Chapter 14

WAITING.

"If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all God's workings see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key.

"But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! God's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold: We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart; Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.

"And if through patient toil we reach the land Where tired feet with sandals loose may rest, When we shall clearly see and understand, I think that we shall say--`God knew the best.'"

When we came out from the chapel after vespers, my Lady commanded Sister Gaillarde to follow her. The rest of us went, of course, to the work-room, where Sister Gaillarde joined us in about half an hour. I saw that she looked as though she had heard something that greatly amused her, but we could know nothing till we reached the recreation-room.

The minute our tongues were loosed, Sister Ada attacked Sister Gaillarde as to what my Lady wanted with her. With one of her grim smiles, Sister Gaillarde replied--

"My Lady is about to resign her office."

A storm of exclamations greeted the news.

"Why, Sister? Do tell us why."

"She finds," said Sister Gaillarde, gravely, "the burden of her official duties too heavy."

"I marvel what she reckons them to be!" quoth Sister Joan, who, though not sarcastic in the style of Sister Gaillarde, can now and then say a biting thing. "So far as I ever made out, her duties are to sit on cushions and bid other folks work."

"Exactly: and that is too much labour for her."

"Which of us will be chosen in her stead, I marvel!" said Sister Ada, briskly. "I trust it may be one who will look better to her house than the present Lady has done."

"Amen," said Sister Gaillarde, with a mischievous air. "I hope it will be Sister Joan."

"Truly, I hope not," answered the Sister: "for if any such honour came my way (which I expect not), I should feel it my duty to decline it on account of my failing sight."

"Then you see, my Sisters," quoth Sister Ada, quickly, "to vote for Mother Joan would be to no good."

"It would be little good to vote for Mother Ada," I heard a voice whisper behind me; and another replied, "She thinks we all shall, I warrant."

I feel little doubt that Sister Gaillarde will be the one chosen. One of us four it is most likely to be: and the sub-Prioress is oftener chosen than the rest. Sister Gaillarde, methinks, would make a good Prioress.

We had scarcely recovered from our surprise, and had not half finished our talk, when the bell rang for compline: and silence fell on all the busy tongues. All the young Sisters, and the postulants, were eager to catch a glimpse of Father Mortimer; and I saw a good deal of talk pass from eyes to eyes, in the few minutes before the service began. He sings full well, and is most seemly in his ordering of matters. If he be as discreet in the confessional as in his outer ministrations, methinks I shall like him well. Howbeit, he made a deal less impression than he would have done before my Lady's intention was announced. When we filed out of the chapel, and assembled again in the recreation-room, the tongues were set loose, and I could see that the main stream of talk ran on my Lady; only one here and there diverging to Father Mortimer. I sought out Joan, and asked if our new confessor were any kin to her. She could not tell me, beyond saying that she has three uncles and several cousins in the priesthood; but since, saving her uncle Walter, she has never seen any of them, she could not speak certainly without asking himself.

I marvel I have not seen Margaret all this even, now I come to think. I was so taken up with the news concerning my Lady that I never thought to look for her: and in chapel she sits on the Epistle side, as I do, so that I see her not.

This morrow my Lady called us into conclave, and made known her resignation, which she has already tendered to the Master: and bade us all farewell. She will not tarry with us, but goes into the daughter house at Cambridge; this somewhat surprises me, though I see it does not Sister Gaillarde.

"There'll be more stir there," said she.

"Think you my Lady likes stir?" said I. "I have always reckoned her one that loved not to be stirred."

"Soothly," said Sister Gaillarde: "yet she loveth well to sit on her cushions, and gaze on the stir as a peep-show."

A few hours later we were all again assembled in conclave, and the Master himself with us, for election of a new Prioress. And after the mass of the Holy Ghost we Mothers went round to gather up the votes. It fell as I looked, and Sister Gaillarde is elected. In all the house there were only nine that voted otherwise, and of these four were for Sister Joan, two for Sister Ismania, and one each for Sisters Ada, Isabel, and myself. I feel sure that mine was Margaret's: and Joan says she is certain Sister Ada's was her own. I voted, as before, for Sister Gaillarde, for truly I think her fittest of all for the place. Her ordination fallows next week.

"Verily," said Sister Ada, the next time we were at recreation, "I do marvel at Sister Gaillarde's manner of taking her election. Not one word of humility or obedience, but just took it as if it were her right, and she were the most suitable person!"

"Why, that was obedience, was it not?" responded Sister Ismania.

"Obedience it might be, but it was not lowliness!" said Sister Ada, tartly. "If I had been elect--of course I do not mean that I expected such a thing, not for a moment--I should have knelt down and kissed the chapel floor, and protested my sense of utter unworthiness and incapacity for such an office."

Sister Isabel, who sat by me, said in a low voice,--"Maybe some of your Sisters would have agreed with you." And though I felt constrained to give her a look of remonstrance, I must say I thought with her. Sister Ada as Prioress would have been a sore infliction.

But now Sister Gaillarde herself came forward. I do not think Sister Ada had known she was there, to judge from her change of colour.

"Sister Ada," said she, "you are one of those surface observers who always fancy people do not feel what they do not say. Let me answer you once for all, and any who think with you. As a sinner before God, I do feel mine unworthiness, even to the lowest depth: and I am bound to humble myself for all my sins, and not least for the pride which would fain think them few and small. But as for incapacity, I do not feel that; and I shall not say what I do not feel. I think myself quite capable of governing this house--I do not say as well as some might do it, but as well as most would do; and it would be falsehood and affectation to pretend otherwise. I suppose, in condemning hypocrisy, our Lord did not mean that while we must not profess to be better than we are, we may make any number of professions, and tell any number of falsehoods, in order to appear worse than we are. That may be your notion of holiness; but suffer me to say, it is not my notion of honesty. I mean to try and do my duty; and if any of my Sisters thinks I am not doing it, she will confer a favour on me if she will not talk it over with the other Sisters, but come straight to my rooms and tell me so. I promise to consider any such rebukes, honestly, as before God; and if on meditation and prayer I find that I have been wrong, I will confess it to you. But if I think that it was simply done out of spite or impertinence, that Sister will have a penance set her. I hope, now, we understand each other: and I beg the prayers of you all that I may rule in the fear of God, showing neither partiality nor want of sympathy, but walking in the right way, and keeping this house pure from sin."

Sister Ada made no answer whatever. Sister Ismania said, with much feeling--

"Suffer me, Mother, to answer for the younger Sisters, and I trust the Mothers will pardon me if I am over ready. Sure am I that the majority of my Sisters will consent to my reply. We will indeed pray that you may have the grace of perseverance in good works, and will strive to obey your holy directions in the right path. I ask every Sister who will promise the same to say `_Placet_.'"

There was a storm of _Placets_ in response. But unless I was mistaken, Sister Ada and Sister Roberga were silent.

It was while she was answering "_Placet_" that I caught sight of Margaret's face. What had happened to make her look thus white and wan, with the expressive eyes so full of tears behind them, which she could not or would not shed? I sat in pain the whole day until evening, and the more because she seemed rather to avoid me. But at night, when we had parted, and all was quiet in the dormitories, a very faint rap came at the door of my cell. I bade the applicant enter in peace: and Margaret presented herself.

"Annora!" she said, hesitating timidly.

I knew what that meant.

"Come to me, little Sister," I said.

She came forward at once, closing the door behind her, and knelt down at my feet. Then she buried her face in her hands, and laid face and hands upon my knee.

"Let me weep!" she sobbed. "Oh, let me weep for a few moments in silence, and do not speak to me!"

I kept silence, and she wept till her heart was relieved. When at last her sobs grew quiet, she brushed her tears away, and looked up.

"Bless thee, Annora! That has done me good. It is something to have somebody who will say, `Little Sister,' and give one leave to weep in peace. Dost thou know what troubles me?"

"Not in the least, dear Margaret. That something was troubling thee I had seen, but I cannot guess what it was."

"I shall get over it now," she said. "It is only the reopening of the old wound. Thou hast not guessed, then, who Father Mortimer is?"

"Margaret!"

"Ay, God has given my Roland back to me--yet has not given him. It is twenty years since we parted, and we are no longer young--nor, I hope, foolish. We can venture now to journey on, on opposite sides of the way, without being afraid of loving each other more than God. There can hardly be much of the road left now: and when it is over, the children will meet in the safe fellowship of the Father's Home for ever. Dost thou know, Annora dear, I am almost surprised to find myself quite so childish? I thought I should have borne such a meeting as calmly as any one else,--as calmly as he did." There was a little break in her voice. "He always had more self-control than I. Only I dare not confess to him, for his own sake. He would be tempted either to partiality, or to too much severity in order to avoid it. I must content myself with Father Benedict: and when I want Roland's teaching--those blessed words which none ever gave to me but himself--wilt thou give me leave to tell thee, so that thou mayest submit the matter to him in thine own confession?"

I willingly agreed to this: but I am sorry for my poor child. Father Benedict is terribly particular and severe. I think Father Mortimer could scarcely be more so, however hard he was trying not to be partial. And I cannot help a little doubt whether his love has lasted like hers. Sweet Saint Mary! what am I saying? Do I not know that every sister, every priest, in this house would be awfully shocked to know that such a thing could be? It is better it should not. And yet--my poor child!

This house no longer holds a Sister or Mother Gaillarde. She is now Lady Prioress, having been ordained and enthroned this afternoon. I must say the ceremony of vowing obedience felt to me less, not more, than that simple _Placet_ the other day, which seemed to come red-hot from the hearts that spake it.

The Sister chosen to succeed her as Mother is Sister Ismania. I am glad of it, for she is certainly fittest for the place. Mother Joan becomes the senior Mother.

Our new Prioress does not let the grass grow under her feet, and is very different from her predecessor. During the first week after her appointment, such quantities of household articles began to pour in-- whereof, in sooth, we stood in grievous need--that we Mothers were at our wits' end where to put them. I thought the steward's man would never have done coming to the grating with such announcements as--"Five hundredweight of wax, if you please, ladies; a hundred pounds of candles, ladies; twenty oaks for firewood, ladies; two sacks of seacoal, ladies; ten pieces of nuns' cloth, ladies; a hundred ells of cloth of linen, ladies; six firkins of speckled Bristol soap, ladies,"--cloth of Sarges [serge], cloth of Blanket [Note 1], cloth of Rennes; mops, bougets, knives, beds; cups, jugs, and amphoras; baskets by the dozen; quarters of wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, and lentils; stockfish and ling, ginger and almonds, pipes of wine and quarts of oil--nay, I cannot tell what there was not. Sister Ada lost her temper early, and sorely bewailed her hard lot in having first to carry and find room for all these things, and secondly to use them. The old ways had suited her well enough: she could not think what my Lady wanted with all this mopping and scouring. Even Sister Joan said a little sarcastically that she thought my Lady must be preparing for the possibility of our having to stand a siege. My Lady, who heard both behind their backs, smiled her grim smile and went on. She does not keep in her own rooms like the last Prioress, but is here, there, and every where. Those of the Sisters who are indolently inclined dislike her rule exceedingly. For myself, I think in truth we have been going along too easily, and am glad to see the reins tightened and the horse admonished to be somewhat brisker: yet I cannot say that I can always keep pace with my Lady, and at times I am aware of a feeling of being driven on faster than I can go without being out of breath, and perhaps risking a fall. A little occasional rest would certainly be a relief. Howbeit, life is our working-day: and there will be time to rest in Heaven.

