for

Chelsea

of Sir Thos. More 213

Chelsea with mine Husband in such gay Spiritts, that Will^ not having been privy to w^hat had passed, concluded his Name to have beene struck out of the Bill of Attainder, and congratulated him there- upon soe soone as they came aland, saying, '• I guess, Father^ all is well, seeing you " thus merry."

" It is, indeed, son Koper^' returns Father steadilie ; repeating thereupon, once or twice, this Phrase, " All is well."

Will^ somehow mistrusting him, puts the Matter to him agayn.

" You are then. Father^ put out of the " Bill ? "

" Out of the Bill, good Fellow .? " re- peats Father^ stopping short in his Walk, and regarding him with a Smile that Will sayth was like to break his Heart. . . . " Wouldst thou know, dear Son, why I " am so joyful t In good Faith, I have

" given

214 ^/'^ Household

'' given the Devil a foul Fall ; for I have "' with those Lords gone so far, as that '' without great Shame I can ne'er go ^' back. The first Step, ^///, is the worst, '' and that's taken."

And so, to the House, with never an- other Word, PF/7/ being smote at the Heart.

But, this Forenoon, deare M^i// comes running in to me, with Joy all bright, and tells me he hath just heard from Cromiiv// that Father s Name is in sooth struck out. Thereupon, we go together to him with the News. He taketh it thankfully, yet composedly, saying, as he lays his Hand on my Shoulder, " In faith, " Mcg^ quod diffcrtur non aufertur^ Seeing me somewhat stricken and overborne, he sayth, " Come, let's leave good JViil awhile " to the Company of his own select and " profitable Thoughts, and take a Turn " together by the Water Side."

Then

^Sir Thos. More 215

Then closing his Book, which I marked was Plato s Phcedon^ he steps forthe with nie into the Garden, leaning on my Shoulder, and pretty heavilie too. After a Turn or two in Silence, he lightens his Pressure, and in a bland, peaceifying Tone commences Horace his tenth Ode, Book second, and goes through the first four- teen or fifteen Lines in a kind of lulling Monotone ; then takes another Turn or two, ever looking at the Thames ; and in a stronger Voice begins his favourite

^^ Jiistum, ac tejiaceni Propositi Virujfi Non Civiuvi Ardor" etc.

on to

" Impavidum fericnt RiiiucE ; "

— and lets go his Hold on me to extend his Hand in fine, free Action. Then, drawing me to him agayn, presentlie murmurs, " I reckon that the Sufferings

"of

2i6 The Household

" of this present Time are not worthy " to be compared with the Glory which " shall be revealed in us, . . . Oh no, '• not worthy to be compared. I have '' lived ; I have laboured ; I have loved. '■ I have lived in them I loved ; laboured " for them I loved ; loved them for whom " I laboured ; my Labour has not been *' in vayn. To love and to labour is " the Sum of living, and yet how manie " think they live who neither labour nor " love ! Agayn, how manie labour and " love, and yet are not loved ; but I have " beene loved, and my Labour has not " been in vayn. Now, the Daye is far " spent, and the Night is at hand, and " the Time draweth nigh when Man " resteth from his Labours, even from his " Labours of Love ; but still he shall love *' and he shall live where the Spiritt sayth " he shall rest from his Labours, and

" where

of^xr Thos. More 217

" where his Works do follow him, for " he entereth into Rest through and to " Him who is Life, and Light, and " Love."

Then looking stedfastlie at the Thames^ " How quietlie," sayth he, " it flows on ! " This River, Meg^ hath its Origin from " seven petty Springs somewhither amongst " the Gloucestershire Hills, where they " bubble forthe unnoted save by the Herd " and Hind. Belike, they murmur over " the Pebbles prettily enough ; but a great " River, mark you, never murmurs. It " murmured and babbled too, 'tis like, " whilst only a Brook, and brawled away " as it widened and deepened and chafed " agaynst Obstacles, and here and there " got a Fall, and splashed and made much " Ado, but ever kept running on towards " its End, still deepening and widening ; " and now towards the Close of its Course

" look

2l8

The Household

look you how swift and quiet it is, running mostly between Flats, and with the dear blue Heaven reflected in its Face." . . .

I 534, April 12. .WAS o' Wednesday e was a Week, we were quietly taking our Dinner, when, after a loud and violent Knocking at the outer Door, in cometh a Pursuivant, and sum- moneth Father to appear next Daye before the Commissioners, to take the newly- coined Oath of Supremacy. Mother utters a hasty Cry, Bess turns white as Death, but I, urged by I know not what suddain Impulse to con the new Comer's Visage narrowly, did with Eagerness exclaim, " Here's some Jest of Father s ; 'tis only

Dick Halliwelir'

Wh(

^Sir Thos. More 219

Where-

1

upon, Fa- , ther burst I o u t a

hugged

'lfi(|(l- ■,

k: t#'M9£k.,.>^- i^-k

Mother, called ^e'xj- a silly Puss, and gave HaUiwell a Groat for'sPayns. Now, - ~ while some were laughing, and others taking Father prettie sharplie to Task for soe

rough

2 20 The Household

rough a Crank, I fell a muzing, what could be the Drift of this, and coulde only surmize it mighte be to harden us beforehand, as 'twere, to what was sure to come at last. And the Pre- apprehension of this soe belaboured my alreadie o'erburthened Spiritts, as that I was fayn to betake myself to the Nurserie, and lose all Thought and Reflection in my little Bess's prettie Ways. And, this not answering, was forct to have Recourse to Prayer ; then, leaving my Closett, was able to return to the Nurserie, and forget myselfe awhile in the Mirth of the Infants.

Hearing Voyces beneathe the Lattice, I lookt forthe, and behelde his Grace of Norfolk (of late a strange Guest) walking beneath the Window in earnest Converse with Father; and, as they turned about, I hearde him say, " By the Mass, Master

" More^

o/Siv Thos. More 221

" More^ 'tis perilous striving with Princes. " I could wish you, as a Friend, to incline " to the Kings Pleasure ; for Indignatio " Principis Mors est.''

" Is that all ? " says Father ; " why " then there will be onlie this DifFer- " ence between your Grace and me, " that I shall die to-daye, and you to- " morrow ; " — which was the Sum of what I caught.

Next Morning, we were breaking our Fast with Peacefullnesse of Heart, on the Principle that sufficient for the Daye is the Evill thereof, and there had beene a wordy War between our two Factions of the Neri and Bianchi^ Bess having defalked from the Mancheteers on the Ground that black Bread sweetened the Breath and settled the Teeth, to the no small Triumph of the Cob Loaf Party ; while Daisy, persevering at her Crusts, sayd,

" No,

2 22 The Household

" No, I cxw cleave to the Rye Bread as " steddilie as anie among you, but 'tis vayn " of Father to maintain that it is as tooth- "some as a Manchet, or that I eat it to " whiten mv Teeth, for thereby he robs " Self-deniall of its Grace."

