Part 7

Firste, he gives me the Marmot. Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having kept the Creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then _Will_ must come in and find me drying mine Eyes. Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I could not have loved the poor Animal for its owne Sake soe much as for his; and, thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte Earneste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please _Father_ ... and hating to be perverse, ... and thinking much better of _Will_ since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite Opinions ... I say, I supposed it must be soe, some Time or another, soe 'twas noe Use hanging back for ever and ever, soe now there's an End, and I pray GOD give us a quiet Life.

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

_1528, Sept._

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

The _Cardinall_ may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal Favour. The _King_ was here yesterday, and walked for an Hour or soe about the Garden, with his Arm round _Father's_ Neck. _Will_ coulde not help felicitating _Father_ upon it afterwards; to which _Father_ made Answer, "I thank GOD I find his Grace my very good Lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any Subject within this Realm. Howbeit, son _Roper_, I may tell thee between ourselves, I feel no Cause to be proud thereof, for if my Head would win him a Castle in _France_, it shoulde not fail to fly off."

--_Father_ is graver than he used to be. No Wonder. He hath much on his Mind; the Calls on his Time and Thoughts are beyond Belief; but GOD is very good to him. His Favour at home and abroad is immense: he hath good Health, soe have we alle; and his Family are established to his Mind, and settled alle about him, still under the same fostering Roof. Considering that I am the most ordinarie of his Daughters, 'tis singular I should have secured the best Husband. _Daisy_ lives peaceablie with _Rupert Allington_, and is as indifferent, me seemeth, to him as to alle the World beside. He, on his Part, loves her and theire Children with Devotion, and woulde pass half his Time in the Nurserie. _Dancey_ always had a hot Temper, and now and then plagues _Bess_; but she lets noe one know it but me. Sometimes she comes into my Chamber and cries a little, but the next kind Word brightens her up, and I verilie believe her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. _Giles Heron_ lost her through his own Fault, and might have regained her good Opinion after all, had he taken half the Pains for her Sake he now takes for her younger Sister: I cannot think how _Cecy_ can favour him; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine own deare _Will_, 'tis the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, the ... and yet how I was senselesse enow once to undervalue him!

Yes, I am a happy Wife; a happy Daughter; a happy Mother. When my little _Bill_ stroaked dear _Father's_ Face just now, and murmured "Pretty!" he burst out a-laughing, and cried,--

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

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

"He's a _More_ all over," says _Father_, fondly. "Make a Pun, _Meg_, if thou canst, about _Amor_, _Amore_, or _Amores_. 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first on our Name. Here, little Knave, see these Cherries: tell me who thou art, and thou shalt have one. '_More! More!_' I knew it, sweet Villain. Take them all."

I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watching _Hans Holbein_ at his Brush. He hath a rare Gift of limning; and has, besides, the Advantage of deare _Erasmus_ his Recommendation, for whom he hath alreddie painted our Likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His Portraiture of my Grandfather is marvellous; ne'erthelesse, I look in vayn for the Spirituallitie which our _Lucchese_ Friend, _Antonio Bonvisi_, tells us is to be found in the Productions of the Italian Schools.

_Holbein_ loves to paint with the Lighte coming in upon his Work from above. He says a Lighte from above puts Objects in theire proper Lighte, and shews theire just Proportions; a Lighte from beneath reverses alle the naturall Shadows. Surelie, this hath some Truth if we spirituallize it.

_June 2d._

_Rupert's_ Cousin, _Rosamond Allington_, is our Guest. She is as beautiful as ... not as an Angel, for she lacks the Look of Goodness, but very beautiful indeed. She cometh hither from _Hever Castle_, her Account of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress _Anne_ is not there at present; indeed, she is now always hanging about Court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to _Solomon's_ Spouse--to forget her Father's House. The _King_ likes well enow to be compared with _Solomon_, but Mistress _Anne_ is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flattery and Frenchified Habitts have spoilt her, I trow.

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

_Sept. 26._

How many, many Tears have I shed! Poor, imprudent _Will_.