Joan tells me that she has had some talk with Father Mortimer, and finds that her mother and he were cousins, he being the only son of her grandfather's brother, Sir John de Mortimer, who died young in the tilt-yard [Note 2]. It is strange, passing strange, that he and Margaret should have been drawn to one another--he the nephew, and she the daughter, of men who were deadly enemies. From what Joan saith, I can gather that this grandfather of hers must have been a very evil man in many ways. I love not to hear of evil things and men, and I do somewhat check her when she speaks on that head. Was it not for eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil that our first fathers were turned out of Paradise? Yet the Psalmist speaks of God as "He that teacheth man knowledge." I will ask Father Mortimer to explain it when I confess.

The time is not far off now when my child Joan must leave us, and I shrink from it as it draws near. I would either that she were one of us, or that I could go back to the world. Yet neither can be, seeing she is wedded wife and mother: and for me, is not this the very carnal affection which religious persons are bidden to root out of their hearts? Yet the Apostle Saint John saith we are to love our brethren. How can I do both? Is it lawful to love, only so long as we love not one above another? But our Lord Himself had His beloved disciple: and surely one's own mother must ever be more to her daughter than some other woman's mother? This also I will ask Father Mortimer.

Lack-a-day! this world is full of puzzles, or rather it is this life. I would one might see the way a little clearer--might have, as it were, a thread put into one's hand to guide one out of the labyrinth, like that old Grecian story which we teach the children. Some folks seem to lose their way easier than others; and some scarcely seem to behold any labyrinth at all--they walk right through those matters which are walls and hedges to others, and look as though they never perceived that any such things were there. Is it because of recklessness of right, or of single-heartedness and sincerity?

There are three matters to lay before Father Mortimer. I shall think long till the time come; and I hope he will be patient with me.

So soon as I stepped forth of my cell this morrow, I was aware of a kind of soft sobbing at no great distance. I went towards it, and as I turned the corner of the corridor, I came on a young novice, by name Denise, who sat on the ground with a pail before her, and a flannel and piece of soap on one side of it.

"What is the matter, child?" said I.

"Mother Ismania bade me scrub the boards," said she.

"Well! wherefore no?"

Denise fell a-sobbing yet more. For a minute or two might I not come at the reason: but at the last I did--she was a kinswoman of Sir Michael de La Pole, and thought it so degrading to be set to scrub boards!

"Why, dear heart," said I, "we all do work of this fashion."

"Oh yes, common Sisters may," quoth she.

"Well," said I, "we cannot be all uncommon. I ensure thee, Denise, there are here many daughters of better houses than thine. Mother Ismania herself is daughter of an offshoot of the Percys, and Sister Isabel is a Neville by her mother. My Lady is a Fitzhugh of Ravenswath."

"Well, Sisters!" came from behind us in my Lady's most sarcastic voice, "you choose a nice time for comparing your pedigrees. Maybe it were as well to leave that interesting amusement for recreation-time, and scrub the corridor just now."

Sister Denise melted again into tears, and I turned to explain.

"Your pail looks pretty full, Sister," said my Lady grimly: "much more water will make it overflow."

"May it please you, Madam," said I, "Sister Denise is thus distressed because she, being a De La Pole, is set to scrubbing and such like menial work."

"Oh, is she, indeed?" laughed my Lady. "Sister, do you know what Mother Annora is?"

Sister Denise could only shake her head.

"Her mother was grand-daughter to King Edward of Westminster," said my Lady. "If we three were in the world, I should be scantly fit to bear her train and you would be little better than her washerwoman. But I never heard her grumble to scour the corridor and she has done it more times than ever you thought about it. Foolish child, to suppose there was any degradation in honest work! Was not our blessed Lord Himself a carpenter? I warrant the holy Virgin kept her boards clean, and did not say she was too good to scrub. No woman alive is too good to do her duty."

Sister Denise brake forth into fresh sobs.

"A wa--wa--washerwoman! To be called a washerwoman! [Note 3.] Me, kinswoman of Sir Michael de La Pole, and Sir Richard to boot--a washerwo--woman!"

"Don't be a goose!" said my Lady. "De La Pole, indeed! who be these De La Poles? Why, no more than merchants of Lombard Street, selling towelling at fivepence the ell, and coverchiefs of Cambray [Note 4] at seven shillings the piece. Truly a goodly pedigree to boast of thus loudly!"

"But, Madam!" cries Sister Denise--her tears, methinks, burned up by her vexation--"bethink you, Sir Michael my cousin is a knight, and his wife the Lady Katherine heiress of Wingfield, and the Lady Katherine his mother 'longeth to the knights De Norwich. And look you, his sister is my Lady Scrope, and his cousin wedded the heir of the Lord Cobham of Kent."

"Nay, tarry not there," said my Lady; "do go a bit further while thou art about it. Was not my Lady Joan Cobham's mother daughter to my Lady of Devon, whose mother was daughter unto King Edward of Westminster--so thou art akin to the King himself? I cry thee mercy, my Lady Princess, that I set thee to scrub boards.--Sister Annora, prithee, let this princely damsel go to school for a bit--she's short of heraldry. The heiress of Wingfield, _the_ Lady Katherine, forsooth! and the daughter of Sir John de Norwich a `Lady' at all! Why, child, we only call the King's kinswomen _the_ Lord and Lady. As to thy cousin Sir Michael, he is a woolmonger and lindraper [linen draper. The _en_ is a corruption] that the King thought fit to advance, because it pleased him, and maybe he had parts [talents] of some sort. Sure thou hast no need to stick up thy back o' that count! To-morrow, Sister Denise, thou wilt please to clean the fire-dogs, and carry forth the ashes to the lye-heap.--Come, Sister Annora; I lack you elsewhere."

Poor little Denise broke into bitterer tears than ever; but I could not stay to comfort her, for I had to follow my Lady.

"I do vow, this world is full of fools!" said she, as we went along the corridor. "We shall have Sister Parnel, next, protesting that she knows not how much oats be a bushel, and denying to rub in the salt to a bacon, lest it should make her fingers sore. And 'tis always those who have small reason that make fusses like this. A King's daughter, when she takes the veil, looks for no different treatment from the rest; but a squire's daughter expects to have a round dozen of her Sisters told off to wait upon her.--Sister Egeline, feathers for stuffing are three-farthings a pound; prithee strew not all the floors therewith. (Sister Egeline had dropped no more than one; but my Lady is lynx-eyed.) Truly, it was time some one took this house in hand. Had my sometime Lady ruled it another twelvemonth, there would have been never a bit of discipline left. There's none so much now. Sister Roberga had better look out. If she gives me many more pert answers, she'll find herself barred into the penitential cell on bread and water."

By this time we had reached the kitchen. Sister Philippa was just coming out of it, carrying one hand covered with her veil. My Lady came to a sudden halt.

"What have you there, Sister?"

Sister Philippa looked red and confused.

"I have cut my finger," she said.

My Lady's hand went into her pocket.

"Hold it forth," said she, "and I will bind it up. I always carry linen and emplasture."

Sister Philippa made half a dozen lame excuses, but at last held out her left hand, having (if I saw rightly) passed something into the other, under cover of her veil.

"Which finger?" said my Lady, who to my surprise took no notice of her action.

"This," said Sister Philippa, holding out the first.

My Lady studied it closely.

"It must have healed quick," said she, "for I see never a scratch upon it."

"Oh, then it is that," quoth Sister Philippa, holding forth the second finder.

"I rather think, Sister, it is the other hand," said my Lady. "Let me look at that."

As my Lady was holding Sister Philippa's left hand, she had no chance to pass her hidden treasure into it. She held forth her right hand--full unwillingly, as I saw--and something rustled down her gown and dropped with a flop at her feet.

"Pick that up, Sister Annora," said my Lady.

I obeyed, and unfolding a German coverchief, found therein a flampoynt and three placentae [a pork pie and three cheesecakes].

"What were you going to do with these?" said my Lady.

"It's always my luck!" cried Sister Philippa. "Nothing ever prospers if I do it. Saint Elizabeth's loaves turned into roses, but no saint that liveth ever wrought a miracle for me."

"It is quite as well, Sister, that evil deeds should not prosper," was my Lady's answer. "Saint Elizabeth was carrying loaves to feed the poor. Was that your object? If so, you shall be forgiven; but next time, ask leave first."

Sister Philippa grew redder.

"Was that your intention?" my Lady persisted.

"I am sure I am as poor as any body!" sobbed the Sister. "We never get any thing good. All the nice things we make go to the poor, or to guests. I can't see why one might not have a bite one's self."

"Were you going to eat them yourself?"

"One of them, I was: the others were for Sister Roberga."

"Sister Roberga shall answer for herself. I will have no tale-telling in my house. This evening at supper, Sister, you will stand at the end of the refectory, with that placenta in your hand, and say in the hearing of all the Sisters--`I stole this placenta from the kitchen, and I ask pardon of God and the Saints for that theft.' Then you may eat it, if you choose to do so."

My Lady confiscated the remainder, leaving the placenta in Sister Philippa's hand. She looked for a minute as if she would heartily like to throw it down, and stamp on it: but either she feared to bring on herself a heavier punishment, or she did not wish to lose the dainty. She wrapped it in her coverchief, and went upstairs, sobbing as she went.

My Lady despatched Sister Marian at once to fetch Sister Roberga. She came, looking defiant enough, and confessed brazenly that she knew of Sister Philippa's theft, and had incited her to it.

"I thought as much," said my Lady sternly, "and therefore I dealt the more lightly with your poor dupe, over whom I have suspected your influence for evil a long while. Sister Annora, do you and Sister Isabel take this sinner to the penitential cell, and I will take counsel how to use her."

We tried to obey: but Sister Roberga proved so unmanageable that we had to call in three more Sisters ere we could lodge her in the cell. At long last we did it; but my arms ached for some time after.

Sister Philippa performed her penance, looking very shamefaced: but she left the placenta on the table of the refectory, and I liked her all the better for doing so. I think my Lady did the same.

Sister Roberga abode in the penitential cell till evening, when my Lady sent for the four Mothers: and we found there the Master himself, Father Benedict, and Father Mortimer. The case was talked over, and it was agreed that Sister Roberga should be transferred to Shuldham where, as is reported, the Prioress is very strict, and knows how to hold her curb. This is practically a sentence of expulsion. We four all agreed that she was the black sheep in the Abbey, and that several of the younger Sisters--in especial Sister Philippa--would conduct themselves far better if she were removed. Sister Ismania was sent to tell her the sentence. She tossed her head and pretended not to care; but I cannot believe she will not feel the terrible disgrace. Oh, why do women enter into the cloister who have no vocation? and, ah me! why is it forced upon them?

At last I have been to confession to Father Mortimer, and I think I understand better what Margaret means, when she speaks of confessing to Father Benedict such things as he expects to hear. I never could see why it must be a sin to eat a lettuce without making the holy sign over it. Surely, if one thanks God for all He gives us, He will not be angered because one does not repeat the thanksgiving for every little separate thing. Such thoughts of God seem to me to be bringing Him down, and making Him seem full of little foolish details like men--and like the poorest-minded sort of men too. I see that people of high intellect, while they take much care of details that go to make perfection--as every atom of a flower is beautifully finished--take no care at all for mere trivialities--what my Lady calls fads--such as is, I think, making the sign of the cross over every mouthful one eats. Well, I made my confession and was absolved: and I told the priest that I much wished to ask his explanation of various matters that perplexed me. He bade me say on freely.