Father^ strange to say, seemed taken at Vantage, and was pausing for a Retort, when Hohson coming in and whispering Somewhat in his Ear, he rose suddainlie and went forthe of the Hall with him, putting his Head back agayn to say, " Rest ye alle awhile where ye be," \\'hich we did, uneasilie enow. Anon he returns, brushing his Cap, and says calmlie, " Now^, let's forthe to Church," and clips Mother s Arm beneathe his owne and leads the Way. We follow as soon as we can ; and I, listing to him more than to the Priest, did think I never hearde him make Response more com-

posedlie,

^Sir Thos. More 22

posedlie, nor sing more lustilie, by the which I founde myself in stouter Heart. After Prayers, he is shriven, after which he saunters back with us to the House ; then brisklie turning on his Heel, cries to my Husband, " Now, /F///, let's toward, " Lad," and claps the Wicket after him, leaving us at t'other Side without so much as casting back a parting Look. Though he evermore had beene avised to let us companie him to the Boat, and there kiss him once and agayn or ever he went, I know not that I should have thoughte much of this, had not Daisy, looking after him keenly, exclaymed some- what shortlie as she turned in Doors, " I " wish I had not uttered that Quip about " the Cob-loaf"

Oh, how heavilie sped the Day ! The House, too big now for its Master's dimi- nished Retinue, had yet never hitherto

seemed

2 22\. The Household

seemed lonesome ; but now a Somewhat of drearie and dreadfull, inexpressible in Words, invisible to the Eye, but appre- hended by the inner Sense, filled the blank Space alle about. For the first Time, everie one seemed idle ; not only disinclined for Businesse, but as though there were Something unseemlie in address- ing one's Self to it. There was nothing to cry about, nothing to talk over, and yet we alle stoode agaze at each other in Groups, like the Cattle under the Trees when a Storm is at hand. Mercy was the first to start off. I held her back and said, '' What is to do ? " She whispered, '' Pray." I let her Arm drop, but Bess at that Instant comes up with Cheeks as colourless as Parchment. She sayth, "■' 'Tis '' made out now. A Pursuivant de Facto " fetched him forthe this Morning." We gave one deep, universal Sigh ; Mercy

broke

^Sir Thos. More 225

broke away, and I after her, to seek the same Remedy, but alack, in vayn. . . .

1 5M. OW large a Debt we owe you, wise and holie Men of old ! How ye counsel us to Patience, incite us to Self-mastery, cheer us on to high Emprize, temper in us the Heat of Youth, school our Inexperience, calm the o'erwrought Mind, allay the Anguish of Disappointment, cheat Suspense, and master Despair. . . . How much better and happier ye would make us, if we would but list your Teaching !

Bess hath fallen Sick ; no marvell. Everie one goeth heavilie. AUe Joy is darkened ; the Mirthe of the House is gone.

my/

p

2 26 The Household

Will tells me, that as they pushed off from the Stairs, Father took him about the Neck and whispered, " I thank our " Lord, the Field is won ! " Sure, Regu- lus ne'er went forthe with higher Self- devotion.

Having declared his Inabilitie to take the Oath as it stoode, they bade him. Will tells me, take a Turn in the Garden while they administered it to sundrie others, thus affording him Leisure for Re-consideration. But they might as well have bidden the Neap-tide turn before its Hour. When called in agayn, he was as firm as ever, so was given in Ward to the Abbot of Westnwister till the Kings Grace was informed of the Matter. And now, the Fool's wise Saying of vin- dictive Herodias came true, for 'twas the King s Mind to have Mercy on his old Servant, and tender him a qualifyed Oath ;

but

^Sir Thos. More 227

but Queen Anne^ by her importunate Clamours, did overrule his proper Will, and at four Days' End, the full Oath being agayn tendered and rejected, Father was committed to the Tower. Oh, wicked Woman, how could you ? . . . Sure, you never loved a Father. . . .

~l''i

Thfpa^-

May

2 28 The Household

May 22d. 'N Answer to our incessant Applications throughout this last Month past, Mother hath at length obtayned Access to dear Father. She returned, her Eyes nigh swollen to closing with weeping. . . . We crowded round about, burning for her Report, but 'twas some Time ere she coulde fetch Breath or Heart to give it us. At length Daisy, kissing her Hand once and agayn, draws forthe a disjoynted Tale, somewhat after this Fashion.

" Come, give over weeping, dearest " Mother, 'twill do neither him, you, nor " us anie Goode. . . . What was your " first Speech of him ? "

"Oh,

of Sir Thos. More 229

" Oh, my first Speech, Sweetheart, was, " ' What, my Goodness, Mr. More ! I " marvell how that you, who were always " counted a wise Man, should now soe *' play the Fool as to lie here in this " close, filthy Prison, shut up with Mice " and Rats, when you mighte be abroade " and at your Liberty, with the Favour " of King and Council, and return to " your righte fayr House, your Books and " Gallery, and your Wife, Children, and " Household, if soe be you onlie woulde " but do what the Bishops and best " learned of the Realm have, without " Scruple, done alreadie.' "

" And what sayd he. Mother^ to "that?" . . .

" Why, then. Sweetheart, he chucks " me under the Chin and sayeth, ' I " prithee, good Mistress Alice^ to tell " me one Thing.' . . . Soe then I say,

" ' What

230 The Household

*' ' What Thing ? ' Soe then he sayeth, '^ ' Is not this House, Sweetheart, as nigh '■' Heaven as mine own ? ' Soe then I jerk '' my Head away and say, ' Tilly-valley ! '' Tilly-valley 1 ' "

Sayth Bess, " Sure, Mother, that was " cold Comfort. . . . And what next ? "

" Why, then I said, ' Bone Deus, Man ! " Bone Deus ! will this Gear never be *' left ? ' Soe then he sayth, ' Well then, '' Mrs. Alice, if it be soe, 'tis mighty " well, but, for my Part, I see no greate " Reason why I shoulde much joy in my "' gay House, or in Aniething belonging " thereunto, when, if I shoulde be but " seven Years buried underground, and " then arise and come thither agayn, I "' shoulde not fail to find Some therein " that woulde bid me get out of Doors, '' and tell me 'twas none o' mine. What *' Cause have I, then, to care soe greatlie

"for

^Sir Thos. More 231

" for a House that woulde soe soone " forget its Master ? ' " . . .

" And then, Mother ? and then ? " " Soe then, Sweetheart, he sayth, " ' Come tell me, Mrs. Alice, how long *' do you think we might reckon on living " to enjoy it ? ' Soe I say, ' Some twenty *' Years, forsooth.' ' In faith,' says he, *' ' had you said some thousand Years, it " had beene Somewhat ; and yet he were *' a very bad Merchant that woulde put *' himselfe in Danger to lose Eternity for *' a thousand Years . . . how much the *' rather if we are not sure to enjoy it one " Day to an End ? ' Soe then he puts me "off with Questions, How is Will? and " Daisy ? and Rupert ? and this one } and " t'other one ? and the Peacocks .? and *' Rabbits ? and have we elected a new *' King of the Cob-loaf yet ? and has Tom " found his Hoop .? and is the Hasp of

" the

232 The Household

*' the Buttery-hatch mended yet ? and '' how goes the Court ? and what was the " Text o' Sunday '^ and have 1 practised " the Viol ? and how are we off for " Money ? and why can't he see Meg ? " Then he asks for this Book and t'other " Book, but I've forgot their Names, '' and he sayth he's kept mighty short " of Meat, though 'tis little he eats, " but his Man John a Wood is gay an' " hungry, and 'tis worth a World to see " him at a salt Herring. Then he gives " me Counsell of this and that, and puts " his Arm about me and says, ' Come, let " us pray ; ' but while he kept praying '' for one and t'other, I kept a-counting of " his gray Hairs ; he'd none a Month " agone. And we're scarce off our Knees, " when I'm fetched away ; and I say, " ' When will you change your Note, and *' act like a wise Man ? ' and he sayth,

"• ' When ?

