Chapter XXVI: May 12

THE May games went off very well. We had all the usual sports—Robin Hood and Little John, Maid Marian and all the rest of them, and besides a Miracle play—the first ever seen in these parts, and for mine own part I should hope it might be the last. The players, it seems, were at Biddeford May games, and hearing that we were to have unusual festivities here, they sent a deputation hither, praying my Lord and my father to patronize them. The Prior also gave them his good word, so my Lord consented and won my father to do the same.

The old May pole having been shivered by lightning last year, my Lord gave a new one from his own woods, a fine, stately shaft, which was duly bedizened with flowers and ribbons, and drawn to its place on the morning of the games, with all the oxen that could be mustered, and a great noise of horns, hautbois and fiddles.

We walked down to the green about ten of the clock, and found the lads and maids dancing about the pole, and more than the usual crowd assembled. There was an Egyptian woman telling of fortunes, a travelling huckster or two with ribbons, toys and gingerbread, and another selling of books and ballads, who I fear made but a bad speculation. He was a sober, decent-looking man, and seeing him looking our way, my mother beckoned him, and began looking over his stock, which was made up mostly of tracts and primers, with some ballads and penny prints of saints and virgins.

"And have you no other wares than these?" asked my step-dame. "There are many new books going now-a-days?"

"And that is true, madam," answered the chapman, (and I could not but notice how well he spoke, respectfully, but with no fawning servility, such as chapmen commonly use). "The present time is, under your favor, like the householder in the scriptures, bringing forth out of his treasures things new and old. Aye, and the old have been so long forgot in these parts that they are the newest of all."

"And that is true!" answered my mother. "Well, this is but a public place. Come you to Corby End this evening, and we will look over your wares, and give you a night's entertainment."

The man gave her courteous thanks and turned away. Just then Harry came to tell us that the play was about to begin, and only waited our coming to the seats reserved for us.

"I have little fancy for these mummeries," said my Lady to us, as we took the stools which had been set for our accommodation; "but yet we must not mortify the poor players. I trust they will confine themselves in proper bounds."

"'Tis the Passion of our Lord they are about to play," said the Prior of Stanton, who had his seat near us. "No one can object to that, surely."

"With submission, reverend Father, such a subject seems to me hardly fitted for the day and the scene," answered my Lady, gently. "Besides, does it not seem to you to savor of presumption—to say no more—that a poor strolling player, and he often a lewd and profane person, as but too many of them are—should take upon himself to personate our suffering Lord, putting his own words in the mouth of one so unspeakably august and venerable?"

The Prior fidgetted on his scat, and looked somewhat uncomfortable as he answered:

"You know, my Lady, the Church path always sanctioned these things, considering them to be of the nature of pictures and images, which are called the books of the unlearned."

"But why not expend the time and treasure which these things cost, in teaching the unlearned?" asked my mother.

"Nay, Madam, that would never do," answered the Prior. "What, would you have Jack and Jill, and Hodge and Joan, leaving their ploughing and spinning to pore over books of divinity, and discuss questions of casuistry? What then would become of the work, and of the respect which they owe to their betters?"

The poor old fat priest got so red and did seem so disturbed, that I was glad my mother made him no reply, save a smile. Indeed, she had no time to do so, for the play began directly.

I had never seen such an one before, and I must say I was shocked. There were all the holy Apostles, our Lady (represented by a simpering boy with a crack in his voice) Pontius Pilate (a most truculent looking personage), the two thieves, and worst of all, our Lord himself, besides devils and angels in plenty. The people made their remarks freely enough, and I can't say they seemed greatly solemnized or edified. The part which pleased them most was when the devils thrust Judas down to the infernal pit, and were then kicked after him, without any ceremony, by the angels, who afterward ascended to heaven, one at a time, on the same cloud which had served our Lord, and which was worked in plain sight by a man with a rope and a winch.

It seems to me almost profane to write these things down, and yet I don't know why I should feel so. We used to make little Christs of wax at the convent, and paint them to the life, and nobody thought any harm of that. And there were our Bethlehems, which practice was begun by Saint Francis himself, our holy founder, and at the first of which happened a wonderful miracle, for during the ceremony, the saint was seen caressing an infant of celestial beauty, who appeared to the astonishment of all beholders. The straw on which this apparition happened was preserved with great devotion, and worked many miraculous cures. We had some of it among our relics, and 'twas held almost as sacred as the glass containing the Holy Virgin's milk. But I am forgetting the May games.