To think of his Escape from the _Cardinall's_ Fangs, and yet that he will probablie repeat the Offence! This Morning _Father_ and he had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless Debate in the Garden; on returning from which, _Father_ took me aside and sayd,--

"_Meg_, I have borne a long Time with thine Husband; I have reasoned and argued with him, and still given him my poor, fatherly Counsel; but I perceive none of alle this can call him Home agayn. And therefore, _Meg_, I will no longer dispute with him." ... "Oh, _Father_!" ... "Nor yet will I give him over; but I will set another Way to work, and get me to GOD and pray for him."

And have not I done so alreadie?

_27th._

I feare me they parted unfriendlie; I hearde _Father_ say, "Thus much I have a Right to bind thee to, that thou indoctrinate not her in thine owne Heresies. Thou shalt not imperill the Salvation of my Child."

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

_Thursday, 28th._

Last Night, after seeking unto this Saint and that, methought, "Why not applie unto the Fountain Head? Maybe these holie Spiritts may have Limitations sett to the Power of theire Intercessions--at anie Rate, the Ears of _Mary-mother_ are open to alle."

Soe I beganne, "_Eia mater, fons amoris._" ...

Then methoughte, "But I am onlie asking _her_ to intercede--I'll mount a Step higher still." ...

Then I turned to the greate Intercessor of alle. But methought, "Still he intercedes with another, although the same. And his owne Saying was, 'In that Day ye shall ask _me nothing_. Whatsoever ye shall ask in my Name, _he_ will give it you.'" Soe I did.

I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on my Cheek. _Will_ had not come up Stairs. Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not such as giveth Rest; and a dark, wild Dream. Methought I was tired of waiting for _Will_, and became alarmed. The Night seemed a Month long, and at last I grew soe weary of it, that I arose, put on some Clothing, and went in search of him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I founde him, sitting in a Muse; and said, "_Will_, deare _Will_?" but he hearde me not; and, going up to touch him, I was amazed to be broughte short up or ever I reached him, by Something invisible betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, ... in short, a Wall of Ice! Soe it seemed, in my strange Dreame. I pushed at it, but could not move it; called to him, but coulde not make him hear: and all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised a Vapour on the glassy Substance, that grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie to hide him from me. I coulde discerne his Head and Shoulders, but not see down to his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes in Despair, and when I opened 'em, he was hidden altogether.

Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow agaynst the Ice, and I kept a weeping hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer kept issuing from my Lips; and still I was persisting, when, or ever I knew how, the Ice beganne to melt! I felt it giving Way! and, looking up, coulde in joyfulle Surprize just discerne the Lineaments of a Figure close at t'other Side; the Face turned away, but yet in the Guise of listening. And, Images being apt to seem magnified and distorted through Vapours, methought 'twas altogether bigger than _Will_, yet himself, nothingthelesse; and, the Barrier between us having sunk away to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand on's Shoulder, and he turned his Head, smiling, though in Silence; and ... oh, Heaven! 'twas not _Will_, but----.

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

I know not what I expected, nor what I meant to say. The Moment I opened the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. There he stoode, in the Centre of the Chamber; his Hand resting flat on an open Book, his Head raised somewhat up, his Eyes fixed on Something or some One, as though in speaking Communion with 'em; his whole Visage lightened up and glorifide with an unspeakable Calm and Grandeur that seemed to transfigure him before me; and, when he hearde my Step, he turned about, and 'steade of histing me away, helde out his Arms.... We parted without neede to utter a Word.

_June, 1530._

Events have followed too quick and thick for me to note 'em. Firste, _Father's_ Embassade to _Cambray_, which I shoulde have grieved at more on our owne Accounts, had it not broken off alle further Collision with _Will_. Thoroughlie homesick, while abroad, poor _Father_ was; then, on his Return, he noe sooner sett his Foot a-land, than the King summoned him to _Woodstock_. 'Twas a Couple o' Nights after he left us, that _Will_ and I were roused by _Patteson's_ shouting beneath our Window, "Fire, Fire, quoth _Jeremiah_!" and the House was a-fire, sure enow. Greate Part of the Men's Quarter, together with alle the Out-houses and Barns, consumed without Remedie, and alle through the Carelessnesse of _John Holt_. Howbeit, noe Lives were lost, nor any one much hurt; and we thankfullie obeyed deare _Father's_ Behest, soe soone as we received the same, that we woulde get us to Church, and there, upon our Knees, return humble and harty Thanks to ALMIGHTY GOD for our late Deliverance from a fearfulle Death. Alsoe, at _Father's_ Desire, we made up to the poor People on our Premises theire various Losses, which he bade us doe, even if it left him without soe much as a Spoon.