^ Sir Thos. More 233

' ' When ? when ? ' looking very profound; ' ' why, . . . when Gorse is out of Blos- ' som and Kissing out of Fashion.' Soe ' puts me forthe by the Shoulders with ' a Laugh, calling after me, ' Remember ' me over and over agayn to them alle, ' and let me see Meg.' " ... I feel as if a String were tied tight

about my Heart. Methinketh 'twill burst

if we goe on long soe.

July 25//;. ,E hath writ us a few Lines with a Coal, ending with " Sursum Corda^ dear Chil- " dren ! up with your " Hearts." The Bearer was dear Bonvisi.

Aug.

234

The Household

Aug. i6th. HE Lord begins to cut us short. We are now on very meagre Commons, dear Mothej- being obliged to pay fifteen Shillings a week for the Board, poor as it is, of Father and his Servant. She hath parted with her Velvet Gown, embroidered overthwart, to my Lady Sands Woman. Her Mantle edged with Coney went long ago.

But we lose not Heart ; I think mine is becoming annealed in the Furnace, and will not now break. I have writ some- what after this Fashion to him. . . . '' What do you think, most dear Father^ "' doth comfort us at Chelsea^ during this " your Absence ? Surelie, the Remem- " brance of your Manner of Life among

" us,

^Sir Thos. More 235

" us, your holy Conversation, your whole- " some Counsells,your Examples of Virtue, *' of which there is Hope that they do not " onlie persevere with you, but that, by " God's Grace, they are much increast."

I weary to see him. . . . Yes, we shall meet in Heaven, but how long first, O Lord ? how long ?

Aug. 2.0th. [OW that I've come back, let me seek to think, to remember. . . . Sure, my Head will clear by-and- by t Strange, that Feeling shoulde have the Masterdom of Thought and Memory, in Matters it is most con- cerned to retayn.

... I minded to put the Haircloth and Cord under my Farthingale, and one or two of the smaller Books in my Pouch,

as

236 The Household

as alsoe some Sweets and Suckets such as he was used to love. Will and Bonvisi were a-waiting for me ; and deare Bess, putting forthe her Head from her Chamber Door, cries piteously, " Tell him, dear " Meg, tell him . . . 'twas never soe sad to *' me to be sick . . . and that I hope . . . " I pray . . . the Time may come ..." then falls back swooning into Danceys Arms, whom I leave crying heartilie over her, and hasten below to receive the con- fused Medley of Messages sent by every other Member of the House. For mine owne Part, I was in such a tremulous Succussion as to be scarce fitt to stand or goe ; but Time and the Tide will noe Man bide, and, once having taken Boat, the cool River Air allayed my fevered Spiritts ; onlie I coulde not for awhile get ridd of the Impression of poor Dancey crying over Bess in her Deliquium.

I think

"^#"--V ^'^

^Sir Thos. More 239

I think none o' the three opened our Lips before we reached Lambeth^ save, in the Reach^ Will cried to the Steersman, " Look you run us not aground," in a sharper Voyce than I e'er heard from him. After passing the Archbishop' 5 Palace, whereon I gazed full ruefullie, good Bonvisi beganne to mention some Rhymes he had founde writ with a Diamond on one of the Window-panes at Crosby House^ and would know were they Father s f and was't the Chamber Father had used to sleep in ? I tolde him it was, but knew Nought of the Distich, though 'twas like enow to be his. And thence he went on to this and that, how that Father s cheer- fuUe, funny Humour never forsook him, nor his brave Heart never quelled ; in- stancing his fearlesse Passage through the Traitor's Gate, asking his Neighbours whether his Gait were that of a Traditor ;

and,

240 The Household

and, on being sued by the Porter for his upper Garment, giving him his Cap^ which he sayd was uppermost. And other such Quips and Passages, which I scarce noted nor smiled at, soe sorry was I of Cheer.

At length we stayed rowing : Will lifted me out, kissed me, heartened me up ; and, indeede, I was in better Heart then, having been quietlie in Prayer a good While. After some few Forms, we were led through sundrie Turns and Passages ; and, or ever I was aware, I founde myself quit of my Companions and in Father s Arms.

We both cried a little at first ; I wonder I wept noe more, but Strength was given me in that Hour. As soone as I coulde, I lookt him in the Face, and he lookt at me, and I was beginning to note his hollow Cheeks, when he sayd, '' Why, Meg^ you are getting freckled ; "

soe

o/^Siv Thos. More 241

soe that made us bothe laugh. He sayd, " You shoulde get some Freckle-water of " the Lady that sent me here ; depend on " it, she hath Washes and Tinctures in " Plenty ; and after all, Meg, she'll come " to the same End at last, and be as the " Lady all Bone and Skin, whose ghastlie " Legend used to scare thee soe when " thou wert a Child. Don't tell that " Story to thy Children ; 'twill hamper " 'em with unsavoury Images of Death. " Tell them of heavenlie Hosts a-waiting " to carry off good Men's Souls in fire- " bright Chariots, with Horses of the Sun, " to a Land where they shall never more " be surbated and weary, but walk on " cool, springy Turf and among Myrtle " Trees, and eat Fruits that shall heal " while they delight them, and drink the " coldest of cold Water, fresh from the " River of Life, and have Space to stretch

" themselves

2^2 The Household

" themselves, and bathe, and leap, and " run, and, whichever Way they look, '' meet Christ's Eyes smiling on them. " Sure, Meg^ who would live, that coulde " die ? One mighte as lief be an Angel '' shut up in a Nutshell as bide here. '' Fancy how gladsome the sweet Spirit " woulde be to have the Shell cracked ! " no matter by whom ; the King, or " King's Mistress. . . . Let her dainty " Foot but set him free, he'd say, ' For '' this Release, much Thanks.' . . . And " how goes the Court, Meg ^ "

" In Faith, Father^ never better. . . . '• There is Nothing else there, I hear, but '' Dancing and Disporting."

