For the Faith: A Story of the Young Pioneers of Reformation in Oxford

The doctor's face lighted as Arthur proceeded to describe the situation of the house and the arrangements he had made for his guests. One wing would be set apart entirely for Dr. Langton and his daughters, who could bring any servant of their own if they desired it; he and his companions would occupy the other part of the building; and it was for the family themselves to decide whether they should be served with their meals in their own apartments, or join the rest at table.

No epidemic sickness had ever appeared in the locality. The house was situated on a rather high plain, though sheltered from the winds, and partly surrounded by its own moat. The air was fine and bracing. It would be likely to do good to those who had been exposed to the contagion of sickness, and had been taxing their strength in the good work of tending others.

It did not take much argument on Arthur's part to win the grateful consent of Dr. Langton, and the bright eyes of the girls showed how pleasant was the prospect to them. Their father, they were sure, would greatly benefit by the removal to a healthier locality; and though they would willingly have remained on, seeking, even without his guidance, to alleviate the sufferings of the stricken, yet they were both conscious that their energies were rather impaired by watching and anxiety, and that they might in such case be in danger of falling a prey to the sickness themselves.

A few days more and they found themselves established in their new quarters, delighted with everything about them. The old, timbered house was rambling and spacious, and the plenishings of their own apartments seemed sumptuous to them; for those were not days of great luxury in the matter of household furniture, and they had never before seen such hangings, such mirrors, such multitude of silver sconces for wax candles, such carpets and skins under foot, such multiplicity of table appointments, or even such store of books and manuscripts for their own and their father's delectation and entertainment.

Anthony Dalaber was there to welcome them, Arthur having the good taste to keep somewhat in the background; and he showed them everything with pride and delight, praising his friend, and foretelling the happiest of summer vacations and summer studies to be carried on within these walls.

"We have Clarke and Radley and Sumner and Fitzjames here in the house, and there are numbers of other clerks and students lodging in and about the village. When your father is strong enough to lecture and instruct us, he will have quite a gathering in the old raftered refectory below, which I will show you anon. Then there are gardens which will delight your hearts, and shady alleys where bowls can be played, or where we can pace to and fro in pleasant converse. Methinks it is worth all that hath gone before to find such a haven of peace and rest at last."

Anthony looked as though he needed rest, as indeed was the case; for he had toiled hard amongst the sick, and when Clarke fell ill, had devoted himself to him day and night, with Radley for his helper. But Radley had had a touch of the sickness himself, and had been unable to do much, so that the bulk of the nursing and the anxiety had fallen upon Dalaber.

"But he is better now-Master Clarke, I mean?" spoke Magdalen, with anxious eyes.

"Verily yes; he is well-nigh himself again, only he hath the air of one who is worn down with illness. He looks bent and white and frail-he toiled so strenuously amongst the sick; and before that he was studying almost night and day.

"But come below into the garden where he is; he will speak for himself. I would that you should see the lilies there. They will rejoice your heart."

It was a quaint old garden into which Anthony led them, full of the scent of herbs and spices, rosemary, thyme, and sweetbrier. The trim order of modern gardening was then unknown, and therefore not missed; close-shaven turf was only to be found in the bowling alleys, and lawns were not; but there was a wilderness beauty that was full of charm in such a place as this, and the sisters looked about them with eager eyes, rejoicing in the beauty before them, and inhaling the pure freshness of the air after the heavy and somewhat pestilential atmosphere in which they had lived.

Clarke was lying at ease on a bearskin against the turf wall of the bowling alley, a book beside him, which he was not then reading. His eyes lighted at sight of the sisters, and he would have risen, but that they forestalled him, and sat beside him on the soft skin, looking at him with friendly solicitude.

He would not talk of himself, but had a hundred things to tell them of the place to which they had come. He inquired how Dr. Langton had borne the journey, and hoped he might visit him later in the day; and as they talked, they were joined by their host himself. And presently he asked Magdalen to come with him and see his hives of bees, for she was somewhat of a naturalist, and was eager to study the habits and habitations of all living things.