"Father," said I, "I pray you, tell me first, is knowledge good or evil?"

"Solomon saith, my daughter, that `a wise man is strong;' and the prophet Osee laments that God's people are `destroyed for lack of knowledge.' Our Lord chideth the lawyers of the Jews because they took away the key of knowledge: and Paul counted all things but loss for the knowledge of Jesu Christ. Here is wisdom. Why was Adam forbidden to eat of the tree of knowledge, seeing it was knowledge of good no less than evil? Partly, doubtless, to test his obedience: yet partly also, I think, because, though the knowledge might be good in itself, it was not good for him. God never satisfies mere curiosity. He will tell thee how to come to Heaven; but what thou wilt find there, that He will not tell thee, save that He is there, and sin, suffering, and Sathanas, are not there. He will aid thee to overcome thy sins: but how sin first entered into the fair creation which He made so good, thou mayest ask, but He gives no answer. Many things there are, which perhaps we may know with safety and profit in Heaven, that would not be good for us to know here on earth. Knowledge of God thou mayest have,--yea, to the full, so far as thine earthen vessel can hold it, even here. Yet beware, being but an earthen vessel, that thy knowledge puff thee not up. Then shall it work thee ill instead of good. Moreover, have nought to do with knowledge of evil; for that is ill, altogether."

"Then, how is it, Father," said I, "that some folks see their way so much plainer than others, and never become tangled in labyrinths? They seem to see in a moment one thing to be done, and that only: not as though they walked along a road which parted in twain, and knew not which turn to take."

"There may be many reasons. Some have more wit than others, and thus perceive the best way. Some are less readily turned aside by minor considerations. Some let their will conflict with God's will: and some desire to perceive His only, and to follow it."

"Those last are perfect men," said I.

"Ay," he made answer: "or rather, they are sinners whom Christ first loved, and taught to love Him back. My daughter, love is the great clue to lead thee out of labyrinths. Whom lovest thou--Jesu Christ, or Sister Alianora?"

"Now, Father, you land me in my last puzzle. I have always been taught, ever since I came hither, a little child, that love of God and the holy saints is the only love allowed to a religious woman. All other love is worldly, carnal, and wicked. Tell me, is this true?"

"No." The word came quick and curt.

"Truly," said I, "it would give me great relief to be assured of that. The love of our kindred, then, is permitted?"

"`Whoso loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this mandate we have from God: that he who loveth God, love his brother also.'"

"Father," said I, fairly enchanted to hear such words, "are those words of some holy doctor, such as Saint Austin?"

"They are the words," saith he softly, "of the disciple that Jesu loved. He seems to have caught a glimmer of his Master."

"But," said I, "doth it mean my mother's son, or only my brother in religion?"

"It can scarcely exclude thy mother's son," saith he somewhat drily. "Daughter, see thou put God first: and love all other as much as ever thou canst."

"_Ha, jolife_!" cried I, "if the Church will but allow it."

"What God commandeth," said he, "can not His Church disallow."

Methought I heard a faint stress on the pronoun.

"Father," said I, "are there more Churches than one?"

"There is one Bride of Christ. There is also a synagogue of Satan."

"Ah! that, I count, is the Eastern Church, that man saith hath departed from the faith."

"They that depart from the faith make that Church. I fear they may so do in the West as well as the East."

"Well, in the most holy universal Church are counted both the holy Roman Church, and our own mother, the Church of England," said I. "I know not if it include the Eastern schism or no."

"All these," saith he, "are names of men, and shall perish. All that is of man must come to nought. The Church Catholic, true and holy, is not of man, but of God. In her is gathered every saved soul, whether he come from the east or from the west, from the north or from the south. She is not Pauline, nor Petrine, nor Johannine, but Christian. The heavenly Bridegroom cannot have two Brides. `One is My dove, My perfect one,' There are many counties in England; there is but one realm. So there are many so-called Churches: there is but one holy Church."

"But to find her commands," I answered, "we must, I suppose, hearken each to his own branch of the Church?"

"Her Lord's commands are hers. `Hear thou _Him_.' The day is coming, daughter, when the Scriptures of God's Word shall be all rendered into English tongue, and, I firmly trust, shall be accessible to every man that chooses to know them. Pray thou heartily for that day; and meanwhile, keep thou close following Christ's steps, to the best of thy knowledge, and entreat Him for pardon of all unknown sins. And when the light of day is fully come, and the blessed lamp of Holy Writ placed in the hands of the people, then come to the light that thou mayest clearly see. For then woe, woe upon him that tarrieth in the shadow! `If the light that is in thee be darkness, what darkness can equal it?'"

"Father," said I, "I thank you, for you have much comforted me. All this while have I been trying not to love folks; and I find it full hard to do."

"Battle with thy sins, Daughter, and let thy love alone. I counsel thee to beware of one thing, of which many need no warning to beware: I think thou dost. A thing is not sin because it is comfortable and pleasant; it is not good because it is hard or distasteful. Why mortify thy will when it would do good? It is the will to sin which must be mortified. When Christ bade His disciples to `love their enemies,' He did not mean them to hate their friends. True love must needs be true concern for the true welfare of the beloved. How can that be sin? It is not love which will help man to sin! that love cometh of Sathanas, and is `earthly, sensual, devilish.' But the love which would fain keep man from sin,--this is God's love to man, and man cannot err in bestowing it on his brother."

"But is it sin, Father, to prefer one in love above another?"

"It is sin to love man more than God. Short of that, love any one, and any how, that ever thou wilt. The day _may_ come--"

He brake off suddenly. I looked up.

"There were wedded priests in England, not an hundred years ago," [Note 5] he said in a low voice. "And there were no monks nor nuns in the days of the Apostles. The time may come--_Fiat voluntas Tua! Filia, pax tibi_."

Thus gently dismissed, I rose up and came back into the illuminating-room, where I found Joan gathering together her brushes and other gear.

"The last time!" she said, sadly--for she returns to her home to-morrow. "Why is it that last times are always something sorrowful? I am going home to my Ralph and the children, and am right glad to do it: and yet I feel very mournful at the thought of leaving you, dear Mother Annora. Must it ever be so in this life, till we come to that last time of all when, setting forth on the voyage to meet Christ our Lord, we yet say `farewell' with a pang to them we leave behind?"

"I reckon so, dear heart," said I, sighing a little. "But Father Mortimer hath comforted me by words that he saith are from Holy Writ--to wit, that he which loveth God should love his brother likewise. I always wanted to love folks."

"And always did it, dear Mother," said Joan with a laugh, casting her arms around my neck, "for all those chains of old rules and dusty superstitions which are ever clanking about you. And I am going to love you, whatever rules be to the contrary, and of whomsoever made. Oh, why did ill folks push you into this convent, when you might have come and dwelt with Ralph and me, and been such a darling grandmother to my little ones? There, now, I did not mean to make you look sorrowful. I will come and see you every year, if it be only for an hour's talk at the grating; and my Lady, who is soft-hearted as she is rough-tongued, will never forbid it, I know."

"Never forbid what, thou losenger?" [Flatterer.]

Joan turned round, laughing.

"Dear my Lady, you are ever where man looketh not for you. But I am sure you heard no ill of yourself. You will never forbid me to visit my dear Mother Annora; you love her, and you love me."

"Truly a pretty tale!" saith my Lady, pretending (as I could see) to look angry.

"Now don't try to be angered with me," said Joan, "for I know you cannot. Now I must go and pack my saddle-bags and mails." [Trunks.]

She went thence with her light foot, and my Lady looked somewhat sadly after her.

"I love thee, do I, child?" saith she in another tone. "Ah, if I do, thou owest it less to anything in thee than to the name they wed thee in. Help us, Mother of Mercy! Time was when I thought I, too, should one day have been a Greystoke. Well, well! God be merciful to us poor dreamers, and poor sinners too!"

Then, with slower step than she is wont, she went after Joan.

My child is gone, and I feel like a bereaved mother. I shall see her again, if it please God, but what a blank she has left! She says when next Lent comes, if God will, she will visit us, and maybe bring with her her little Laurentia, that she named after my lost love, because she had eyes like his. God bless her, my child Joan!

Sister Roberga set forth for Shuldham the same day, in company with Father Benedict, who desired to travel that road, and in charge of two of the brethren and of Sister Willa. I trust she may some day see her errors, and amend her ways: but I cannot felicitate the community at Shuldham on receiving her.

So now we shall slip back into our old ways, so far as can be under a Prioress who assuredly will let none of us suffer the moss to grow upon her, body or soul, so far as she can hinder it. I hear her voice now beneath, in the lower corridor, crying to Sister Sigred, who is in the kitchen to-day--

"Did ever man or woman see the like? Burning seacoal on the kitchen-fire! Dost thou mean to poison us all with that ill smoke? [Note 6.] And wood in the wood-house more than we shall use in half a year! Forty logs came in from the King only yesterday, and ten from my Lord of Lisle the week gone. Sister Sigred, when shall I put any sense in you?"

"I don't know, Madam, I'm sure!" was poor Sister Sigred's rather hopeless answer.

I have found out at last what the world is. I am so glad! I asked Father Mortimer, and I told him how puzzled I was about it.

"My daughter," said he, "thou didst renounce three things at thy baptism--the world, the flesh, and the Devil. The works of the flesh thou wilt find enumerated in Saint Paul's Epistle to the Galatians [Galatians 5, verses 19-21]: and they are _not_ `love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.' These are the fruits of the Spirit. What the Devil is, thou knowest. Let us then see what is the world. It lies, saith Saint John, in three things: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. What are these? The lust of the flesh is not love, for that is a fruit of the Spirit. It is self-love: worshipping thyself, comforting thyself, advantaging thyself, and regarding all others as either toys or slaves for that great idol, thyself. The lust of the eye is not innocent enjoyment of the gifts of God: doth a father give gifts to his child in order that she may _not_ use and delight in them? It lies in valuing His gifts above His will; taking the gift and forgetting the Giver; robbing the altar of God in order to deck thine idol, and that idol thyself. Covetousness, love of gain, pursuit of profit to thyself--these are idolatry, and the lust of the eye. The pride of life--what is this? Once more, decking thyself with the property of God. Show and grandeur, pomp and vanity, revelling and folly--all to show thee, to aggrandise thee, to delight thee. The danger of abiding in the world is lest the world get into thee, and abide in thee. Beware of the thought that there is no such danger in the cloister. The world may be in thee, howsoever thou art out of the world. A queen may wear her velvet robes with a single eye to the glory of God, and a nun may wear her habit with a single eye to the glory of self. Fill thine heart with Christ, and there will be no room left for the world. Fill thine heart with the world, and no room will be left for Christ. They cannot abide together; they are contrary the one to the other. Thou canst not saunter along the path of life, arm-in-arm with the world, in pleasant intercourse. Her face is not toward the City of God: if thine be, ye must go contrary ways. `How can two walk together, except they be agreed' what direction to pursue? And remember, thou art one, and the world is many. She is strong enough to pull thee round; thou art not at all likely to change her course. And the peril of such intercourse is that the pulling round is so gradually effected that thou wilt never see it."

"But how am I to help it, Father?"

"By keeping thine eye fixed on God. Set the Lord alway before thee. So long as He is at thy right hand, thou shalt not be moved."