" Never better. Child, sayst thou t " Alas, Meg^ it pitieth me to consider " what Misery, poor Soul, she will " shortlie come to. These Dances of '' hers will prove such Dances that she

" will

^Sir Thos. More 243

" will spurn our Heads off like Footballs ; *' but 'twill not be long ere her Head " will dance the like Dance. Mark you, " Meg^ a Man that restraineth not his " Passions, hath always Something cruel " in his Nature, and if there be a Woman " toward, she is sure to suffer heaviest " for it, first or last. . . . Seek Scripture " Precedent for't . . . you'll find it as " I say. Stony as Death, cruel as the " Grave. Those Pharisees that were, to " a Man, convicted of Sin, yet haled a " sinning Woman before the Lord, and " woulde fain have seene the Dogs lick " up her Blood. When they lick up " mine, deare Meg^ let not your Heart be " troubled, even though they shoulde hale " thee to London Bridge^ to see my Head " stuck on a Pole. Think, most dear'st, " I shall then have more Reason to weep " for thee than thou for me. But there's

" noe

^++

The Household

" noe weeping in Heaven ; and bear in " Mind, Meg, distinctlie, that if they send '' me thither, 'twill be for obeying the '' Law of God rather than of Men. And '' after alle, we live not in the bloody, '' barbarous old Times of Crucifyings and " Flayings, and immersing in Cauldrons " of boiling Oil. One Stroke, and the " Affair's done. A clumsy Chirurgeon '• would be longer extracting a Tooth. '' We have oft agreed that the little Birds '• struck down by the Kite and Hawk '• suffer less than if thev were reserved to '■ a naturall Death. There is one sensible '• Difference, indeed, between us. In our '• Cases, Preparation is a-wanting."

Hereon, I minded me to slip off the Haircloth and Rope, and give the same to him, along with the Books and Buckets, all which he hid away privatelie, making merry at the last.

" 'Twoulde

of ^ir Thos. More 245

" 'Twoulde tell well before the Council," quoth he, " that on searching the Prison- " cell of Sir Thomas More, there was *' founde, flagitiouslie and mysteriouslie " laid up ... a piece of Barley-sugar ! "

Then we talked over sundrie Home- matters ; and anon, having now both of us attayned unto an equable and chastened Serenitie of Mind, which needed not any false Shows of Mirth to hide the naturall Complexion of, he sayth, " I believe, Meg, " they that have put me here ween they " have done me a high Displeasure ; but " I assure thee on my Faith, mine owne " good Daughter, that if it had not beene " for my Wife, and for you, my dear " good Children, I woulde faine have " beene closed up, long ere this, in as " strait a Room, and straiter too."

Thereon, he shewed me how illegal was his Imprisonment, there being noe

Statute

24-6 The Household

Statute to authorize the Imposition of the Oath, and he delivered himself, with some Displeasure, agaynst the King's ill Counsellors.

" And surelie, Meg^' quoth he, " 'tis " pitie that anie Christian Prince shoulde, '' hy a flexible Council readie to follow his '' Affections, and by a weak Clergy lack- " ing Grace to stand constantly to the '' Truth as they have learned it, be with " Flattery so constantly abused. The " Lotus Fruit fabled by the Ancients, " which made them that ate it lose all '' Relish for the daylie Bread of their own " Homes, was Flattery, Meg^ as I take '' it, and Nothing else. And what less '' was the Song of the Syrens, agaynst " which Ulysses made his Sailors stop '' their Ears, and which he, with all his " Wisdom, coulde not listen to without '' struggling to be unbound from the

" Mast ?

^Sir Thos. More 247

" Mast ? Even Praise, Meg, which, " moderately given, may animate and " cheer forw^ard the noblest Minds, yet " too lavishly bestowed, will decrease and " palsy their Strength, e'en as an Over- " dose of the most generous and sprightlie " Medicine may prove mortiferous. But " Flattery is noe Medicine, but a rank " Poison, which hath slayn Kings, yea, " and mighty Kings ; and they who love " it, the Lord knoweth afar off ; knoweth " distantlie, has no care to know inti- " matelie, for they are none of his."

Thus we went on, from one Theme to another, till methinketh a heavenlie Light seemed to shine alle about us, like as when the Angel entered the Prison of Peter. I hung upon everie Word and Thought that issued from his Lips, and drank them in as thirsty Land sucks up the tender Rain. . . . Had the Angel of Death at

that

2 4^ The Household

that Hour come in to fetch both of us away, I woulde not have sayd him nay, I was soe passively, soe intenselie happy. At length, as Time wore on, and I knew I shoulde soone be fetcht forthe, I coulde not but wish I had the Clew to some secret Passage or Subterraneal, of the which there were doubtless Plenty in the thick Walls, whereby we might steal off together. Father made Answer, " Wishes never filled a Sack. I make " it my Businesse, Meg^ to wish as little " as I can, except that I were better and " wiser. You fancy these four Walls " lonesome ; how oft, dost thou suppose, "' I here receive Plato and Socrates^ and '' this and that holy Saint and Martyr t " My Gaolers can noe more keep them " out than they can exclude the Sun- " beams. Thou know^est, Jesus stood " among his Disciples when the Doors

" were

of^iv Thos. More 249

*' were shut. I am not more lonely than " St. Anthony in his Cave, and I have " a divine Light e'en here, whereby to " con the Lesson, ' God is Love.' The " Futility of our Enemies' Efforts to make " us miserable was never more stronglie " proven to me than when I was a " mere Boy in Cardinal! Morton' s Service. " Having unwittinglie angered one of " his Chaplains, a choleric and even " malignant-spirited Man, he did, of his " owne Authoritie, shut me up for some " Hours in a certayn damp Vault, which, " to a Lad afeard of Ghosts and devilish " Apparitions, would have beene fearsome " enow. Howbeit, I there cast myself on " the Ground with my Back sett agaynst " the Wall, and mine Arm behind my " Head, this Fashion . . . and did then " and there, by reason of a young Heart, " quiet Conscience, and quick Phansy,

" conjure

250 The Household

" conjure up such a lively Picture of the '^ Queen o' the Fairies' Court, and alle the '' Sayings and Doings therein, that never '' was I more sorry than v^hen my Gaoler '' let me goe free, and bade me rise up '' and be doing. In place, therefore, my " Daughter, of thinking of me in thy " Night Watches as beating my Wings " agaynst my Cage Bars, trust that God '' comes to look in upon me without '' Knocking or Bell-ringing. Often in " Spiritt I am with you alle ; in the " Chapel, in the Hall, in the Garden ; " now in the Hayfield, with my Head on " thy Lap, now on the River, with Will " and Rupert at the Oar. You see me " not about your Path, you won't see my " disembodied Spiritt beside you hereafter, " but it may be close upon you once and " agayn for alle that : maybe, at Times '' when you have prayed with most Passion,

"or

^Sir Thos. More 251

" or suffered with most Patience, or per- " formed my Hests with most Exactness, " or remembered my Care of you with " most Affection. And now, good Speed, " good Meg, I hear the Key turn in the " Door. . . . This Kiss for thy Mother, " this for Bess, this for Cecil, . . . this " and this for my whole School. Keep " dry Eyes and a hopefull Heart ; and " reflect that Nought but unpardoned Sin " shoulde make us weep for ever."

September. 'EEING the Woodman fell a noble Tree, which, as it went to the Ground, did uptear severall small Plants by the Roots, methoughte such woulde be the Fall of dear Father, herein more sad than that of the Abbot

of

252 "The Household

of S'wn and the Charterhouse Monks, in- asmuch as, being celibate, they involve noe others in theire Ruin. Brave, holie Martyrs ! how cheerfully they went to theire Death. I'm glad to have scene how pious Men may turn e'en an ignominious Sentence into a kind of Euthanasy. Dear Father bade me note how they bore them- selves as Bridegrooms going to theire Marriage, and converted what mighte have beene a Shock to my surcharged Spiritts, into a Lesson of deepe and high Comfort.