"We are very grateful to you, fair sir," she said, "for this act of kindness and hospitality to our dear father. I doubt not that he will recover health and strength with great speed here in this sweet place. It seems an abode of peace and harmony. I never saw a house so beautiful."

"I am right glad it pleases you, sweet mistress," answered Arthur, a very slight flush mounting to his cheek; "believe me, it is the great hope of my heart that this place shall become dear to you, and that you may find happiness therein."

"I thank you, sir," she answered, slightly turning her head away; "your kindness is great, and that not to us alone, but also to others. Our beloved Master Clarke hath the appearance of a man sorely sick, and in need of long rest and refreshment. This he will obtain here as he could not elsewhere. Those who regard his life as a precious one will thank you also for that."

"Are you one of those, Mistress Magda?"

"Indeed, yes. We have known Master Clarke for some great while now, and methinks he is one of God's saints upon earth-one of those who will assuredly walk with Him in white, one of those who will be faithful and will overcome."

Her face kindled, and Arthur, looking somewhat keenly at her, noted a depth of expression in her eyes which no words of his had ever prevailed to bring there.

"He is a notable man," he answered slowly, "and one who may have a great future before him, if only he does not let it slip from him by some indiscretion at the beginning."

"How mean you?" asked Magdalen, with quickly aroused interest.

"I mean that Master Clarke has been already noticed by the cardinal. He was taken from Cambridge because of his good report as to sobriety, learning, and godliness; and the cardinal will, without doubt, keep an eye upon him, and when he has taken his degrees in divinity, will promote him to some living or benefice that will make him rich for life. But let him have a care; that is what his friends would beg of him. Let him have a care that he be not corrupted by new-fangled disputings and questionings, which will benefit no man, and which are already disturbing the peace of the realm and the unity of the church. I would have him beware of these; touch not, taste not, handle not-that is my counsel to him. And if any have influence with him to warn or counsel I would that they should turn him away from such perilous paths, for if he tread them they may lead him to trouble and ruin."

Magdalen made no direct reply, and Arthur, looking earnestly into her face, became aware of its absorbed expression, and asked:

"Does this trouble you, sweet lady? Are you, too, aware of the peril in which he and others may stand if they intermeddle too much in forbidden matters?"

"Yes, I think I know somewhat of it; but what troubles me is that these things should be forbidden. Why may not each man be free in his own soul to read the Scriptures, and to seek to draw help, and light, and comfort from them for himself?"

"Ah, dear lady, that is too big a question for my wits to grapple with. I leave these matters to men who are capable of judging. All I say is that the church holds enough for me, that I shall never learn half she has to teach, and that within her fold is safety. Outside pastures may be pleasant to the eye; but who knows what ravening wolves may not be lurking there in the disguise of harmless sheep? The devil himself can appear in the guise of an angel of light; therefore it behoves us to walk with all wariness, and to commit ourselves into the keeping of those whom God has set over us in His Holy Church."

"Up to a certain point, yes," answered Magdalen earnestly; "hut there be times when-when-Ah, I cannot find words to say all I would. But methinks that, when such pure and stainless souls as that of Master Clarke are seeking for light and life, they cannot go far astray."

Arthur hoped and trusted such was the case, and he was regular in his attendance whenever Clarke preached in the little chapel, or gave lectures in some room of the house, to which many flocked. Dalaber was never absent; all his old zeal and love kindled anew. Several of the guests in that house, including Radley and Fitzjames, often sat up far into the night reading the Scriptures in their own language, and seeming to find new meaning in the fresh rendering, which their familiarity with the original tongues enabled them rightly to estimate.

Arthur Cole did not join these readings, though he did not interfere with them. Once he said to Magdalen, with a certain intonation of anxiety in his voice:

"I cannot see what they think they benefit thereby. Surely the tongue in which the Scriptures were written must be the best to study them in-for those who have learning to do so. Translators do their best, but errors must creep in. For the ignorant and unlettered we must translate, but why for such men as our friends here?"

