The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 19 April 1917, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE (Continued.) July 4 th. I have writ my Letter to Father. I almoste wish, now, that I had not sent it. Rupert and Will still full of theire Moralitie, which reallie has some Fun in it. To ridicule the Extravagance of those who, as the baying is, carry theire Farms and Fields on their© Backs, William proposes to come in, all verdant, with a reall Model of a Farm on his Back, and a Windmill on his Head. July sth. How sweete, how gracious an Answer from Father! John Harris has brought© me with it the two Angels; less prized than this Epistle. July 10th.

Sixteenth Birthdaye. Father away, which made it sadde. Mother gave me a payr of blue Hoseu with Silk Clocks; Mr. Gunnel, an ivorie-handled Stylus; Hess, a Bodkin for my Flair; Daisy, a Book-mark; Mercy, a Saffron Cake; Jack a Basket; and Cecil, a Nosegay. William’s Present was fayrest of alle, but I am hurt© with him and myselfe; for he offered it soe queerlie and tagged it with such ... I refused it, and there’s an End. ’Twas unmannerlie and unkind© of me, and

I’ve cried aboute it since. Father alwaies gives us a Birthday© Treat; soe, contrived that Mother shoulde take us to see my Lord ordinal of York goe to Westminster in State. We had a merrie Water-part; got goode Places and saw the Show: Crosse-bearers, Pillar-bearers, Ushers and alle. Himself© in crimson engrayned Sattin, and Tippet of Sables, with an Orange in his Hand held to’s Nose, as though the common Ayr were too vile to Breathe. What a pompous Priest it is! The Archbishop mighte well say, ‘ That Man is drunk with too much Prosperities Between Dinner and Supper, we had a fine Skirmish in the Straits of Thermopylre. Mr. Gunnel headed the Persians, and Will was Leonidas , with a swashing

Buckler, and a Helmet a Yard high; but Mr. Gunnel gave him such a Rap on the Crest that it went over the Wall ; soe then u 111 law thought there was Nothing left for him but to die. Howbeit, as he had been© layd low sooner than he had reckoned on, he prolonged his last Agonies a goode deal, and gave one of the Persians a tremendous Kick just as they were about© to rifle his Pouch. They therefore thought© there must be Somewhat in it they should© like to see; soe, held© him down in spite of his hitting right© and lefte, and pulled therefrom, among sundrie lesser Matters, a carnation Knot of mine. Poor Varlet, I wish he would not be so stupid.

After Supper, Mother proposed a Concert; and we were alle singing a Rounde, when, looking up, I saw Father standing in the Door-way, with such a happy Smile on his Face! He was close behind Rupert and Daisy, who were singing from the same Book, and advertised them of his Coming by gentlie knocking theire Heads together ; but I had the first© Kiss, even before Mother, because of my Birthdaye. July 11//;.

It turns out that Father's Lateness Yester-even was caused by Press of Business©; a forayn Mission having beene proposed to him, which he resisted as long as he could, but was at length reluctantlie induced to accept. Length© of his Stay uucertayn, which casts a Gloom on alle ; but there is soe much to doe as to leave little Time to think, and Father is busiest of alle ; yet hath found© Leisure to concert with Mother for us a Journey into the Country, which will occupy some of the Weeks of his Absence. I am full of carefulle Thoughts and Forebodings, being naturallie of too anxious a Disposition. Oh, let me caste alle my Cares

on another! Fecisti nos ad tc, Domine; ef inquietum est cor nostrum, donee resquiescat in te.