One Thing hath grieved me sorelie. He mistooke Somewhat I sayd at parting for an Implication of my Wish that he shoulde yield up his Conscience. Oh no, dearest Father^ that be far from me ! It seems to have cut him to the Heart, for he hath writ that " none of the terrible " Things that may befall him touch him

" soe

(9/ Sir Thos. More 253

" soe nearlie as that his dearly beloved " Child, whose Opinion he soe much " values, shoulde desire him to overrule " his Conscience." That be far from me. Father! I have v^rit to explayn the Matter, but his Reproach, undeserved though it be, hath troubled my Heart.

November. PARLIAMENT will meet to-morrow. 'Tis expected Father and the good Bishop oiRochesterwiW be attainted for Misprision of Treason by the slavish Members thereof ; and though not given hithertoe unto much Heede of Omens and Bodements while our Hearts were light' and our Courage high, yet now the coming Evill seemeth foreshadowed unto alle by I know not

how

2 54 ^^^^ Household

how many melancholick Presages, sent, for aught we know, in Mercy. Now that the days are dark and short, and the Nights stormy, we shun to Hnger much after Dusk in lone Chambers and Passages, and what was sayd of the Enemies of Israel may be nigh sayd of us, " that a " falhng Leaf shall chase them." I'm sure " a going in the Tops of the Mul- " berry Trees " on a blusterous Evening, is enow to draw us alle. Men, Mothers, and Maids, together in an Heap. . . . We goe aboute the House in Twos and Threes, and care not much to leave the Fireside. Last Sunday we had closed about the Hearth, and little Bill was a reading by the Fire-light how Herodias Daughter danced off the Head of St. yohn the Baptist^ when down comes an emptie Swallow's Nest tumbling adown the Chimnie, bringing with it enow of Soot,

Smoke,

of '^ir Thos. More 255

Smoke, and Rubbish to half smother us alle ; but the Dust was nothing to the Dismay thereby occasioned, and I noted one or two of our bravest turn as pale as Death. Then, the Rats have skirmished and gallopped behind the Wainscoat more like a Troop of Horse than a Herd of such small Deer, to the infinite Annoyance of Mother^ who coulde not be more firmly persuaded they were about to leave a falling House, if, like the scared Priests in the Temple of Jerusalem^ she had heard a Voyce utter, " Let us depart " hence." The round upper Half of the Cob-loaf rolled off the Table this Morn- ing ; and Rupert^ as he picked it up, gave a Kind of Shudder, and muttered some- what about a Head rolling from the ScafFold. Worse than this was o' Tuesday Night. . . . 'Twas Bed-time, and yet none were liking to goe, when, o' suddain,

we

2^6

The Household

we hearde a Screech that made every Body's Heart thrill, followed by one or two hollow Groans. Will snatches up the Lamp and runs forth, I close follow- ing, and alle the others at our Heels ; and after looking into sundrie deserted

Cup-boards and Corners, we descend the broad Stone Steps of the Cellars, half way down which Will^ stumbling over some- thing he sees not, takes a flying Leap to clear himself down to the Bottom, luckily

without

^Sir Thos. More 257

without extinguishing the Lamp. We find Gillian on the Steps in a Swoon ; on bringing her to, she exclayms about a Ghost without a Head, wrapped in a Winding-sheet, that confronted her and then sank to the Ground as she entered the Vaults. We cast a fearfulle Look about, and descry a tall white Sack of Flour, recently overturned by the Rats, which clears up the Mystery, and pro- cures Gillian a little Jeering ; but we alle return to the Hall with fluttered Spiritts. Another Time I, going up to the Nurserie in the Dark, on hearing Baby cry, am passed on the Stairs by I know not what, breathing heavilie. I reache forthe my Arm, but pass cleare through the spirituall Nature, whatever it is, yet distinctlie feel my Cheek and Neck fanned by its Breath. I turn very faint, and get Nurse to goe with me when I return, bearing a Light,

yet

258 The Household

yet think it as well to say nought to distress the rest.

But worst of alle was last Night. . . . After I had beene in Bed awhile, I minded me that deare Will had not returned me Father s Letter. I awoke him, and asked if he had broughte it up Stairs ; he sleepily replied he had not, soe I hastily arose, threw on a Cloke, took a Light, and entered the Gallery ; when, half-way along it, between me and the pale Moon- shine, I was scared to behold a slender Figure alle in white, with naked Feet and Arms extended. I stoode agaze, speech- lesse, and to my Terror made out the Features of Bess . . . her Eyes open, but vacant ; then saw John Dancey softly stealing after her, and signing to me with his Finger on his Lips. She passed with- out noting me, on to Father s Door, there knelt as if in Prayer, making a low sort

of

of ^ir Thos. More 259

of Wail, while Dancey, with Tears run- ning down his Cheeks, whispered, " 'Tis " the third Time of her thus sleep-walk- " ing . . . the Token of how troubled a "Mind!"

We disturbed her not, dreading that a suddain Waking might bring on Mad- ness ; soe after making Moan awhile, she kisses the senseless Door, rises up, moves towards her own Chamber, followed by Dancey and me, wrings her Hands a little, then lies down and graduallie falls into what seems a dreamlesse Sleep, we watch- ing her in Silence till she's quiet, and then squeezing each other's Hands ere we part.

Will was wide awake when I got

back ; he sayd, " Why, Meg, how long " you have beene ! coulde you not lighte " on the Letter ? " . . . When I tolde him what had hindered me by the

Way,

26o

The Household

Way, he turned his Face to the Wall and wept.

Midnight. HE wild Wind is abroad, and, methinketh, nothing else. Sure, how it rages through our empty Courts! In such a Season, Men, Beasts, and Fowls cower beneath the Shelter of their rocking Walls, yet almost fear to trust them. Lord, I know that thou canst give the Tempest double Force, but do not, I beseech thee ! Oh ! have Mercy on the frail Dwelling and the Ship at Sea.

Dear little Bill hath ta'en a feverish Attack. I watch beside him whilst his Nurse sleeps. Earlie in the Night his Mind wandered, and he told me of a

prettv

(9/ Sir Thos. More 261

pretty pyebald Poney, noe bigger than a Bee, that had golden Housings and Barley- sugar Eyes ; then dozed, but ever and anon kept starting up, crying, " Mammy " dear ! " and softlie murmured, " Oh ! " when he saw I was by. At length I gave him my Forefinger to hold, which kept him ware of my Presence without speak- ing ; but presentlie he stares hard towards the Foot of the Bed, and says fearfullie, " Mother^ why hangs yon Hatchet in the " Air, with its sharp Edge turned towards '' us ? " I rise, move the Lamp, and say, " Do you see it now ? " He sayth, " No, " not now," and closes his Eyes. After a good Space, during the which I hoped he slept, he says in quite an altered Tone, most like unto soft, sweet Music, " There's " a pretty little Cherub there now, alle " Head and noe Body, with two little " Wings aneath his Chin ; but, for alle

" he's

262 The Household

" he's soe pretty, he is just like dear " GiiffW, and seems to know me . . . and '' lic'll have a Body agayn too, I believe, " by and by. . . . Mother, Mother, tell " Hohhinol there's such a gentle Lamb in " Heaven ! " And soe, slept.