After the play was ended, the dancing began anew. Several of the fathers were down from the convent, as usual, but methought they were not very cordially received. And when Father Jerome ventured to chuck Jan Lee's new wife under the chin, with what I must needs say was rather a broad jest, Jan gave him a look as black as thunder and drew his bride away. I too had an encounter which did not please me. I was standing by my father, and leaning on his arm, when the Prior came up to us with the same dark priest who had been in the church on Sunday, and presented him to my father as Father Barnabas of Glastonbury. Then turning to me:

"What, my fair Rosamond, is this you? I did not know the dove in her plumage!"

While I was thinking what to say in reply, the other priest broke in:

"Methinks neither the plumes nor the place are very well suited to the promised bride of Christ; how well soever they may beseem fair Rosamond!" with an emphasis on the name. It was now my father's turn to look black.

"My daughter, sir priest, is no nun; and being as yet under her father's roof and rule, she dresses to please him, like a dutiful maiden, and according to the words we heard last Sunday: 'Honor thy father and mother.'"

"Aye, there it is," said the prior. "Now may we see what comes of these innovations. Soon every man will be ready with his text and his commentary—according to the boast of that archfiend Tyndale, which I heard him make to myself, that he would so order matters that in a few years every ploughboy should know more of Scripture than I did. And what are we to do then!"

"Lackaday! I don't know," answered Will Paxton, my Lord's jester, putting in his word as usual—"'Tis an ill-ordered house where the man can write, though the master can't read."

Whereat the priest frowned, and my father laughed heartily, and gave Will a silver groat, bidding him go buy a fairing for his sweetheart. Then saying that I was standing too long and would be ill again, he led me away, and we presently went up to the Court to spend the day with my Lady, to whom I had promised instruction in the art of knitting. We passed a very quiet and pleasant day, and walking home together in the twilight, in a thoughtful mood, I suddenly bethought myself of Dick's little book, and asked my mother, saying:

"Madam, have you ever seen one of these same Testaments of Master Tyndale's?"

"Aye, daughter, that have I! I have both seen and read it!" she answered.

"And do you think 'tis really the true Gospel?" I asked again, remembering what Amice had told me about it.

"I have no doubt of it. Master Ellenwood, at my request, and for his own satisfaction, has been comparing it with the Greek and Latin text, and says 'tis marvellously well done."

"Oh, how I should love to read it!" I exclaimed.

"You would find many things to astonish you, my child," answered my mother. "Yea, to upset all your former notions, and mayhap lead you to renounce and contemn many things which you have been used to hold most sacred all your life long."

"Dick said I must not read it if I ever meant to go back to the convent," I said. "But mother—Madam, I would say—"

"Nay, dearest child, call me ever mother, if you will," said she, pressing my arm kindly. "'Tis very sweet to me to hear the name fall so naturally from your lips. But what would you say, dear heart?"

"I was going to say, that this difference seems very strange and sad to me," I went on. "If the Gospels are right—and the true Gospel must be right—then is the Church wrong!"

"Well, what then?" she asked. "Your reasoning is good, but what then?"

"Why, then we must follow the Gospel, as it seems to me," I answered. "But, mother, will you let me have this Gospel to read?"

"Yes, child! Since you ask it, I can do no otherwise," said she, after a moment's hesitation. "I dare not withhold the word of God from you—but alas, my child, have you considered that you may be taking in hand the torch to light your own funeral pile, withal? Shall I give you that which may be your death?"

"Why not, if it shall lead me to eternal life?" I said. "Besides, it may not be so bad as you say. Mistress Bullen favors the new teachings, my Lady says—not that I think any better of them for that, but she is very great with the King, as we all know."

"I build not at all on Mrs. Bullen's favor," answered my Lady. "She is indeed in the sunshine of his Majesty's countenance even now, but how long will she stay there, think you? She is beautiful and brilliant and fascinating, if you will—though I must say she never pleased me—but she hath neither principle nor prudence to guide her in her dangerous path. Ah, child, be thankful that you have grown up at home, and not in a Court."

"But as to this book!" I ventured to say.

"As to this book, you shall have it, if your father be willing to let you run the risk. But count the cost, my child, and pray for guidance to Him who has promised to give wisdom to them that ask. When you have done so, come to me in my closet, and I will put into your hands the word of God."