Father Mortimer was silent for a moment; and when he spoke again, it was rather to himself, or to God, than to me.

"Alas for the Church of God!" he said. "The time was when her baptismal robes were white and spotless; when she came out, and was separate, and touched not the unclean thing. Hath God repealed His command thus to do? In no wise. Hath the world become holy, harmless, undefiled--no longer selfish, frivolous, carnal, earth-bound? Nay, for it waxeth worse and worse as the end draws nearer. Woe is me! has the Church stepped down from her high position as the elect and select company of the sons of God, because these daughters of men are so fair and bewitching? Is she slipping back, sliding down, dipping low her once high standard of holiness to the Lord, bringing down her aim to the level of her practice, because it suits not with her easy selfishness to gird up her loins and elevate her practice to what her standard was and ought to be? And she gilds her unfaithfulness, forsooth, with the name of divine charity! saying, Peace, peace! when there is no peace. `What peace, so long as the whoredoms of thy mother Jezebel and her witchcrafts are so many?' They cry, `Speak unto us smooth things'--and the Lord hath put none such in our lips. The word that He giveth us, that must we speak. And it is, `Come out of her, My people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.' Ye cannot remain and not partake the sins; and if ye partake the sins, then shall ye receive the plagues. `What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.'" [Note 7.]

Thank God for this light upon my path! for coming from His Word, it must be light from Heaven. O my Lord, Thou art Love incarnate, and Thou hast bidden us to love each other. Thou hast set us in families, and chosen our relatives, our neighbours, our surroundings. From Thine hand we take them all, and use them, and love them, in Thee, for Thee, to Thee. "We are taught of God to love each other." We only love too much when we love ourselves, or when we love others above Thee. And "the command we have of Thee is that he who loveth Thee, love his brother also"--the last word we hear from Thee is a promise that Thou wilt come again, and take us--together, all--not to separate stars, but to be with Thee for ever. Amen, Lord Jesu Christ, so let it be!

It is several weeks since I have seen Margaret, otherwise than in community. But to-night I heard the timid little rap on my door, and the equally timid "Annora?" which came after. When Margaret says that word, in that tone, she wants a chat with me, and she means to inquire deprecatingly if she may have it.

"Come in, darling," I said.

Since Father Mortimer gave me leave to love any one, any how, so long as I put God first, I thought I might say "darling" to Margaret. She smiled,--I fancied she looked a little surprised--and coming forward, she knelt down at my feet, in her favourite attitude, and laid her clasped hands in my lap.

"Is there some trouble, Margaret?"

"No, dear Annora. Only little worries which make one feel tired out: nothing to be properly called trouble. I am working under Mother Ada this week, and--well, you know what she is. I do not wish to speak evil of any one: only--sometimes, one feels tired. So I thought it would help me to have a little talk with my sister Annora. Art thou weary too?"

"I think I am rested, dear," said I. "Father Mortimer has given me a word of counsel from Holy Writ, and it hath done me good."

"He hath given me many an one," she saith, with a smile that seemed half pleasure and half pain. "And I am trying to live by the light of the last I had--I know not if the words were Holy Writ or no, but I think the substance was--`If Christ possess thee, then shalt thou inherit all things.'"

She was silent for a moment, with a look of far-away thought: and I was thinking that a hundred little worries might be as wearying and wearing as one greater trouble. Suddenly Margaret looked up with a laugh for which her eyes apologised.

"I could not help thinking," she said, "that I hope `all things' have a limit. To inherit Mother Ada's temper would scarcely be a boon!"

"All good things," said I.

"Yes, all good things," she answered. "That must mean, all things that our Lord sees good for us--which may not be those that we see good for ourselves. But one thing we know--that if we be His, that must be, first of all, Himself--He with us here, we with Him hereafter. And next to that comes the promise that they which are Christ's, with whom we have to part here, will be brought home with us when He cometh. There is no restriction on the companying of the Father's children, when they are gathered together in the Father's House."

I knew what she saw. And I saw the dear grey eyes of my child Joan; but behind them, other eyes that mine have not beheld for fifty years, and that I shall see next--and then for ever--in the light of the Golden City. Softly I said--[Note 8.]

"`_Hic breve vivitur, hic breve plangitur, hic breve fletur; Non breve vivitur, non breve plangitur, retribuetur_.'"

Margaret's reply sounded like the other half of an antiphon. [Note 9.]

"`_Plaude, cinis meus! est tua pars Deus; ejus es, et sis_.'"

Note 1. The early notices of blanket in the Wardrobe Accounts disprove the tradition that blankets were invented by Edward Blanket, buried in Saint Stephen's Church, Bristol, the church not having been built until 1470.

Note 2. Father Mortimer is a fictitious person, this Sir John having in reality died unmarried.

Note 3. Laundresses were very much looked down on in the Middle Ages, and were but too often women of bad character.

Note 4. Cambric handkerchiefs. It was then thought very mean to be in trade.

Note 5. Married priests existed in England as late as any where, if not later than in other countries. Walter, Rector of Adlingfleet, married Alice niece of Savarie Abbot of York, about the reign of Richard the First. (Register of John of Gaunt, volume 2, folio 148); "Emma, widow of Henry, the priest of Forlond," was living in 1284 (Close Roll, 12 Edward the First); and "Denise, daughter of John de Colchester, the chaplain," is mentioned in 1322 (Ibidem, 16 Edward the Second).

Note 6. Coal smoke was then considered extremely unhealthy, while wood smoke was thought to be a prophylactic against consumption.

Note 7. I would fain add here a word of warning against one of Satan's wiliest devices, one of the saddest delusions of our time, for a multitude of souls are led astray by it, and in some cases it deceives the very elect. I mean the popular blind terror of "controversy," so rife in the present day. Let us beware that we suffer not indolence and cowardice to shelter themselves under the insulted name of charity. We are bidden to "strive together for the truth of the Gospel"--"earnestly to contend for the faith" (in both places the Greek word means to _wrestle_); words which presuppose an antagonist and a controversy. Satan hates controversy; it is the spear of Ithuriel to him. We are often told that controversy is contrary to the Gospel precepts of love to enemies--that it hinders more important work--that it injures spirituality. What says the Apostle to whom to live was Christ--on whom came daily the care of all the Churches--who tells us that "the greatest of these is charity"? "Though we, or an angel from Heaven, preach any other Gospel--let him be accursed!" "To whom we gave place by subjection, no, not for an hour: that the truth of the Gospel might continue with you." Ten minutes of friendly contact with the world will do more to injure spirituality than ten years of controversy conducted in a Christian spirit--not fighting for victory but for truth, not for ourselves but for Christ. This miserable blunder will be seen in its true colours by those who have to eat its bitter fruit.

Note 8.

"Brief life is here our portion; Brief sorrow, short-lived care: The life that hath no ending, The tearless life, is there."

Note 9.

"Exult, O dust and ashes! The Lord shall be thy part: His only, His for ever, Thou shalt be, and thou art."

APPENDIX.

HISTORICAL APPENDIX.

I. THE ROYAL FAMILY.

King Edward the Second was _born_ at Caernarvon Castle (but not, as tradition states, in the Eagle Tower, not then built), April 25, 1284; _crowned_ at Westminster Abbey, August 6, 1307, by the Bishop of Winchester, acting as substitute for the Archbishop of Canterbury. The gilt spurs were borne by William le Mareschal; "the royal sceptre on whose summit is the cross" by the Earl of Hereford (killed in rebellion against the King) and "the royal rod on whose summit is the dove" by Henry of Lancaster, afterwards Earl: the Earls of Lancaster, Lincoln, and Warwick--of whom the first was beheaded for treason, and the third deserved to be so--bore the three swords, Curtana having the precedence: then a large standard (or coffer) with the royal robes, was carried by the Earl of Arundel, Thomas de Vere (son and heir of the Earl of Oxford), Hugh Le Despenser, and Roger de Mortimer, the best friend and the worst enemy of the hapless Sovereign: the King's Treasurer carried "the paten of the chalice of Saint Edward," and the Lord Chancellor the chalice itself: "then Peter de Gavaston, Earl of Cornwall, bore the crown royal," followed by King Edward himself, who offered a golden pound as his oblation. The coronation oath was administered in French, in the following terms. "Sire, will you grant and keep and confirm by oath to the people of England, the laws and customs to them granted by the ancient Kings of England, your predecessors, the rights and devotions [due] to God, and especially the laws, customs, and franchises granted to the clergy and people by the glorious King, Saint Edward, your predecessor?" "I grant and promise them," was the royal answer. "Sire, will you preserve, towards God and holy Church, and to the clergy and people, peace and concord in God, fully, according to your power?" "I will keep them," said the King. "Sire, will you in all your judgments do equal and righteous justice and discretion, in mercy and truth, according to your power?" "I will so do." "Sire, will you grant, to be held and kept, the righteous laws and customs which the commonalty of your realm shall choose, and defend them, and enforce them to the honour of God and according to your power?" King Edward's answer was, "I grant and promise them." Twenty years later, chiefly by the machinations of his wicked wife, aided by the blinded populace whom she had diligently misled, Edward was _deposed_ at Kenilworth, January 20, 1327; and after being hurried from place to place, he was at last _murdered_ in Berkeley Castle, September 21, 1327, and _buried_ in Gloucester Cathedral on December 20th.

In the companion volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_, will be found the story, as told by the chroniclers, of his burial by the Abbot and monks of Gloucester. The Wardrobe Accounts, however, are found to throw considerable doubt upon this tale. We find from them, that the Bishop of Llandaff, three knights, a priest, and four lesser officials, were sent by the young King "to dwell at Gloucester with the corpse of the said King his father," which was taken from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester Abbey on October 21st. (_Compotus Hugonis de Glaunvill_, Wardrobe Accounts, 1 Edward the Third, 58/4). For the funeral were provided:--Three robes for knights, 2 shillings 8 pence each; 8 tunics for ditto, 14 pence each; four great lions of gilt picture-work, with shields of the King's arms over them, for wax mortars [square basins filled with wax, a wick being in the midst], placed in four parts of the hearse; four images of the Evangelists standing on the hearse, 66 shillings, 8 pence; eight incensing angels with gilt thuribles, and two great leopards rampant, otherwise called volant, nobly gilt, standing outside the hearse, 66 shillings, 8 pence... An empty tun, to carry the said images to Gloucester, 21 shillings... Taking the great hearse from London to Gloucester, in December, 5 days' journey; for wax, canvas, napery, etcetera. Wages of John Darcy, appointed to superintend the funeral, from November 22 to December 21, 19 pounds, 6 shillings, 8 pence. New hearse, 40 shillings; making thereof, from November 24 to December 11, 32 shillings. A wooden image after the similitude of the Lord King Edward, deceased, 40 shillings. A crown of copper, gilt, 7 shillings, 4 pence. Vestments for the body, in which he was buried, a German coverchief, and three-quarters [here a word is illegible, probably _linen_]; item, one pillow to put under his head, 4 shillings [? the amount is nearly obliterated]. Gilt paint for the hearse, 1 shilling. Wages of the painter [a few words illegible] grey colour, 2 shillings, (Wardrobe Accounts, 1 Edward the Third, 33/2). The King _married_...