I Jth. E'S gone, my pretty . . . ! slipt through my Fingers like a Bird ! upfled to his ov\^n native Skies ; and yet, w^henas I think on him, I cannot choose but weepe. . . . Such a guilelesse little Lamb ! . . . My Billy- bird I his Mother's owne Heart ! — They are alle wondrous kind to me. . . .

27//?.

^Sir Thos. More 263

zyth. ^,OW strange that a little Child shoulde be permitted to suffer soe much Payn, when of such is the King- dom of Heaven ! But 'tis onlie transient, whereas a Mother makes it permanent, by thinking it over and over agayn. One Lesson it taughte us betimes, that a naturall Death is not, necessarilie, the most easie. We must alle die. . . . As poor Patteson was used to say, " The " greatest King that ever was made, must " bed at last with Shovel and Spade," . . . and I'd sooner have my Billy s Baby Deathbed than King Harry s^ or Nan Boleyns either, however manie Years they may yet carry Matters with a high Hand. Oh, you Ministers of Evill, whoever ye

be.

264 ^/'^ Household

be, visible or invisible, you shall not build a Wall between my God and me. . . . I've Something within me grows stronger and stronger, as Times grow more and more Evill ; some woulde call it Resolu- tion, but methinketh 'tis Faith.

Meantime, Father s Foes . . . alack that anie can shew 'emselves such I are aiming, by fayr Seemings of friendlie Conference, to draw from him Admissions thev can come at after noe other Fashion. The new Solicitor General! hath gone to the Tower to deprive him of the few Books I have taken him from Time to Time. . . . Ah, Master Rich, you must deprive him of his Brains afore you can rob him of their Contents I . . . and, while having 'em packt up, he falls into easie Dialogue with him, as thus, . . . *' Why now, sure, Mr. More, were there "' an Act of Parliament made that all the

" Realm

o/Siv Thos. More 265

" Realm shoulde take me for King, you " woulde take me for such with the " Rest."

" Aye, that would I, Sir," returns Fat/ier.

" Forsooth, then," pursues Ric/i, " we'll " suppose another Act that should make " me the Pope. Woulde you not take " me for Pope .? "

" Or suppose another Case, Mr. Ric/i,'' returns Father^ " that another Act shoulde " pass, that God shoulde not be God, " would you say well and good t "

" No, truly," returns the other hastily, " for no Parliament coulde make such " Act lawful."

" True, as you say," repeats Father^ " they coulde not," . . . soe eluded the Net of the Fowler ; but how miserable and unhandsome a Device to lay wait for him thus !

... I

2 66 The Household

... I stole forthe, ere 'twas Lighte, this damp chill Morning, to pray beside the little Grave, but found dear Daisy there before me. How Christians love one another !

WilTs Loss is as heavie as mine, yet he bears with me tenderlie. Yesternighte, he sayth to me half reproachfullie, " Am " not I better unto thee than ten Sons t "

March ^ 1535- PRING comes, that brings Rejuvenescence to the Land, and Joy to the Heart, but it brings none to us, for where Hope dieth, Joy dieth. But Patience, Soul ; God's yet in the Aumry !

May

o/ Sit Thos. More 267

May 7. ATHER arraigned.

July I.

JY Reason of WilPs minding to be present at the Triall, which, for the Concourse of Spectators, demanded his earlie Attendance, he committed the Care of me, with Bess^ to Dancey^ who got us Places to see Father on his Way from the Tower to Westminster Hall. We coulde not come at him for the Crowd, but clambered on a Bench to gaze our very Hearts away after him as he went by, sallow, thin,

grey-haired,

268 T'he Household

grey-haired, yet in Mien not a Whit cast down. Wrapt in a coarse woollen Gown, and leaning on a Staff; which unwonted Support when Bess markt, she hid her Eyes on my Shoulder and wept sore, but soon lookt up agayn, though her Eyes were soe blinded, I think she coulde not see him. His Face was calm, but grave, as he came up, but just as he passed he caughte the Eye of some one in the Crowd, and smiled in his old, frank Way ; then glanced up towards the Windows with the bright Look he hath soe oft cast to me at my Casement, but saw us not. I coulde not help crying " Father^' but he heard me not ; perchance 'twas soe best. ... I woulde not have had his Face cloud at the Sighte of poor Bessy s Tears. . . . IVill tells me the Indictment was the longest ever hearde ; on four Counts. First, his Opinion on the King's Marriage.

Second,

^Sir Thos. More 269

Second, his writing sundrie Letters to the Bishop of Rochester^ counselling him to hold out. Third, refusing to acknowledge his Grace's Supremacy. Fourth, his positive Deniall of it, and thereby willing to de- prive the King of his Dignity and Title.

When the reading of this was over, the hord Chaticeilor sayth, " Ye see how " grievouslie you have offended the King " his Grace, but and yet he is soe merci- " fulle, as that if ye will lay aside your " Obstinacie, and change your Opinion, " we hope ye may yet obtayn Pardon."

Father makes Answer ... and at Sounde of his deare Voyce alle Men hold their Breaths ; . . . " Most noble " Lords, I have great Cause to thank your " Honours for this your Courtesie . . . " but I pray Almighty God I may " continue in the Mind I'm in, through " his Grace, until Death."

They

The Household

They coulde not make goode their Accusation agaynst him. 'Twas onlie on the hist Count he could be made out a Traitor, and Proof of 't had they none ; how coulde they have ? He shoulde have beene acquitted out of hand, 'steade of which, his bitter Enemy my Lord Chancellor called on him for his Defence. Will sayth there was a generall Murmur or Sigh ran through the Court. Father^ however, answered the Bidding by begin- ning to expresse his Hope that the Effect of long Imprisonment mighte not have beene such upon his Mind and Body, as to impair his Power of rightlie meeting alle the Charges agaynst him . . . when, turning faint with long standing, he staggered and loosed Hold of his Staff, whereon he was accorded a Seat. 'Twas but a Moment's Weakness of the Body, and he then proceeded frankly to avow

his

^Sir Thos. More 271

his having always opposed the Kings Marriage to his Grace himself, which he was soe far from thinking High Treason, that he shoulde rather have deemed it Treachery to have withholden his Opinion from his Sovereign King when solicited by him for his Counsell. His Letters to the good Bishop he proved to have been harmlesse. Touching his declining to give his Opinion, when askt, concerning the Supremacy, he alleged there coulde be noe Transgression in holding his Peace thereon, God only being cognizant of our Thoughts.

" Nay," interposeth the Attorney Gene- rally " your Silence was the Token of a " malicious Mind."

"I had always understoode," answers Father^ " that Silence stoode for Consent. " ^i tacet^ consent ire videtur ; " which made Sundrie smile. On the last Charge,

he

272

The Household

he protested he had never spoken Word against the Law unto anie Man.