"But the ignorant and unlettered are forbidden to read or buy the living Word?" said Magdalen quickly.

"Yes; because they would not understand, and would breed all sorts of pestilent heresies. The Scriptures are not of private interpretation. They must be taught by those appointed to that work. I grant you willingly that much is needed in the church-men able and willing for the task; but to put the Scriptures into the hands of every clown and hind and shopman who asks for a copy-no; there I say you do more hurt than good."

"Our friends here do not that," spoke Magdalen thoughtfully.

"No; if they did they would have to go elsewhere. I could not lend my house for such a purpose. As it is-"

He stopped short, and the girl looked quickly at him.

"As it is what?" she asked.

"Ah, well, it is naught. I only meant to say that, if the cardinal were aware of all that went on, even in his own college, he might find fault with much, and make inquisition in many places that would be perilous for many. But as things are I trow all is safe, if they will be content to go no farther."

"You speak of the distribution of books to others?" asked Magdalen, who, through Dalaber, had some knowledge of the work of the Christian Brothers.

"Yes; that is a very perilous course to take, and I fear many are disposed towards it. There is a man-his name is Garret; he was once a scholar of my college-Magdalen; they say he is one of the chiefest promoters of this dangerous traffic. I hope and trust he will keep himself away from here-from Oxford. He is a dangerous man, in that he works much upon the minds and feelings of others. I trust and hope he will never appear in Oxford to carry on such work as he has done in London. He has escaped hitherto; but if he becomes more mischievous, no man may know how it will end."

"But you would not betray him!" cried Magdalen suddenly.

He looked at her in some surprise, and she coloured under his gaze. She had not meant much by her words, but she saw that he fancied a purpose in them.

"Mistress Magdalen," he asked suddenly, "what do you know of this man and his work?"

"Very little; only what Anthony Dalaber and Master Clarke have sometimes told us when these matters have been spoken of-no more than you have told me yourself."

"But you have sympathy with him and his object?"

"Perhaps I have. In sooth, I scarce know how I feel about such matters. I know there is peril. I love not disobedience, nor scorn those set over us; but yet I feel for those who desire more, and would fain drink of the water of life out of new cisterns. But what I meant was that it grieved me that any should hold such men in reprobation, or should betray them into the hands of their enemies, should they be in any peril."

"It is what we are bidden to do sometimes," spoke Arthur gravely.

"I know; but I could not do it. I should shrink from any man who could obey such a mandate as that."

He looked at her long and earnestly, then he turned and took her hands in his, and stood facing her for a while in silence.

"And what would you do for the man who should, instead of betraying, warn, such conspirators of their peril, should he know that they stood in need of warning?"

She thrilled somewhat beneath his touch. There seemed a purpose in his words. The colour rose in her face.

"I should look upon him as a friend. I should call him noble. I should put my trust in him. Our Lord has promised His blessing to the merciful. Surely He would count that an act of mercy which should save those in peril from the hands of their foes."

She spoke with great earnestness and with kindling eyes. His clasp upon her hands tightened.

"And what reward would you give to such a man?" he asked; but then, seeming, as it were, to feel shame for these words, he added hastily, "It is thus, sweet lady, with me. Mine uncle is the proctor in Oxford-proctor for the south. Through him I ofttimes glean news unknown to other students. If I should hear of any peril menacing those who hold these new opinions, for which you, I can see, have such tenderness, I will not fail to warn them of it. If I know, they shall know likewise. Will that satisfy you?"

"It will," she answered, with a glance that thrilled him to his heart's core. "I thank you from my soul."

Chapter VI: For Love and the Faith

"Yes, Anthony, I love thee, and one day I will be thy wife!"

The words seemed to set themselves to joyous music in the ears of Anthony Dalaber as he hastened homeward through the miry and darkening streets towards his lodging in St. Alban Hall. He trod on air. He regarded neither the drizzling rain overhead nor the mire and dirt of the unpaved streets.