Isabelle, _surnamed_ the Fair, only daughter of Philippe the Fourth, King of France, and Jeanne Queen regnant of Navarre: _born_ 1282, 1292, or 1295 (latest date most probable); _married_ at Boulogne, January 25, 1308. All the chroniclers assert that on Edward the Third's discovery of his mother's real character, he imprisoned her for life in the Castle of Rising. The evidence of the Rolls and Wardrobe Accounts disproves this to a great extent. It was at Nottingham Castle that Mortimer was taken, October 19, 1330. On the 18th of January following, 36 pounds 6 shillings 4 pence was paid to Thomas Lord Wake de Lydel, for the expense of conducting Isabel Queen of England, by the King's order, from Berkhamsted Castle to Windsor Castle, and thence to Odiham Castle. (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 5 Edward the Third.) On the 6th of October, 1337, she dates a charter from Hertford Castle; and another from Rising on the 1st of December following. She paid a visit to London--the only one hitherto traced subsequent to 1330--in 1341, when, on October 27, she was present in the hostel of the Bishop of Winchester at Southwark, when the King appointed Robert Parving to the office of Lord Chancellor. She dates a charter from Hertford Castle, December 1st, 1348. (Close Rolls, 11, 15, and 22 Edward the Third.) The Household Book for the last year of her life is in the British Museum, and it runs from September 30th, 1357, to December 4th, 1358 (Cott. Ms., Galba, E. 14). We find from this interesting document that she spent her final year mainly at Hertford, but that she also made two pilgrimages to Canterbury, visiting London on each occasion; that she was at Ledes Castle, Chertsey, Shene, Eltham, and Windsor. The King visits her more than once, and several of his children do the same, including the Princess Isabel. There is no mention of any visit from the Queen, but she corresponds with her mother-in-law, and they exchange gifts. The most frequent guests are Joan Countess of Surrey, and the Countess of Pembroke: there were then three ladies living who bore this title, but as letters are sent to her at Denny--her pet convent, where she often resided and finally died--it is evident that this was the Countess Marie, the "fair Chatillon who (_not_ `on her bridal morn,' but at least two years after) mourned her bleeding love." Both these ladies were of French birth, and were very old friends of Isabelle: the Countess of Surrey was with her when she died. Her youngest daughter, Joan Queen of Scots--an admirable but unhappy woman, who had to forgive that mother for being the cause of all her misery and loveless life--spent much of this last year with Isabel. Her most frequent male guests are the Earl of Tankerville and Marshal Daudenham, both of whom were probably her own countrymen; and Sir John de Wynewyk, Treasurer of York: the captive King of France visits her once, and she sends him two romances, of which one at least was from the _Morte Arthur_. Oblations are as numerous--and sometimes more costly--as in her earlier accounts. She gives 6 shillings 8 pence to the _head_ of the eleven thousand virgins, and 2 shillings to minstrels to play "before the image of the blessed Mary in the crypt" of Canterbury Cathedral. Friars who preach before her are usually rewarded with 6 shillings 8 pence. Her Easter robes are of blue cloth, her summer ones of red mixed cloth. Two of Isabelle's ruling passions went with her to the grave--her extravagance and her love of making gifts. Her purchases of jewellery are vast and costly during this year, up to the very month in which she died: two of the latest being a gold chaplet set with precious stones, price 150 pounds (the most expensive I ever yet saw in a royal account), and a gold crown set with sapphires, Alexandrian rubies, and pearls, 80 pounds, expressly stated to be for her own wearing. Two ruby rings she purchased exactly a fortnight before her death. She was probably ill for some weeks, since a messenger was sent in haste to Canterbury to bid Master Lawrence the physician repair to Hertford "to see the state of the Queen," and he remained there for a month. Medicines were brought from London. Judging from the slight indications as to remedies employed, among which were herbal baths, she died of some cutaneous malady. Her Inquisition states that her _death_ took place at Hertford, August 23rd, 1358; but the Household Book twice records that it was on the 22nd. Fourteen poor men watched the corpse in the chapel at Hertford for three months, and in December the coffin (the entire cost of which was 5 pounds, 9 shillings, 11 pence) was brought to London, guarded by 40 torches, and _buried_ in the Church of the Grey Friars. It may be stated with tolerable certainty that the Queen was not confined for life at Rising Castle, though she passed most of her time either at Rising or Hertford; that she never became a nun, as asserted by some modern writers, the non-seclusion, the coloured robes, and the crown, being totally inconsistent with this supposition; that if it be true, as is said, that she was seized with madness while Mortimer hung on the gallows, and passed most of her subsequent life in this state, probably with lucid intervals--a story which various facts tend to confirm--this was quite sufficient to account for her retirement from public life, and ordinary restriction to a few country residences; yet that the incidents chronicled in the Household Book seem to indicate that she was generally, if not fully, sane at the time of her death.

_Their children_:--1. King Edward the Third, _born_ in Windsor Castle, November 13, _baptised_ 16th, 1312; _crowned_ Westminster, February 1, 1327. The Rolls of the Great Wardrobe for 1327 contain some interesting details respecting this ceremony. The King was attired in a tunic, mantle, and cape of purple velvet, price 5 shillings (but this is probably the mere cost of making), and a pair of slippers of cloth of gold, price 6 shillings 8 pence. He was anointed in a tunic of samitelle (a variety of samite), which cost 2 shillings, and a robe of Rennes linen, price 18 pence. A quarter of an ell of sindon (silk) was bought "for the King's head, to place between the head and the crown, on account of the largeness of the crown," at a cost of 12 pence. (_Rot. Gard._, 1 Edward the Third, 33/2). The "great hall" at Westminster was hung with six cloths and twelve ells of cloth from Candlewick Street and fifteen pieces of cloth were required "to put under his feet, going to the Abbey, and thence to the King's chamber after the coronation." The platform erected in the Abbey to sustain the throne, and the throne itself, were hung with silk cloth of gold; five camaca cushions were placed "under the King and his feet;" and "the King's small chair before the altar" was also covered with cloth of gold. The royal oblation was one cloth of gold of diapered silk. Two similar cloths were laid over the tomb of Edward the first. The Archbishop of Canterbury's seat was covered with ray (striped) silk cloth of gold, and that of the Abbot of Westminster with cloth of Tars. The royal seat at the coronation feast was draped in "golden silk of Turk," and in order to save this costly covering from "the humidity of the walls," 24 ells of canvas were provided. Red and grey sindon hung before the royal table; the King sat on samitelle cushions, and two pieces of velvet "to put under the King" also appear in the account. (_Rot. Magnae Gard., pro Coronatione et in Palatio_, 1 Edward the Third, 33/5.) King Edward _died_ at Shene, June 21, 1377, and was _buried_ in Westminster Abbey. He _married_-- Philippine (called in England Philippa), daughter of William the Third, Count of Hainault and Holland, and Jeanne of France; _born_ 1312 or a little later; _married_ at York, January 24, 1328; crowned in Westminster Abbey, February 20, 1328. The Wardrobe Accounts tell us that the Queen rode from the Tower to Westminster, the day before her coronation (as was usual) in a dress of green velvet, a cape of the _best_ cloth of gold diapered in red, trimmed with miniver, and a miniver hood. She dined in a tunic and mantle of red and grey samitelle, and was crowned in a robe of cloth of gold, diapered in green. She changed to a fourth robe for supper, but its materials are not on record. (Wardrobe Accounts, 4-5 Edward the Third, 34/13.) Red and green appear to have been her favourite colours, judging from the number of her dresses of these hues compared with others. On the occasion of her churching in 1332 (after the birth of her daughter Isabel) she wore a robe of red and purple velvet wrought with pearls, the royal infant being attired in Lucca silk and miniver, and the Black Prince (aged about 2 and a half years) in a golden costume striped with mulberry colour. Some of these items appear rather warm wear for July. (Wardrobe Accounts, Cott. Ms. Galba, E. 3, folio 14 _et seq_). The Queen _died_ of dropsy, at Windsor Castle, August 15, 1369; _buried_ in Westminster Abbey.

2. John, _born_ at Eltham, August 15, 1316; created Earl of Cornwall; _died_ at Perth, _unmarried_, September 14, 1336; _buried_ in Westminster Abbey.

3. Alianora, _born_ at Woodstock, 1318; _married_ at Novum Magnum, 1332, Raynald the Second, Duke of Gueldres; _died_ at Deventer, April 22, 1355; _buried_ at Deventer.

4. Joan, _surnamed_ Makepeace, _born_ in the Tower of London, (before August 16,) 1321; _married_ at Berwick, July 17, 1328, David the Second, King of Scotland; _died_ at Hertford Castle, September 7, 1362 (not 1358, as sometimes stated); _buried_ in Grey Friars' Church, London.