May 27th, 1523. ’Tis soe mauie Months agone since that I made an Entry in my Lib ell us, as that my Motto, ‘ JVulla Dies sine Linea hath somewhat of Sarcasm in it. How manie Things doe I beginne and leave unfinisht! and yet, less from Caprice than lack of Strength ; like him of whom the Scripture was writ, — f This Man beganne to build and was not able to finish.’ My Opus, for instance : the which my Father’s prolonged Absence in the Autumn, and my Winter Visitt to Aunt Xanand Aunt Fan gave me such Leisure to carrie forward. But alack! Leisure was less to seeke than Learninge; and when I came abck to mine olde Taskes, Leisure was awanting too ; and then, by reason of my sleepingin a separate Chamber, I was enabled to steale Hours from the earlie Morn and Hours from the Night, and, like unto Solomon’s virtuous Woman, my Candle went, not out. But ’twas not to Purpose that I worked, like the virtuous Woman, for I was following a Jack-o-Lantern ; having forsooke the straight Path laid downe by Erasmus for a foolish Path of mine owue ; and soe I toyled, and blundered, and puzzled, and was mazed : and then came on that Payn in my Head. Father say cl, ‘ What makes Meet soe male?’ and 1 sayd not: and, at the last, I tolde Mother there was somewhat throbbing and twisting in the Back of mine head, like unto a little Worm that woulde not die ; and she made Answer, ‘ Ah, a Maggot,’ and soe by her Scoff 1 was shamed. Then I gave over mine Opus, but the Payn did not yet goe : soe then I was longing for the deare Pleasure, and fondlie turning over the Leaves, and wondering woulde Father be surprised and pleased with it some Dave, when Father himself came in or ever I was aware, lie sayth, What hast thou, Meg ’ I faltered and woulde sett it aside. He sayth, ‘ Nay, let me see ’ : and soe takes it from me ; and after the firste Glance throws himself into a Seat, his Back to me, and firste runs it hastlie through, then beginnes with Methode and such Silence and Gravitie as that I trembled at his Side, and felt, what it must be to stand a Prisoner at the Bar, and he the Judge. Sometimes I thought he must be pleased, at others not : at lengthe, alle my fond Hopes were ended by his crying, ‘ This will never doe. Poor Wretch, hath this then beene thy Toyl ? How couldst find Time for soe much Labour for here hath beene Trouble enow and to spare. Thou must have stolen it, sweet ,1 [erf, from the Night, and prevented the Morning Watch. Most dear ! thy Father's owne loved child’: and soe, caressing me till 1 gave over my shame and Disappointment.

‘ I neede not tell thee, Meg,’ Father sayth, ‘ of the unprofitable Labour of Sisyphus, nor of drawing Water in a Sieve. There are some things, most deare one, that a Woman, it she trieth, may do as well as a Man : and some she cannot, and some she had better not. Now, I tell thee firmlie, since the first Payne is the leaste sharpe, that, despite the Spirit! and Genius herein shewn, I am a vised ’tis Work thou canst not and Work thou hadst better not doe. But judge for thy self e ; if thou wilt persist, thou shalt have Leisure and Quiet, and a Chamber in my new Building, and alle the Help my Gallery of Books may afford. 0 But thy Father says, Forbear.’

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

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

length I beganne to note the Moon rising, and the deepening Clearnesse of the Water, and the lazy Motion of the Barges, and the Plashes of Light when’er the Bowers dipt theire Oars. And then I beganne to attend to the Cries and different Sounds from acrosse the Water, and the Tolling of a distant Bell; and I lelle back on mine olde heart-sighinge, Fecisti nos ad te, Domine; et inquietum est cor nostrum, donee requiescat in te.’

Or ever the Week was gone, my Father had contrived for me another Journey to Few Hall, to abide with the Lay Nuns, as he calleth them, Aunt Nan and Aunt Fan, whom my stepmother loveth not, but whom I love and whom Father loveth. Indeede, ’tis sayd in Essex that at first he inclined to Aunt Fan rather than to my Mother; but that, perceiving my Mother affected his Companie and Aunt Fan affected it not, he diverted his hesitating Affections unto her and took her to wife. Howbeit, Aunt Fan loveth him dearlie as a Sister ought; indeede, she loveth alle, except, methinketh, herself, to whom, alone, she is rigid and severe. How holie are my Aunts’ Lives ! Cloistered Nuns could not be more pure, and could scarce be as usefulle. Though wise, they can be gay; though noe longer young, they love the Young. And theire Reward is, the Young love them; and I am fulle sure in this World they seeke noe better. Returned to Chelsea, I spake much in Prayse of mine Aunts, and of single Life. On a certayn Evening, we Maids were sett at our Needles and Samplers on the Pavillion Steps ; and, as Follie will out, ’gan talk of what we would fayn have to our Lots, shoulde a goode Fairie starte up and grant eache a Wish. Daisy was for a Countess’s Degree, with Hawks and Hounds. Bess was for founding a College, Mercy a .Hospital, and she spake soe experimentallie of its Conditions that I was fayn to go Partners with her in the same. Cecy commenced, ‘ Supposing I were married; if once that I were married ’ —on which, Father, who had come up unperceived, burst out laughing and sayth, ‘ Well, Dame, Cecily, and what State would you keep?’ Howbeit, as he and I afterwards paced together, jus-fa Eluvium, he did say, ‘ Mercy hath well propounded the Conditions of an Hospital or Almshouse for aged and sick Folk, and ’tis a Fantasie of mine to sett even such an one afoot, and give you the Conduct of the same.’ From this careless Speech, dropped as ’twere by the Way, hath sprung mine House of Refuge! and oh, what Pleasure have I derived from it! How good is my Father! how the Poor bless him! and how kind is he, through them, to me! .Laying his Hand kindly on my Shoulder, this Morning, he sayd, ‘ Meg, how fares it with thee now? Have I cured the Payn in thy Head?’ Then, putting the Housekey into mine Hand, he laughingly added, ‘ ’Tis now yours, my Joy, by Livery and Seisin.'