He had come from Dr. Langton's house. He had heard Freda pronounce these words, which made her all his own. For some months he had been feeding on hope. He knew that she loved him up to a certain point. But until today she had never openly declared herself. Today he had ventured to plead his cause with a new fervour, and she had given him the answer his heart so craved.

"I love thee, Anthony; one day I will be thy wife!"

He could have cried aloud in his joy and triumph.

"My wife, my wife, my wife! O blessed, blessed thought! For her sake I will achieve all, I will dare all, I will win all. I have talents-they have told me so; I will use them might and main to win myself fame and renown. I have friends; they will help me. Has not Cole spoken ofttimes of what he hoped to do for me in the matter of some appointment later on, when my studies shall be finished here? I have a modest fortune-not great wealth; but it will suffice for the foundation on which to build. Oh yes, fortune smiles sweetly and kindly upon me, and I will succeed for her sweet sake as well as for mine own.

"My Freda! my star! my pearl amongst women! How can it be that she loves me? Oh, it is a beautiful and gracious thing! And truly do I believe that it is our faith which has drawn us together; for do we not both believe in the right of free conscience for every man, and the liberty to read for himself, and in his own tongue, the words of the holy Book of Life? Do we not both long for the day when greed and corruption shall be banished from the church we both love, and she shall appear as a chaste virgin, without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing, meet for the royal Bridegroom who waits for her, that He may present her spotless before His Father's throne?"

Dalaber was quoting unconsciously from an address recently delivered in Dr. Randall's house by Clarke to a select audience, who loved to listen to his words of hope and devotion. Clarke's spirit at such times would seem to soar into the heavenlies, and to uplift thither the hearts of all who heard him. He spoke not of strife and warfare; he railed not against the prevailing abuses, as did others; he ever spoke of the church as the Holy Mother, the beloved of the Lord, the spouse of Christ; and prayed to see her purified and cleansed of all the defilement which had gathered upon her during her pilgrimage in this world, after the departure of her Lord into the heavens, that she might be fit and ready for her espousals in the fulness of time, her eyes ever fixed upon her living Head in the heavens, not upon earthly potentates or even spiritual rulers on this earth, but ever waiting and watching for His coming, who would raise her in glory and immortality to sit at His right hand for evermore.

Anthony had heard this discourse, and had been fired by it, and had seen how Freda's eyes kindled, and how her breath came and went in the passion of her spiritual exaltation. They were drawn ever closer and more closely together by their sympathy in these holy hopes and aspirations, and her heart had gradually become his, she hardly knew when or how.

But the troth plight had been given. Dalaber could have sung aloud in the gladness of his heart. She was his own, his very own; and what a life they would live together! No cloud should ever touch their happiness, or mar their perfect concord. They were one in body, soul, and spirit, and nothing could come between them since they had so united their lives in one.

It was very dark as he turned at last into the familiar doorway, and mounted the dim staircase towards his own room-the lodging he and Hugh Fitzjames shared together. But just now Fitzjames was absent, paying one of his frequent visits to the Langtons. Dalaber had spoken to him there only a short while since, and he was therefore surprised to see a line of light gleaming out from under his door; for, since he was out, who else could be in possession of his room?

Opening the door hastily, he uttered a cry of surprise and welcome, and advanced with outstretched hands.

"Master Garret! You have come!"

The small, keen-faced priest with the eyes of fire came out of the circle of lamplight and took the extended hands.

"I have come, Anthony Dalaber; I have come, as I said. Have you a welcome for me, and for mine errand?"

"The best of welcomes," answered Dalaber, without a moment's hesitation; "I welcome you for your own sake, and for that of the cause in which we both desire to live, and, if need be, to die."

Yet even as he spoke the last word the young man's voice faltered for a moment, and he felt a thrill of cold disquiet run, as it were, through his frame. With Freda's kiss of love upon his lips, how could he think of death? No; life and light and love should be his portion. Did not fair fortune smile upon him with favouring eyes?

The keen eyes of the elder man instantly detected that some inward misgiving was possessing him. He spoke in his clear and cutting tones, so curiously penetrating in their quality.