But then came an equallie unlookt-for, and more appalling Event: the Fall of my _Lord Cardinall_, whereby my Father was shortlie raised to the highest Pinnacle of professional Greatnesse; being made _Lord Chancellor_, to the Content, in some Sort, of _Wolsey_ himself, who sayd he was the onlie Man fit to be his Successor.

The unheard-of Splendour of his Installation dazzled the Vulgar; while the Wisdom that marked the admirable Discharge of his daylie Duties, won the Respect of alle thinking Men, but surprized none who alreadie knew _Father_. On the Day succeeding his being sworn in, _Patteson_ marched hither, and thither, bearing a huge Placard, inscribed, "Partnership Dissolved;" and apparelled himself in an old Suit, on which he had bestowed a Coating of black Paint, with Weepers of white Paper; assigning for't that "his Brother was dead." "For now," quoth he, "that they've made him _Lord Chancellor_, we shall ne'er see Sir _Thomas_ more."

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

"The Fingers of my _Lord Cardinall's_ veriest Door-keepers were tipt with Gold, but I, since I married your Daughter, have got noe Pickings; which in your Case may be commendable, but in mine is nothing profitable."

_Father_, laughing, makes Answer,--

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

_Giles Heron_ hath found this to his Cost. Presuming on his near Connexion with my Father, he refused an equitable Accommodation of a Suit, which, thereon, coming into Court, _Father's_ Decision was given flat agaynst him.

His Decision agaynst _Mother_ was equallie impartiall, and had Something comique in it. Thus it befelle.--A Beggar-woman's little Dog, which had beene stolen from her, was offered my _Mother_ for Sale, and she bought it for a Jewel of no greate Value. After a Week or soe, the Owner finds where her Dog is, and cometh to make Complaynt of the Theft to _Father_, then sitting in his Hall. Sayth _Father_, "Let's have a faire Hearing in open Court; thou, Mistress, stand there where you be, to have impartial Justice; and thou, Dame _Alice_, come up hither, because thou art of the higher Degree. Now then, call each of you the Puppy, and see which he will follow." Soe _Sweetheart_, in spite of _Mother_, springs off to the old Beggar-woman, who, unable to keep from laughing, and yet moved at Mother's Losse, sayth,--

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

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

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

He ne'er commences Businesse in his owne Court without first stepping into the Court of King's Bench, and there kneeling down to receive my Grandfather's Blessing. _Will_ sayth 'tis worth a World to see the Unction with which the deare old Man bestows it on him.

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

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

"What?" cries the _Duke_, as they walk Home together, "my _Lord Chancellor_ playing the Parish-clerk? Sure, you dishonour the King and his Office."

"Nay," says _Father_, smiling, "your Grace must not deem that the King, your Master and mine, will be offended at my honouring _his_ Master."

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

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

And I know not why we may not be pleased with Prosperitie, as well as patient under Adversitie; as long as we say, "Thou, LORD, hast made our Hill soe strong." 'Tis more difficult to bear with Comelinesse, doubtlesse; and envious Folks there will be; and we know alle Things have an End, and everie Sweet hath its Sour, and everie Fountain its Fall; but ... 'tis very pleasant for all that.

_Tuesday, 31st, 1532._

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

_July, 1532._

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

"Would to GOD, Son _Roper_, on Condition three Things were well established in Christendom, I were put into a Sack, and cast presently into the _Thames_." _Will_ sayth,--

"What three soe great Things can they be, _Father_, as to move you to such a Wish?"

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

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

_July 18th._

How short a Time agone it seemeth, that in my Prosperity I sayd, "We shall never be moved; Thou, LORD, of Thy goodness hast made our Hill soe strong! ... Thou didst turn away thy Face, and I was troubled!"

_28th._

Thus sayth _Plato_: of Him whom he soughte, but hardly found: "Truth is his Body, and Light his Shadow." A marvellous Saying for a Heathen.

Hear also what St. _John_ sayth: "GOD is Light; and in him is no Darkness at all." "And the Light was the Life of Men: and the Light shineth in Darkness, and the Darkness comprehended it not."

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

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

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

_Aug._

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

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