II. THE DESPENSERS.

Hugh Le Despenser _the Elder_, son of Hugh Le Despenser, Justiciary of England, and Alina Basset: _born_ March 1-8, 1261 (_Inq. Post Mortem Alinae La Dispensere_, 9 Edward the First, 9.); sponsor of Edward the Third, 1312; created Earl of Winchester, 1322; _beheaded_ at Bristol, October 27 (Harl. Ms. 6124), 1326. [This is not improbably the true date: that of Froissart, October 8, is certainly a mistake, as the Queen had only reached Wallingford, on her way to Bristol, by the 15th.] As his body was cast to the dogs, he had _no burial_. _Married_ Isabel, daughter of William de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and Maud Fitz John; _widow_ of Patrick de Chaworth (by whom she was mother of Maud, wife of Henry Duke of Lancaster): _married_ 1281-2 (fine 2000 marks); _died_ before July 22, 1306. _Issue_:--1. Hugh, _the Younger_, _born_ probably about 1283; created Earl of Gloucester in right of wife; _hanged_ and afterwards beheaded (but after death) at Hereford, November 24, 1326; quarters of body sent to Dover, Bristol, York, and Newcastle, and head set on London Bridge; finally _buried_ in Tewkesbury Abbey. The Abbot and Chapter had granted to Hugh and Alianora, March 24, 1325, in consideration of benefits received, that four masses per annum should be said for them during life, at the four chief feasts, and 300 per annum for either or both after death, for ever; on the anniversary of Hugh, the Abbot bound himself to feed the poor with bread, beer, pottage, and one mess from the kitchen, for ever. (_Rot. Pat._, 20 Edward the Second) In the Appendix to the companion volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_, will be found an account of the petitions of the two Despensers, with the curious list of their goods destroyed by the partisans of Lancaster. Hugh the Younger _married_ Alianora, eldest daughter of Gilbert de Clare, The Red, Earl of Gloucester, and the Princess Joan of Acre, (daughter of Edward the First), _born_ at Caerphilly Castle, November, 1292; _married_ May 20, 1306, with a dowry of 2000 pounds from the Crown, in part payment of which the custody of Philip Paynel was granted to Hugh the Elder, June 3, 1304 (_Rot. Claus._, 1 Edward the Second). Her youngest child was born at Northampton, in December, 1326, and she sent William de Culpho with the news to the King, who gave him a silver-gilt cup in reward (Wardrobe Accounts, 25/1 and 31/19). On the 19th of April, 1326, and for 49 days afterwards, she was in charge of Prince John of Eltham, who was ill at Kenilworth in April. She left that place on May 22, arriving at Shene in four days, and in June she was at Rochester and Ledes Castle. Three interesting Wardrobe Accounts are extant, showing her expenses at this time (31/17 to 31/19); but the last is almost illegible. "Divers decoctions and recipes" made up at Northampton for the young Prince, came to 6 shillings, 9 pence. "Litter for my Lady's bed" (to put under the feather bed in the box-like bedstead) cost 6 pence. Either her Ladyship or her royal charge must have entertained a strong predilection for "shrimpis," judging from the frequency with which that entry occurs. Four quarters of wheat, we are told, made 1200 loaves. There is evidence of a good deal of company, the principal guests beside Priors and Canons being the Lady of Montzone, the Lady of Hastings (Julian, mother of Lawrence Earl of Pembroke), Eneas de Bohun (son of Princess Elizabeth), Sir John Neville (one of the captors of Mortimer), and John de Bentley (probably the ex-gaoler of Elizabeth Queen of Scotland, who appears in the companion volume). Sundry young people seem to have been also in Lady La Despenser's care, as companions to the Prince:--Earl Lawrence of Pembroke; Margery de Verdon, step-daughter of Alianora's sister Elizabeth; and Joan Jeremy, or Jermyn, sister of Alice wife of Prince Thomas de Brotherton. The provision for April 30, the vigil of Saint Philip, and therefore a fast-day, is as follows (a few words are illegible): _Pantry_:--60 loaves of the King's bread at 5 and 4 to the penny, 13 and a half pence. _Buttery_:--One pitcher of wine from the King's stores at Kenilworth; 22 gallons of beer, at 1 and a half pence per gallon, 2 shillings 6 pence. _Wardrobe_: ... lights, a farthing; a halfpennyworth of candles of cotton ... _Kitchen_:--50 herrings, 2 and a half pence; 3 codfish, 9 and three-quarter pence; 4 stockfish... salmon, 12 pence, 3 tench, 9 pence, 1 pikerel, 12 roach and perch, half a gallon of loaches, 13 and a half pence; one large eel... One and a half quarters pimpernel, 7 and a half pence; one piece of sturgeon, 6 pence. _Poultry_--100 eggs, 5 pence; cheese and butter, 3 and three-quarter pence... milk, one and a quarter pence; drink, 1 penny; _Saltry_:--half a quarter; mustard, a halfpenny; half a quarter of vinegar, three-quarters pence; ... parsley, a farthing. For May 1st, Saint Philip's and a feast-day: _Pantry_: 100 loaves, 22 and a half pence. _Buttery_: one sextarius, 3 and a half pitchers of wine from the King's stores at Kenilworth; 27 gallons of beer, 2 shillings, 8 and a half pence, being 17 at 1 penny, and 12 at 1 and a half pence. One quarter of hanaps, 12 pence. _Wardrobe_:--3 pounds wax, 15 pence; lights, 1 halfpenny; half a pound of candles of Paris, 1 penny. _Kitchen_:--12 messes of powdered beef, 18 pence; 3 messes of fresh beef, 9 pence; one piece of bacon, 12 pence; half a mutton, powdered, 9 pence; one quarter of fresh mutton, 3 pence; one pestle of pork, 3 and a half pence; half a veal, 14 pence. _Poultry_--One purcel, 4 and a half pence; 2 hens, 15 pence; one bird (_oisoux_), 12 pence; 15 ponce, 7 and a half pence; 8 pigeons, 9 and a half pence; 100 eggs, 5 pence; 3 gallons milk, 3 pence... _Saltry_:--half a quarter of mustard, one halfpenny... 1 quarter verjuice, 1 and a half pence; garlic, a farthing; parsley, 1 penny. Wages of Richard Attegrove (keeper of the horses) and the laundress, 4 pence; of 18 grooms and two pages, 2 shillings, 5 pence. (Wardrobe Accounts, 19 Edward the Second, 31/17). When King Edward left London for the West, on October 2nd, he committed to Lady La Despenser the custody of his son, and of the Tower. On the 16th, the citizens captured the Tower, brought out the Prince and the Chatelaine, and conveyed them to the Wardrobe. On November 17th she was brought a prisoner to the Tower, with her children and her damsel Joan (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 20 Edward the Second; Close Roll, 20 Edward the Second), their expenses being calculated at the rate of 10 shillings per day. Alianora and her children were delivered from the Tower, with all her goods and chattels, on February 25, 1328, and on the 26th of November following, her "rights and rents, according to her right and heritage," were ordered to be restored to her. (_Rot. Claus._, 2 Edward the Third.) She was not, however, granted full liberty, or else she forfeited it again very quickly; for on February 5, 1329, William Lord Zouche of Haringworth was summoned to Court, and commanded to "bring with him quickly our cousin Alianora, who is in his company," with a hint that unpleasant consequences would follow neglect of the order. (_Rot. Pat._, 3 Edward the Third, Part 1.) A further entry on December 30 tells us that Alianora, wife of William La Zouche of Mortimer (so that her marriage with her gaoler's cousin had occurred in the interim), had been impeached by the Crown concerning certain jewels, florins, and other goods of the King, to a large amount, which had been "_esloignez_" from the Tower of London: doubtless by the citizens when they seized the fortress, and the impeachment was of course, like many other things, an outcome of Queen Isabelle's private spite. "The said William and Alianora, for pardon of all hindrances, actions, quarrels, and demands, until the present date, have granted, of their will and without coercion, for themselves and the heirs of the said Alianora, all castles, manors, towns, honours, and other lands and tenements, being of her heritage, in the county of Glamorgan and Morgannon, in Wales, the manor of Hanley, the town of Worcester, and the manor of Tewkesbury, for ever, to the King." The King, on his part, undertook to restore the lands, in the hour that the original owners should pay him 10,000 pounds in one day. The real nature of this non-coercive and voluntary agreement was shown in November, 1330, when (one month after the arrest of Mortimer) at the petition of Parliament itself, one half of this 10,000 pounds was remitted. Alianora _died_ June 30, 1337, and was _buried_ in Tewkesbury Abbey.

2. Philip, _died_ before April 22, 1214. _Married_ Margaret, daughter of Ralph de Goushill; _born_ July 25, 1296; _married_ before 1313; _died_ July 29, 1349. (She _married_, secondly, John de Ros.)

3. Isabel, _married_ (1) John Lord Hastings (2) about 1319, Ralph de Monthermer; _died_ December 4 or 5, 1335. Left issue by first marriage. The daughters of Edward the Second were brought up in her care.

4. Aveline, _married_ before 1329, Edward Lord Burnel; _died_ in May or June, 1363. No issue.

5. Elizabeth, _married_ before 1321 Ralph Lord Camoys; living 1370. Left issue.

6. Joan, _married_ Almaric Lord Saint Amand. [Doubtful if of this family.]

7. Joan, _nun_ at Sempringham before 1337; _dead_, February 15.

8. Alianora, _nun_ at Sempringham before 1337; living 1351. _Issue of Hugh the younger and Alianora_;--1. Hugh, _born_ 1308. He held Caerphilly Castle (which belonged to his mother) against Queen Isabelle: on January 4 of that year life was granted to all in the Castle except himself, probably as a bribe for surrender, which was extended to himself on March 20; but Hugh held out till Easter (April 12) when the Castle was taken. He remained a prisoner in the custody of his father's great enemy, Roger Earl of March, till December 5, 1328, when March was ordered to deliver him to Thomas de Gournay, one of the murderers of King Edward, and Constable of Bristol Castle, where he was to be kept till further order. (_Rot. Claus._, 1 and 2 Edward the Third; _Rot. Pat._, 1 Edward the Third.) On July 5, 1331, he was ordered to be set at liberty within 15 days after Michaelmas, Ebulo L'Estrange, Ralph Basset, John le Ros, Richard Talbot, and others, being sureties for him. (_Rot. Claus._, 5 Edward the Third) In 1338 he was dwelling in Scotland in the King's service (_Ibidem_, 12 Edward the Third); and in 1342 in Gascony, with a suite of one banneret, 14 knights, 44 scutifers, 60 archers, and 60 men-at-arms. (_Ibidem_, 16 _ibidem_). He _died_ S.P. February 8, 1349; _buried_ at Tewkesbury. _Married_ Elizabeth, daughter of William de Montacute, first Earl of Salisbury, and Katherine de Grandison; (_widow_ of Giles Lord Badlesmere, _remarried_ Guy de Bryan;) _married_ 1338-44; _died_ at Astley, June 20, 1359; _buried_ at Tewkesbury.

2. Edward, _died_ 1341. _Married_ (and left issue), Anne, daughter of Henry Lord Ferrers of Groby, and Margaret Segrave (_remarried_ Thomas Ferrers): living October 14, 1366.

3. Gilbert, _died_ April 22, 1382. _Married_, and left issue; but his wife's name and family are unknown.

4. Joan, _nun_ at Shaftesbury, in or before 1343; _died_ April 26, 1384.

5. Elizabeth, _married_ 1338 Maurice Lord Berkeley; _dead_ August 14, 1389; left issue. [Doubtful if of this family.]

6. Isabel, _married_ at Havering, February 9, 1321, Richard Earl of Arundel; _divorced_ 1345; _buried_ in Westminster Abbey. No issue.

7. Alianora, contracted July 27, 1325, to Lawrence de Hastings, Earl of Pembroke: contract broken by Queen Isabelle, who on January 1st, 1327, sent a mandate to the Prioress of Sempringham, commanding her to receive the child and "veil her immediately, that she may dwell there perpetually as a regular nun." (_Rot. Claus._, 1 Edward the Third.) Since it was not usual for a nun to receive the black veil before her sixteenth year, this was a complete irregularity. Nothing further is known of her.

8. Margaret, consigned by Edward the Second to the care of Thomas de Houk, with her nurse and a large household; she remained in his charge "for three years and more," according to his petition presented to the King, May 1st, 1327 (_Rot. Claus._, 1 Edward the Third.) On the previous 1st of January, the Queen had sent to the Prioress of Watton a similar mandate to that mentioned above, requiring that Margaret should at once be professed a regular nun. No further record remains of her.

III. HASTINGS OF PEMBROKE.

John de Hastings, second (but eldest surviving) son of Sir John de Hastings and Isabelle de Valence: _born_ 1283, _died_ (before February 28) 1325. _Married_ Julian, daughter and heir of Thomas de Leybourne and Alice de Tony; _born_ 1298, or 1303; succeeded her grandfather William as Baroness de Leybourne, 1309; _married_ before 1321. By charter dated at Canterbury, March 5th, 1362, she gave a grant to the Abbey of Saint Augustine in that city, for the following benefits to be received: a mass for herself on Saint Anne's Day, with twopence alms to each of 100 poor; a solemn choral mass on her anniversary, and 1 penny to each of 200 poor; perpetual mass by a secular chaplain at the altar of Saint Anne, for Edward the Third, Lawrence Earl of Pembroke, and John his son; all monks celebrating at the said altar to have mind of the said souls. On the day of her anniversary the Abbot was to receive 20 shillings, the Prior 5 shillings, and each monk 2 shillings, 6 pence. (_Rot. Claus._, 36 Edward the Third.) She died November 1st, 1367, and was _buried_ in Saint Augustine's Abbey. (She had _married_, secondly, in 1325, Sir Thomas Blount, Seneschal of the Household to Edward the Second, who betrayed his royal master; and, thirdly, in 1328, William de Clinton, afterwards created Earl of Huntingdon.)