The |urv are about to acquit him, when up starts the Solicitor Generally offers himself as Witness for the Crown, is sworn, and gives Evidence of his Dialogue with Father in the Tower, falselie adding, like a Liar as he is, that on his saying " No Parliament coulde make a Law that " God shoulde not be God," Father had re- joyned, " No more coulde they make the " King supreme Head of the Church."

I marvell the Ground opened not at his Feet. Father brisklie made Answer, "If I were a Man, my Lords, who re- " garded not an Oath, ye know well I " needed not stand now at this Bar. And " if the Oath which you, Mr. Rich^ have "just taken, be true, then I pray I may " never see God in the Face. In good " Truth, Mr. Rich^ I am more sorry for

" your

^Sir Thos. More 273

" your Perjurie than my Perill. You " and I once dwelt long together in one " Parish ; your manner of Life and Con- " versation from your Youth up were " familiar to me, and it paineth me to tell " ye were ever held very light of your " Tongue, a great Dicer and Gamester, '' and not of anie commendable Fame " either there or in the Temple^ the Inn " to which ye have belonged. Is it " credible, therefore, to your Lordships, " that the Secrets of my Conscience touch- " ing the Oath, which I never woulde " reveal, after the Statute once made, " either to the King's Grace himself, nor " to anie of you, my honourable Lords, " I should have thus lightly blurted out " in private Parley with Mr. Rich ? "

In short, the Villain made not goode his Poynt : ne'erthelesse, the Issue of this black Day was aforehand fixed ; my Lord

Audley

2 74 'The Household

Audley was primed with a virulent and venomous Speech ; the Jury retired, and presentlie returned with a Verdict of Guilty ; for they knew what the King's Grace woulde have 'em doe in that Case.

Up starts my Lord Audley; — com- mences pronouncing Judgment, when —

" My Lord," says Father^ " in my '' Time, the Custom in these Cases was " ever to ask the Prisoner before Sentence, " whether he coulde give anie Reason " why Judgment shoulde not proceed " agaynst him."

My Lord, in some Confusion, puts the Qiiestion.

And then came the frightful Sentence.

Yes, yes, my Soul, I know ; there were Saints of old sawn asunder. Men of whom the World was not worthy.

. . . Then he spake unto 'em his

Mind ;

of ^\r Thos. More 275

Mind ; and bade his Judges and Accusers farewell ; hoping that like as St. Paul was present and consenting unto St. Stephen s Death, and yet both were now holy Saints in Heaven, soe he and they might speedilie meet there, joint Heirs of e'erlasting Sal- vation.

Meantime, poor Bess and Ceciiie, spent with Grief and long waiting, were forct to be carried Home by Heron^ or ever Father returned to his Prison. Was't less Feeling, or more Strength of Body, enabled me to bide at the Tower Wharf with Dancey ? God knoweth. They brought him back by Water ; my poor Sisters must have passed him. . . . The first Thing I saw was the Axe, turned with its Edge towards him — my first Note of his Sentence. I forct my Way through the Crowd . . . some one laid a cold Hand on mine Arm ; 'twas poor Patteson^ soe

changed

2^6 The Household

changed I scarce knew him, with a Rosary of Gooseberries he kept running through his Fingers. He sayth, " Bide your Time, " Mistress Meg ; when he comes past, " I'll make a Passage for ye ; . . . Oh, " Brother, Brother ! what ailed thee to " refuse the Oath ? I've taken it ! " In another Moment, "Now, Mistress, now !" and flinging his Arms right and left, made a Breach through which I darted, fearlesse of Bills and Halberds, and did cast mine Arms about Father s Neck. He cries, " My Meg ! " and hugs me to him as though our very Souls shoulde grow to- gether. He sayth, " Bless thee, bless " thee ! Enough, enough, my Child ; *' what mean ye, to weep and break mine " Heart ? Remember, though I die in- " nocent, 'tis not without the Will of "■ God, who coulde have turned mine " Enemies' Hearts, if 'twere best ; there-

" fore

/A , )J'^^'

(5/ Sir Thos. More 279

" fore possess your Soul in Patience. Kiss *' them alle for me, thus and thus ..." soe gave me back into Danceys Arms, the Guards about him alle weeping ; but I coulde not thus lose Sight of him for ever ; soe, after a Minute's Pause, did make a second Rush, brake away from Dancey^ clave to Father agayn, and agayn they had Pitie on me, and made Pause while I hung upon his Neck. This Time there were large Drops standing on his dear Brow ; and the big Tears were swelling into his Eyes. He whispered, " Meg^ for Christ' s Sake don't unman me ; " thou'lt not deny my last Request ? " I sayd, " Oh ! no ; " and at once loosened mine Arms. " God's Blessing be with *' you," he sayth with a last Kiss. I coulde not help crying, " My Father^ my " Father ! " " The Chariot of Israel^ and *' the Horsemen thereof!" he vehementlie

whispers,

28o

The Household

whispers, pointing upwards with soe pas- sionate a Regard, that I look up, almost expecting a beatific Vision ; and when I turn about agayn, he's gone, and I have noe more Sense nor Life till I find myself agayn in mine owne Chamber, my Sisters chafing my Hands.

July sth. iLLE'S over now . . . they've done theire worst, and yet I live. There were Women coulde stande aneath the Cross. The Maccabees' Mother — . . . yes, my Soul, yes ; I know — Nought but unpardoned Sin. . . . The Chariot of Israel.

6th.

^Sir Thos. More 281

Ml. iR. Clement hath beene with us. Sayth he went up as blythe as a Bridegroom to be clothed upon with Im- mortaHty.

Rupert stoode it alle out. Perfect Love casteth out Feare. Soe did his.

lyth.

|Y most precious Treasure is this deare Billet, writ with a Coal ; the last Thing he sett his Hand to, wherein he sayth, " I never liked your Manner towards me better than when you kissed me last."

I qth.

282

The Household

1 9//z. HEY have let us bury his poor mangled Trunk ; but, as sure as there's a Sun in Heaven, I'll have his Head ! — before another Sun hath risen, too. If v^dse Men won't speed me, I'll e'en content me with a Fool.

I doe think Men, for the most Part, be Cowards in theire Hearts . . . moral Cowards. Here and there, we find one like Father^ and like Socrates^ and like . . . this and that one, I mind not theire Names just now ; but in the Main, me- thinketh they lack the moral Courage of Women. Maybe, I'm unjust to 'em just now, being crost.

July

^/Sir Thos. More

"July loth.

LAY down, but my Heart was waking. Soon after the first Cock crew, I hearde a Pebble cast agaynst my Lattice, knew the Signall, rose, dressed, stole softlie down and let myself out. I knew the Touch of the poor Fool's Fingers ; his Teeth were chattering, 'twixt Cold and Fear, yet he laught aneath his Breath as he caught my Arm and dragged me after him, whispering, " Fool and fayr Lady " will cheat 'em yet." At the Stairs lay a Wherry with a Couple of Boatmen, and one of 'em stepping up to me, cries, "Alas " for ruth, Mistress Meg^ what is't ye

'' do ?

284 "The Household

" do ? Art mad to go on this Errand ? " I sayd, " I shall be mad if I goe not, " and succeed too — put me in, and push - off."