"You speak of death, and then you shudder. You are not prepared to lay down your life in the cause?"

Dalaber was silent for a moment; a flood of recollection overwhelmed him. He heard a sweet voice speaking to him; he heard the very words used.

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

Suddenly he threw back his head and said:

"In a good and righteous cause I would face death gladly without shrinking."

The keen, flashing eyes were fixed full upon his face. The clear voice spoke on in terse, emphatic phrases.

"Be sure of thyself, Anthony Dalaber. Put not thy hand to the plough only to turn back. So far thou art safe. But I have come to do a work here that is charged with peril. Thou needest have no hand in it. Say the word, and I go forth from thy lodging and trouble thee no more. I ask nothing. I do but take thee at thy word. If thy heart has failed or changed, only say so. One word is enough. There are other spirits in Oxford strong enough to stand the test. I came first to thee, Anthony, because I love thee as mine own soul. But I ask nothing of thee. There is peril in harbouring such an one as I. Send me forth, and I will go. So wilt thou be more safe."

But even as Garret spoke all the old sense of fascination which this man had exercised upon him in London returned in full force upon Dalaber. The brilliant eyes held him by their spell, the fighting instinct rose hot within him. His heart had been full of thoughts of love and human bliss; now there arose a sense of coming battle, and the lust of fighting which is in every human heart, and which, in a righteous cause, may be even a God-like attribute, flamed up within him, and he cried aloud:

"I am on the Lord's side. Shall I fear what flesh can do unto me? I will go forth in the strength of the Lord. I fear not. I will be true, even unto death."

There was no quavering in his voice now. His face was aglow with the passion of his earnestness.

Next moment Garret was in the midst of one of his fiery orations. A fresh batch of pamphlets had come over from Germany. They exposed new and wholesale corruptions which prevailed in the papal court, and which roused the bitterest indignation amongst those who were banded together to uphold righteousness and purity. Unlike men of Clarke's calibre of mind, and full of the zeal which in later times blazed out in the movement of the Reformation, Garret could not regard the Catholic Church in its true and universal aspect, embracing all Christian men in its fold-the one body of which Christ is the head. He looked upon it as a corrupt organization of man's devising, a hierarchy of ambitious and scheming men, who, having lost hold of the truth, require to be scathingly denounced and their iniquity exposed; whilst those who thus held her in abhorrence heard the voice of the Spirit in their hearts saying, "Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partaker of her plagues."

The mystical unity of the Catholic Church was a thing understood by few in those days. The one party held themselves the true church, and anathematized their baptized and Christian brethren as heretics and outcasts; whilst, as a natural outcome of such a state of affairs, these outcasts themselves were disposed to repudiate the very name of Catholic. And to this very day, in spite of the light which has come to men, and the better understanding with regard to Christian unity, Romanists arrogate that title exclusively to themselves, whilst others in Protestant sections of the church accord them the name willingly, and repudiate it for themselves, with no sense of the anomaly of such repudiation.

But in these days there had been no open split between camp and camp in the Church Catholic, though daily it was growing more and more patent to men that if the abuses and corruptions within the fold were not rectified, some drastic attack from without must of necessity take place.

Garret was a man of action and a man of fire. He had pored over treatises, penned fiery diatribes, leagued himself with the oppressed, watched the movement of revolt from superstition and idolatry with the keenest interest. He was in danger, like so many pioneers and so many reformers, of being carried away by his own vehemence. He saw the idolatry of the Mass, but he was losing sight of the worship which underlay that weight of ceremonial and observance. Like the people who witnessed the office, the mass of symbolism and the confusion of it blinded his eyes to the truth and beauty of the underlying reality. He was a devout believer in all primitive truth; he had been, and in a sense still was, a devout priest; but he was becoming an Ishmaelite amongst those of his own calling.

He alarmed them by his lack of discretion, by his fierce attacks. He did not stop to persuade. He launched his thunderbolts very much after the same fashion as Luther himself; and the timid and wavering drew back from him in alarm and dismay, fearful whither he would carry them next.