_Their son_:--Lawrence, born at Allesley, near Coventry, March 20, 1321 (_Prob. Aet._, 15 Edward the Third, 1st Numbers, 48); in 1326 he was in the suite of Prince John of Eltham, and in the custody of his intended mother-in-law, Alianora La Despenser: he and the young Alianora must therefore have been playfellows up to five years of age, at least. Three pairs of slippers are bought for him, price 20 pence, (Wardrobe Accounts, 20 Edward the Second, 31/18.) On July 27, 1325, Lawrence was contracted to Alianora, daughter of Hugh Le Despenser the younger (_Rot. Pat._, 19 Edward the Second): which contract was illegally set aside by Queen Isabelle, who granted his custody and marriage in the King's name to her son Prince Edward, December 1st, 1326 (_Rot. Pat._, 20 Edward the Second). The marriage was re-granted, February 17, 1327, to Roger Earl of March. We next find the young Earl in the suite of Queen Philippa; and he received a robe from the Wardrobe in which to appear at her churching in 1332, made of nine ells of striped saffron-coloured cloth of Ghent, trimmed with fur, and a fur hood. In the following year, when the Queen joined her husband at Newcastle, she left Lawrence at York, desiring "_par tendresce de lui_" that the child should not take so long and wearying a journey. He was therefore sent to his mother the Countess Julian, "trusting her (says the King's mandate) to keep him better than any other, since he is near to her heart, being her son." She was to find all necessaries for him until further order, and the King pledged himself to repay her in reason. (_Rot. Claus._, 7 Edward the Third, Part 1.) Lawrence was created Earl of Pembroke, October 13, 1339; he _died_ in the first great visitation of the "Black Death," August 30, 1348, and was _buried_ at Abergavenny. _Married_ Agnes de Mortimer, [see next Article] _married_ 1327 (Walsingham); _died_ July 25, 1368; _buried_ in Abbey of Minories. (She _remarried_ John de Hakelut, and was first Lady in Waiting to Queen Philippa.)

_Their children_:--1. Joan, _married_ Ralph de Greystoke, after October 9, 1367.

2. John, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, _born_ 1347, _died_ at Arras, France, April 16, 1375; _buried_ Grey Friars' Church, London. _Married_ (1.) Princess Margaret, daughter of Edward the Third; _born_ at Windsor, July 20-21, 1346; _married_ in the Queen's Chapel [Reading?], 1359; _died_ S.P. (after October 1st), 1361; _buried_ in Abingdon Abbey. (2.) Anne, daughter and heir of Sir Walter de Mauny and Margaret of Norfolk: _born_ July 24, 1355; _married_ 1363; _died_ April 3, 1384.

IV. THE MORTIMERS OF WIGMORE.

Edmund De Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, son of Roger de Mortimer and Maud de Braose: _born_ March 25, 1266; _died_ at Wigmore Castle, July 17, 1304; _buried_ in Wigmore Abbey. _Married_ Margaret, daughter of Sir William de Fienles: _married_ September 8, 1285; sided warmly with her son, and gathered various illegal assemblies at Worcester, where she lived, and at Radnor. On December 28, 1325, the King wrote, commanding her to retire to the Abbey of Elstow without delay, and there dwell at her own cost till further order: "and from the hour of your entering you shall not come forth, nor make any assembly of people without our special leave." She was commanded to write and say whether she intended to obey! The Abbess of Elstow was at the same time ordered to give convenient lodging to her in the Abbey, but not to suffer her to go forth nor make gatherings of persons. (Close Roll, 19 Edward the Second.) Nothing further is known of her except that she was alive in 1332, and was _dead_ on May 7, 1334, when the mandate was issued for her _Inq. Post Mortem_. The latter contains no date of death. Margaret was _buried_ at Wigmore. _Their children_:--1. Roger, _born_ April 25 or May 3, 1287; created Earl of March, 1328; _hanged_ at Tyburn, November 29, 1330: _buried_ in Friars' Minors Church, Coventry, whence leave was granted to his widow and son, in November, 1331, to transport the body to Wigmore Abbey. _Married_ Jeanne de Geneville, daughter and co-heir of Peter de Geneville (son of Geoffroi de Vaucouleur, brother of the Sieur de Joinville, historian of Saint Louis) and Jeanne de Lusignan: _born_ February 2, 1286; _married_ before 1304. On hearing of her husband's escape from the Tower in August 1323, she journeyed to Southampton with her elder children, intending to rejoin him in France: but before she set sail, on April 6, 1324, the King directed the Sheriff of Southampton to capture her without delay, and deliver her to the care of John de Rithre, Constable of Skipton Castle. A damsel, squire, laundress, groom, and page, were allowed to her, and her expenses were reckoned at 13 shillings 4 pence per day while travelling, and after reaching Skipton at 13 shillings 4 pence per week, with ten marks (6 pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence) per annum for clothing. (Close Roll, 17 Edward the Second.) These details appear afterwards to have been slightly altered, since the account of the expenses mentions 37 shillings 6 pence for the keep of two damsels, one laundress, one chamberlain, one cook, and one groom. Robes were supplied to her at Easter and Michaelmas. She remained a prisoner at Skipton from May 17, 1324, on which day she seems to have come there, till August 3, 1326. (_Rot. de Liberate_, 19 Edward the Second, and 3 Edward the Third.) By mandate of July 22, 1326, she was transferred to Pomfret (Close Roll, 20 Edward the Second), which she reached in two days, the cost of the journey being ten shillings 10 pence, (_Rot. Lib._, 3 Edward the Third.) When her husband was seized in October, 1330, the King sent down John de Melbourne to superintend the affairs of the Countess, with the ladies and children in her company, dwelling at Ludlow Castle, with express instructions that their wardrobes, gods, and jewels, were not to be touched. (_Rot. Pat._ and _Claus._, 4 Edward the Third.) The lands of her own inheritance were restored to her in the December and January following, with especial mention of Ludlow Castle, (_Rot. Claus., ibidem_). Edward the Third always speaks of her with great respect. In August, 1347, there were suits against her in the Irish Courts (the Mortimers held large estates in Ireland), and it is noted that she was not able to plead in person on account of her great age, which made travelling perilous to her. (_Rot. Claus._, 21 Edward the Third.) She was then 63. On the 19th of October, 1356, she died (_Inq. Post Mortem_, 30 Edward the Third 30)--the very day of her husband's capture, 26 years before--and was _buried_ in the Church of the Friars Minors, Shrewsbury. (Cott. Ms. Cleop., C, 3.)

2. Edmund, Rector of Hodnet.

3. Hugh, Rector of Old Radnor.

4. Walter, Rector of Kingston (Dugdale) Kingsland (Cott. Ms. Cleop. C, 3).

5. Maud, _married_ at Wigmore, July 28, 1302, Theobald de Verdon; _died_ at Alveton Castle, and _buried_ at Croxden, October 8, 1312. Left issue.

6. Joan, _nun_ at Lyngbroke; living September 17, 1332.

7. Elizabeth, _nun_ at Lyngbroke.

8. John, _born_ 1300, _killed_ in tilting, at Worcester, January 3, 1318, S.P.; _buried_ at Worcester.

_Issue of Roger, first Earl of March, and Jeanne de Geneville_:--1. Edmund, _born_ 1304, _died_ at Stanton Lacy, December 28, 1331; _buried_ at Wigmore. He is always reckoned as second Earl, but was never formally restored to the title, for which he vainly petitioned, and the refusal is said to have broken his heart. He _married_ Elizabeth, third daughter, and eventually co-heir, of Bartholomew Lord Badlesmere, and Margaret de Clare: _born_ 1313, _married_ in or before 1327; (_remarried_ William de Bohun, Earl of Northampton;) _died_ June 17, 1355.

2. Roger, _died_ 1357. _Married_ Joan, daughter of Edmund de Boteler, Earl of Carrick, and Joan Fitzgerald; contract of _marriage_ February 11, 1321.

3. Geoffrey, Lord of Cowith. He was one of the King's Bannerets in 1328 (_Rot. Magne Gard._, 33/10), was taken with his father and his brother Edmund in 1330, and was kept prisoner in the Tower till January 25, 1331 (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 5 Edward the Third). On the following March 16, he obtained leave to travel abroad. (_Rot. Pat._, 5 Edward the Third, Part 1.) He was living in 1337, but no more is known of him.

4. John, _killed_ in tilting at Shrewsbury, and _buried_ there in the Hospital of Saint John. He _married_ (and left one son).

Alianora (family unknown), _buried_ with husband.

5. Margaret, _married_ Thomas Lord Berkeley; _died_ May 5, 1337; _buried_ at Bristol.

6. Joan, _married_ James Lord Audley of Heleigh.

7. Isabel, _nun_ at Chicksand. These three girls accompanied their mother to Southampton, and were captured with her. By the King's order they were sent to separate convents "to dwell with the nuns there;" there is no intimation that they were to be made nuns, and as two of them afterwards married, it is evident that this was not intended. Margaret was sent to Shuldham, her expenses being reckoned at 3 shillings per day while travelling, and 15 pence per week after arrival; Joan to Sempringham, and Isabel to Chicksand, their expenses being charged 2 shillings each per day while travelling, and 12 pence each per week in the convent. One mark per annum was allowed to each for clothing. (_Rot. Claus._, 17 Edward the Second.) Isabel chose to remain at or return to Chicksand, since she is mentioned as being a nun there in February 1326. (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 19 Edward the Second.)

8. Katherine, _married_ about 1338, Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick; _died_ August 4, 1369.

9. Maud, _married_ about 1320 John Lord Charleton of Powys; living July 5, 1348.

10. Agnes, _married_ (1) 1327, Lawrence de Hastings, Earl of Pembroke; (2) before June 21, 1353, John de Hakelut; _died_ July 25, 1368; _buried_ in Abbey of Minories.

II. Beatrice, _married_ (1) about 1327, Edward son of Prince Thomas de Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk; (2) 1334 (?) Thomas de Braose (_Rot. Claus._ 8 E. three.) (who appears to have purchased her for 12,000 marks--8000 pounds): _died_ October 16, 1383 (_Inq. Post Mortem_, 7 Richard the Second, 15).

12. Blanche, _married_, before March 27, 1334, Peter, third Lord de Grandison; _dead_ July 24, 1357. Either she or her husband was _buried_ at Marcle, Herefordshire.

V. CHRONOLOGICAL ERRATA.

The accounts given by the early chroniclers, and followed by modern historians, with respect to the movements of Edward the Second and his Queen, from September, 1326, to the December following, are sadly at variance with fact. The dates of death of the Despensers, as well as various minor matters, depend on the accurate fixing of these points.

The popular account, generally accepted, states that the Queen landed at Orwell in September--the exact day being disputed--that the King, on hearing of it, hastened to the West, and shut himself up in Bristol Castle, with his daughters and the younger Despenser; that the Queen hanged the elder Despenser and the Earl of Arundel before their eyes, on the 8th of October, whereupon the King and the younger Despenser escaped by night in a boat: some add that they were overtaken and brought back, others that they landed in Wales, and were taken in a wood near Llantrissan. Much of this is pure romance. The King's Household Roll, which names his locality for every day, and is extant up to October 19th, the Wardrobe Accounts supplying the subsequent facts, distinctly shows that he never came nearer Bristol on that occasion than the road from Gloucester to Chepstow; that on the 8th of October he was yet at Cirencester; that he left Gloucester on the 10th, reaching Chepstow on the 16th, whence he departed on the 20th "_versus aquam de Weye_" and therefore in the contrary direction from Bristol. On the 27th and 28th he dates mandates from Cardiff; on the 29th and 30th from Caerphilly. On November 2nd he left Caerphilly (this we are distinctly told in the Wardrobe Accounts), on the 3rd and 4th he was at Margan Abbey, and on the 5th he reached Neath, where he remained up to the 10th. He now appears to have paid a short visit to Swansea, whence he returned to Neath, where, on the 16th, his cousin Lancaster and his party found him, and took him into their custody, with Hugh Le Despenser and Archdeacon Baldok. They took him first to Monmouth, where he was found by the Bishop of Hereford (sent to demand the Great Seal), probably about the 23rd. Thence he was conveyed to Ledbury, which he reached on or about the 30th; and on the 6th of December he was at Kenilworth, where he remained for the rest of his reign.