We went down the River quietlie enow — at length reach Lofhio?t Bridge Stairs. Patteson, starting up, says, " Bide " ye all as ye are," and springs aland and runneth up to the Bridge. Anon, returns, and sayth, " Now, Mistress, alle's readie " . . . readier than ye wist . . . come " up quickly, for the Coast's clear." Hobson (for 'twas he) helps me forth, saying, " God speed ye, Mistress. . . . " An' I dared, I woulde goe with ye." . . . Thought I, there be others in that Case.

Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge- gate, when casting upward a fearsome Look, I beheld the dark Outline of the ghastly yet precious Relic ; and, falling

into

i£«{h^^jdt,^ gate

o/^iv Thos. More 287

into a Tremour, did wring my Hands and exclaym, " Alas, alas, that Head hath " lain full manie a Time in my Lap, " woulde God, woulde God it lay there " now ! " When, o' suddain, I saw the Pole tremble and sway towards me ; and stretching forth my Apron, I did in an Extasy of Gladness, Pity, and Horror, catch its Burthen as it fell. Patteson, shuddering, yet grinning, cries under his Breath, " Managed I not well. Mistress ? " Let's speed away with our Theft, for " Fools and their Treasures are soon " parted ; but I think not they'll follow " hard after us, neither, for there are " Well-wishers to us on the Bridge. " I'll put ye into the Boat and then " say, God speed ye. Lady, with your " Burthen."

July

2 88 The Household

July 2yd. \IZPAH, Daughter of Aiah, did watch her Dead from the Beginning of Harvest until the latter Rain, and suffered neither the Birds of the Air to light on them by Day, nor the wild Beasts of the Field by Night. And it was told the King, but he inter- meddled not with her.

Arg'm stole Poiynices' Body by Night and buried it, for the which, she with her Life did willingly pay Forfeit. Anti- gone^ for aiding in the pious Theft, was adjudged to be buried alive. Artemisia did make herself her loved one's Shrine, by drinking his Ashes. Such is the Love of Women ; many Waters cannot quench it, neither can the Floods drown it. Fve

hearde

o/^ir Thos. More 289

hearde Bonvisi tell of a poor Italian Girl, whose Brothers did slay her Lover ; and in Spite of them she got his Heart, and buried it in a Pot of Basil, which she watered Day and Night with her Tears, just as I do my Coffer. Will has promised it shall be buried with me ; layd upon my Heart ; and since then, I've beene easier.

He thinks he shall write Father s Life, when he gets more composed, and we are settled in a new Home. We are to be cleared out o' this in alle Haste ; the King grutches at our lingering over Father s Footsteps, and gazing on the dear familiar Scenes associate with his Image ; and yet, when the News of the bloody Deed was taken to him, as he sate playing at Tables with Queen Anne, he started up and scowled at her, saying, "Thou art " the Cause of this Man's Death ! "

Father

T

2 go The Household

Father might well say, during our last precious Meeting in the Tower, " 'Tis I, " Meg^ not the King, that love Women. " They belie him ; he onlie loves him- " self." Adding, with his own sweet Smile, " Your Gaffer used to say that " Women were a Bag of Snakes, and that " the Man who put his Hand therein " woulde be lucky if he founde one Eel " among them alle ; but 'twas onlie in " Sport, Meg^ and he owned that I had " enough Eels to my Share to make a " goodly Pie, and called my House the '' Eel-pie House to the Day of his Death. " 'Twas our Lord Jesus raised up Women, " and shewed Kindnesse unto 'em ; and " they've kept theire Level, in the Main, " ever since."

I wish IVili may sett down everie Thing of Father s saying he can remember ; how precious will his Book then be to us !

But

^Sir Thos. More 291

But I fear me, these Matters adhere not to a Man's Memory . . . he'll be telling of his Doings as Speaker and Chancellor, and his saying this and that in Parliament. Those are the Matters Men like to write and to read ; he won't write it after my Fashion.

I had a Misgiving of Will's Wrath, that Night, 'speciallie if I failed ; but he called me his brave Jmlith. Indeed I was a Woman bearing a Head, but one that had oft lain on my Shoulder.

My Thoughts beginne to have Con- nexion now ; but till last Night, I slept not. 'Twas scarce Sunsett. Mercy had been praying beside me, and I lay outside my Bed, inclining rather to Stupor than Sleep. O' suddain, I have an Impression that some one is leaning over me, though I hear 'em not, nor feel theire Breath. I start up, cry " Mercy ! " but she's not

there.

292 The Household

there, nor anie one else. I turn on my Side and become heavie to Sleep ; but or ere I drop quite off, agayn I'm sensible or apprehensive of some living Consciousness betw^een my closed Eyelids and the setting Sunlight ; agayn start up and stare about, but there's Nothing. Then I feel like . . . like £//, maybe, v^^hen the Child Samuel came to him twice ; and Tears well into mine Eyes^ and I close 'em agayn, and say in mine Heart, " If he's '' at Hand, oh, let me see him next Time " . . . the third Time 's lucky." But 'steade of this, I fall into quiet, balmy, dreamlesse Sleep. Since then, I've had an abiding, assuring Sense of Help, of a Hand upholding me, and smoothing and glibbing the Way before me.

We must yield to the Powers that be. At this Present, we are weak, but they are strong ; they are honourable, but we

are

^Sir Thos. More 293

are despised. They have made us a Spectacle unto the World, and, I think, Europe will ring with it ; but at this present Hour, they will have us forth of our Home, though we have as yet no certayn Dwelling-Place, and must flee as scared Pigeons from their Dove-cot. No Matter ; our Men are willing to labour, and our Women to endure : being reviled, we bless ; being persecuted, we suffer it. Onlie I marvell how anie honest Man, coming after us, will be able to eat a Mouthful of Bread with a Relish within these Walls. And, methinketh, a dis- honest Man will have sundrie Frights from the Lares and Lemures. There '11 be Dearth o' black Beans in the Market.

Flow on, bright shining Thames. A good brave Man hath walked aforetime on your Margent, himself as bright, and

usefull.

2 94 ^^^ Household

usefull, and delightsome as be you, sweet River. And like you, he never murmured ; like you, he upbore the weary, and gave Drink to the Thirsty, and reflected Heaven in his Face. I'll not swell your full Current with any more fruitless Tears. There's a River, whose Streams make glad the City of our God. He now rests beside it. Good Christian Folks, as they hereafter pass this Spot, upborne on thy gentle Tide, will, maybe, point this Way, and say — "There dwelt Sir Thomas More i'' but whether they doe or not, Vox Populi is a very inconsiderable Matter. Who would live on theire Breath ? They hailed St. Paul as Mercury^ and then stoned him, and cast him out of the City, supposing him to be dead. Theire Favourite of to-day may, for what they care, goe hang himself to-morrow in his Surcingle. Thus it must be while the World lasts ;

and

of Sir Thos. More 295

and the very Racks and Scrues wherewith they aim to overcome the nobler Spiritt, onHe test and reveal its Power of Exal- tation above the heaviest Gloom of Cir- cumstance.

Interfecistis^ interfecistis Hominem omnium Anglorum optimum.

FINIS

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