A u-g. 6th. I wish William would give me back my Testament. ’Tis one thing to steal a Knot or a Posie, and another to borrow the most valuable Book in the House, and keep it Week after Week. He sought© it with a kind of Mysterie, so© as that I forbear© to ask it of him in Companie, lest I should doe him an ill Turn ; and yet I have none other Occasion. Alle Parties are striving which shall have Erasmus, and alle in vayn. E’en thus it was with him when he was here last,the Queen would have had him for her Preceptor, the King and Cardinall prest on him a royall Apartment and Salarie, Oxford and Cambridge contended for him, but his Saying was, ‘ Alle these I value less than my Libertie, my Studies, and my literarie Toy Is.’ How much greater is he than those who woulde confer on him Greatness© ! Noe Man of Letters hath equall Reputation, or is soe much courted.

Aug. 7 th. Yester-even, after overlooking the men playing at Eoggats, Father and I strayed away along Thermopylae into the Home-field; and as we sauntered together under the Elms, he sayth with a Sigh, ‘ Jack is Jack

and no More ... he will never be anything. An’ ’twere not for my beloved Wenches, I should be an unhappy Father. But what though !—My Meg is better unto me than ten Sons; and it maketh no Difference at Harvest-time whether our Corn were put into the Ground by a Man or a Woman.’ While I was turning in my Mind what Excuse I might make for John, Father taketh me at unawares by a sudden Change of Subject; saying, ‘ Come, tell me, Meg, why canst not affect Will Roper V. I was a good while silent, at length made Answer, ‘Heis so unlike alle I esteem and admire ... so unlike alle I have been taught to esteem and admire by you.’— ‘Have at you,’ he returned laughing, ‘ I wist not I had been sharpening Weapons agaynst myself. True he is neither .i chillcs nor Hector, nor even Paris, but yet well enough, meseems, as Times gosmarter and comelier than either Heron or Dance;/.’

I, faltering, made Answer, ‘ Good Looks affect me but little—’tis in his better Part 1 feel the Want. He cannot . . . discourse, for instance, to one’s Mind and Soul, like unto you, dear Father, or Erasmus,’

‘ 1 should marvel if he could,’ returned Father gravelie, ‘ thou art mad, my daughter, to look, in a Youth of Wifi’s Years, for the Mind of a Man of fifty. What were Erasmus and I, dost thou suppose, at T Vill’s age? Alas, Meg, 1 should not like you to know what I was ! Men called me the Boy-sage, and 1 know not what, but in my Heart and Head was a World of Sin and Folly. Thou mightest as well expect Will to have my Hair, Eyes, and Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear, as to have the Fruits of my life-long Experience, in some Cases full dearly bought. Take him for what he is, match him by the young Minds of his owne standing: consider how long and closelie we have known him. His Parts are, surelie, not amiss: he hath more Book-lore than Dance;/, more mother Wit than Ailing ton.’

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

‘ Because nothing can be wise that is not practical,’ returned Father, ‘ and I teach my Children Philosophic to fitt them for living in the World, not above it. One may spend a Life in dreaming over Plato, and yet goe out of it without leaving the World a whit the better for our having made Part of it. ’Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if it onlie makes us exact Perfections in others which they may in vayn seek for in ourselves. It is not even necessary or goode for us to live entirelie with congenial! Spiritts. The vigorous tempers the inert, the passionate is evened by the cooltempered, the prosaic balances the visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit me better, dost thou suppose, if she coulde discuss Polemicks like Luther or Melanethon ? E’en thine owne sweet Mother, Meg, was less affected to Studdy than thou art, —she learnt to love it for my Sake, but I made her what she was.’

And, with a suddain Burst e of fond Recollection, he hid his Eyes on my Shoulder, and for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. As for me, I shed, oh ! such salt Teares ! (To bo continued.)