The Queen landed at Orwell in September: Speed says, on the 19th; Robert of Avesbury, the 26th; most authorities incline to the 22nd, which seems as probable a date as any. The King, at any rate, had heard of her arrival on the 28th, and issued a proclamation offering to all volunteers 1 shilling per day for a man-at-arms, and 2 pence for an archer, to resist the invading force. All past offenders were offered pardon if they joined his standard, the murderers of Sir Roger de Belers alone excepted: and Roger Mortimer, with the King's other enemies, was to be arrested and destroyed. Only three exceptions were made: the Queen, her son (his father omits the usual formula of "our dearest and firstborn son," and even the title of Earl of Chester), and the Earl of Kent, "queux nous volons que soent sauuez si auant come home poet." According to Froissart, the Queen's company could not make the port they intended, and landed on the sands, whence after four days they marched (ignorant of their whereabouts) till they sighted Bury Saint Edmunds, where they remained three days. Miss Strickland tells a rather striking tale of the tempestuous night passed by the Queen under a shed of driftwood run up hastily by her knights, whence she marched the next morning at daybreak. (This lady rarely gives an authority, and still more seldom an exact reference.) On the 25th, she adds, the Queen reached Harwich. Robert de Avesbury, Polydore Vergil, and Speed, say that she landed at Orwell, which the Chronicle of Flanders calls Norwell. If Froissart is to be credited, this certainly was not the place; for he says that the tempest prevented the Queen from landing at the port where she intended, and that this was a mercy of Providence, because there her enemies awaited her. The port where her enemies awaited her (meaning thereby the husband whom she was persecuting) was certainly Orwell, for on the second of September the King had ordered all ships of thirty tuns weight to assemble there. Moreover, the Queen could not possibly march from Orwell at once to Bury and Harwich, since to face the one she must have turned her back on the other. The probability seems to be that she came ashore somewhere in Orwell Haven, but whether she first visited Harwich or Bury it is difficult to judge. The natural supposition would be that she remained quiet for a time at Bury until she was satisfied that her allies would be sufficient to effect her object, and then showed herself openly at Harwich were it not that Bury is so distant, and Harwich is so near, that the supposition seems to be negatived by the facts. From Harwich or Bury, whichever it were, she marched towards London, which according to some writers, she reached; but the other account seems to be better authenticated, which states that on hearing that the King had left the capital for the West she altered her course for Oxford. She certainly was not in London when the Tower was captured by the citizens, October 16th (_Compotus Willielmi de Culpho_, Wardrobe Accounts, 20 Edward the Second, 31/8), since she dates a mandate from Wallingford on the 15th, unless Bishop Orleton falsified the date in quoting it in his Apology. Thence she marched to Cirencester and Gloucester, and at last to Bristol, which she entered on or before the 25th. Since Gloucester was considerably out of her way--for we are assured that her aim was to make a straight and rapid course to Bristol--why did she go there at all if the King were at Bristol? But we know he was not; he had then set sail for Wales. Her object in going to Bristol was probably twofold: to capture Le Despenser and Arundel, and to stop the King's supplies, for Bristol was his commissariat-centre. A cartload of provisions reached that city from London for him on the 14th [Note 2.] (_Rot. Magne Gard._, 20 Edward the Second, 26/3), and his butler, John Pyrie, went thither for wine, even so late as November 1st (_Ibidem_, 26/4). Is it possible that Pyrie, perhaps unconsciously, betrayed to some adherent of the Queen the fact that his master was in Wales? The informer, we are told by the chroniclers, was Sir Thomas le Blount, the King's Seneschal of the Household. But that suspicious embassage of the Abbot of Neath and several of the King's co-refugees, noted on November 10th in terms which, though ostensibly spoken by the King and dated from Neath, are unmistakably the Queen's diction and not his, cannot be left out of the account in estimating his betrayers. From October 26, when the illegally-assembled Parliament, in the hall of Bristol Castle, went through the farce of electing the young Prince to the regency "because the King was absent from his kingdom," and October 27th, which is given (probably with truth) by Harl. Ms. 6124 as the day of the judicial murder of Hugh Le Despenser the Elder, our information concerning the Queen's movements is absolutely _nil_ until we find her at Hereford on the 20th of November. She then sent Bishop Orleton of Hereford to the King to request the Great Seal, and he, returning, found her at Marcle on the 26th. It was probably on the 24th that the younger Despenser suffered. On the 27th the Queen was at Newent, on the 28th at Gloucester, on the 29th at Coberley, and on the 30th at Cirencester. She reached Lechlade on December 1st, Witney on the 2nd, Woodstock on the 3rd. Here she remained till the 22nd, when she went to Osney Abbey, and forward to Wallingford the next day. (Wardrobe Accounts, 20 Edward the Second and 1 Edward the Third, 26/11.) She was joined at Wallingford by her younger son Prince John of Eltham, who had been awaiting her arrival since the 17th, and losing 3 shillings at play by way of amusement in the interim (_Ibidem_, 31/18). By Reading, Windsor, Chertsey, and Allerton she reached Westminster on the 4th of January (_Ibidem_, 26/11).

I have examined all the Wardrobe Accounts and Rolls likely to cast light on this period, but I can find no mention of the whereabouts of the two Princesses during this time. Froissart says that they and Prince John were delivered into the Queen's care by the citizens of Bristol; which is certainly a mistake so far as concerns the Prince, whose compotus just quoted distinctly states that he left the Tower on October 16th (which fixes the day of its capture), quitted London on December 21st, and reached Wallingford on the 24th. He, therefore, was no more at Bristol than his father, and only rejoined his mother as she returned thence. The position of the royal sisters remains doubtful, as even Mrs Everett Green--usually a most faithful and accurate writer--has accepted Froissart's narrative, and apparently did not discover its complete discrepancy with the Wardrobe Accounts. If the Princesses were the companions of their royal father in his flight, and were delivered to their mother when she entered Bristol--which may be the fact--the probability is that he sent them there when he left Gloucester, on or about the 10th of October.

VI. THE ORDER OF SEMPRINGHAM.

The Gilbertine Order, also called the Order of Sempringham, was that of the reformed Cistercians. Its founder was Gilbert, son of Sir Josceline de Sempringham; he was Rector of Saint Andrew's Church in that village, and died in 1189. The chief peculiarity of this Order was that monks and nuns dwelt under the same roof, but their apartments were entered by separate doors from without, and had no communication from within. They attended the Priory Church together, but never mixed among each other except on the administration of the Sacrament. The monks followed the rule of Saint Austin; the nuns the Cistercian rule, with Saint Benedict's emendations, to which some special statutes were added by the founder. The habit was, for monks, a black cassock, white cloak, and hood lined with lambskin; for nuns, a white habit, black mantle, and black hood lined with white fur. There was a Master over the entire Order, who lived at Sempringham, the mother Abbey also a Prior and a Prioress over each community. The Prior of Sempringham was a Baron of Parliament. The site of the Abbey, three miles south-east from Folkingham, Lincolnshire, may still be traced by its moated area. The Abbey Church of Saint Andrew alone now remains entire; it is Norman, with an Early English tower, and a fine Norman north door.

But few houses of the Gilbertine Order existed in England, and those were mainly in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. The principal ones--after Sempringham, which was the chief--were Chicksand, Bedfordshire; Cambridge; Fordham, near Newmarket; Hitchin, Hertfordshire; Lincoln, Alvingham, Bolington, Cateley, Haverholme, Ormesby, Newstead (not the Abbey, which was Augustinian), Cotton, Sexley, Stikeswold, Sixhill, Lincolnshire; Marmound and Shuldham, Norfolk; Clattercott, Oxfordshire; Marlborough, Wiltshire; Malton, Sempringham Minor, Watton, and Wilberfosse, Yorkshire.

The Gilbertine Order "for some centuries maintained its sanctity and credit; afterwards it departed greatly from both."

VII. FICTITIOUS PERSONS.

In Part One, these are Cicely's daughters, Alice and Vivien, and her damsels, Margaret and Fina; Meliora, the Queen's sub-damsel; Hilda la Vileyne, and her relatives. Of all others, the name and position at least are historical facts.

The fictitious persons in Part Two are more numerous, being all the household of the Countess of March (except John Inge the Castellan): and Nichola, damsel of the Countess Agnes.

The three Despenser nuns, Mother Alianora, and the Sisters Annora and Margaret, and Lady Joan de Greystoke, are the only characters in Part Three which are not fictitious.

A difference in the diction will be noticed between Part Three and the earlier parts, the last portion being more modern than the rest. Sister Alianora must not be supposed to write her narrative, which she could not do except by order from her superiors; but rather to be uttering her reflections to herself. Since to her the natural language would be French, there was no need to follow the contemporary diction further than, by a quaint expression now and then, to remind the reader of the period in which the scene is laid.

It may be remarked that the diction of Parts One and Two is not strictly correct. This is true: because to make it perfectly accurate, would be to make it also unintelligible to nine out of ten readers, and this not so much on account of obsolete words, which might be explained in a note, as of the entirely different turn of the phraseology. An imaginary diary of the reign of Elizabeth can be written in pure Elizabethan language, and with an occasional explanatory note, it will be understood by modern readers: but a narrative prior to 1400 at the earliest cannot be so treated. The remaining possibilities are either to use as much of the correct diction of the period as is intelligible, employing modern terms where it is not, or else to write in ordinary modern English. Tastes no doubt differ on this point. I prefer the former; since I extremely dislike to read a mediaeval story where modern expressions alone are used in the dialogue. The reader, if himself acquainted with the true language, finds it impossible to realise or enter into the story, being constantly reminded that he is reading a modern fiction. What I object to read, therefore, I object to write for the reading of others. Where circumstances, as in this case, make perfect accuracy impossible, it seems to me the next best thing is to come as near it as they will permit.

The biographical details given in this Appendix, with few exceptions, have not, I believe, been previously published. For such information as may readily be found in Dugdale's Baronage, extinct peerages, etcetera, I refer my readers to those works.

The End.

Note 1. This document is mistakenly headed and catalogued as a Compotus of Leonor, Queen of Edward the First. It certainly belongs to Queen Philippa. The internal evidence is abundant and conclusive--_eg_, "the Countess of Hainault, the Queen's mother."

Note 2. The details of this cartload are not uninteresting:--203 quarters, 12 pounds wax; 774 pounds broken sugar, 11 pence per pound; 200 almonds; 100 pounds of rice; 78 ells of Paris napery, 10 pence per ell; 6 and a half ells of Rouen napery, same price; 18 short towels; 15 and a half ells of "cloth of Still;" 100 ells of linen, 100 ells of canvas; 200 pears, at 4 shillins per 100, bought of Isabel Fruiterer; 2000 large nuts, at 1 shilling per 1000; four baskets for the fruit, 10 pence. The journey from London occupied five days, and the travelling expenses were 14 pence per day.