Note 2. "These monks imagined that holiness was often proportioned to a saint's filthiness--Saint Francis discovered, by certain experience, that the devils... were animated by clean clothing to tempt and seduce the wearers; and one of their heroes declares that the purest souls are in the dirtiest bodies... Brother Juniper was a gentleman perfectly pious, on this principle; indeed, so great was his merit in this species of mortification, that a brother declared he could always nose Brother Juniper when within a mile of the monastery, provided the wind were at the due point."--Disraeli's _Curiosities of Literature_, Volume One, page 92.

Note 3. All quotations from Scripture in this story are of course taken from the Vulgate, except those made by Jews.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

EVIL TIDINGS.

"Too tired for rapture, scarce I reach and cling To One that standeth by with outstretched hand; Too tired to hold Him, if He hold not me: Too tired to long but for one heavenly thing,-- Rest for the weary, in the Promised Land."

Permission for Bruno to lay aside the habit of Saint Augustine reached Bury Castle very soon after his sermon. And with it came two other items of news,--the one, that Bishop Grosteste offered him a rich living in his diocese; the other, that the Bishop's life had been attempted by poison. It was not to be wondered at in the least, since Grosteste had coolly declared the reigning Pope Innocent to be an exact counterpart of Anti-Christ (for which the head of the Church rewarded him by terming him a wicked old dotard), and his attachment to monachism in general was never allowed to stand in the way of the sternest rebuke to disorderly monks in particular. He also presumed to object to his clergy having constant recourse to Jewish money-lenders, and especially interfered with their favourite amus.e.m.e.nt of amateur theatricals, which he was so unreasonable as to think unbecoming the clerical office.

Bruno hastened to the Countess with the news, accompanying it by warm thanks for the shelter afforded to himself and his daughter, and informing her that he would no longer burden her with either. But she looked very grave.

"Father Bruno," she said, "I have a boon to ask."

"Ask it freely, Lady. I am bound to you in all ways."

"Then I beg that you and Beatrice will continue here, so long--_ha, chetife_!--so long as my child lives."

Father Bruno gravely a.s.sented. He knew too well that would not be long.

Yet it proved longer than either of them antic.i.p.ated.

Stormy times were at hand. The Papal Legate had effected between Earl Hubert and the Bishop of Winchester a reconciliation which resembled a quiescent volcano; but Hubert was put into a position of sore peril by his royal brother-in-law of Scotland, who coolly sent an emba.s.sy to King Henry, demanding as his right that the three northernmost counties of England should be peaceably resigned to him. After putting him off for a time by an evasive message, King Henry consented to meet Alexander at York, and discuss the questions on which they differed. His Britannic Majesty was still vexing his n.o.bles by the favour he showed to foreigners. At this time he demanded a subsidy of one-thirtieth of all the property in the kingdom, which they were by no means inclined to give him. As a sop to Cerberus, the King promised thenceforth to abide by the advice of his native n.o.bility, and the subsidy was voted. But his next step was to invite his father-in-law, the Count of Provence, and to shower upon him the gold so unwillingly granted. The n.o.bles were more angry than ever, and the King's own brother, Richard Earl of Cornwall, was the first to remonstrate. Then Archbishop Edmund of Canterbury took a journey to Rome, and declined to return, even when recalled by the Legate. But the grand event of that year was the final disruption of Christendom. The Greek Church had many a time quarrelled with the Latin, chiefly on two heads,--the worship of images and the a.s.sumption of universal primacy. On the first count they differed with very little distinction, since the Greek Church allowed the full worship of pictures, but anathematised every body who paid reverence to statues,--a rather odd state of things to Protestant eyes. Once already, the Eastern Church had seceded, but the quarrel was patched up again. But after the secession of 1237, there was never to be peace between East and West again.

The new year came in with a royal marriage. There were curious circ.u.mstances attending it, for the parties married in spite of the King, who was obliged to give away the bride, his sister Alianora, "right sore against his will:" and though the bride had taken the vow of perpetual widowhood, [Note 1] they did not trouble themselves about a Papal dispensation till they had been married for some weeks. The bridegroom was the young Frenchman, Sir Simon de Montfort, whom the King at last came to fear more than thunder and lightning. The English n.o.bility were extremely displeased, for they considered that the Princess had been married beneath her dignity; but since from first to last she had had her own wilful way, it was rather unreasonable in the n.o.bles to vent their wrath upon the King. They rose against him furiously, headed by his own brother, and by the husband of the Princess Marjory of Scotland, till at last the royal standard was deserted by all but one man,--that true and loyal patriot, Hubert, Earl of Kent,--the man whom no oppression could alienate from the Throne, and whom no cruelty could silence when he thought England in danger. But now his prestige was on the wane. The n.o.bles were not afraid of him, on account of his old age, his wisdom, and a vow which he had taken never to bear arms again. In vain King Henry appealed privately to every peer, asking if his fidelity might be relied on. From every side defiant messages came back. The citizens of London, as their wont was, were exceptionally disloyal. Then he sent the Legate to his brother, urging peace. Cornwall refused to listen. At last, driven into a corner, the King begged for time, and it was granted him, until the first Monday in Lent. When that day came, the n.o.bles a.s.sembled in grand force at London, to come to a very lame and impotent conclusion. Earl Richard of Cornwall, the King's brother, suddenly announced that he and his new brother-in-law, Montfort, had effected a complete reconciliation. The other n.o.bles were very angry at the desertion of their leader, and accused him, perhaps not untruly, of having been bribed into this conduct: for Cornwall was quite as extravagant, and nearly as acquisitive, as his royal brother. Just at this time died Joan, Queen of Scotland, the eldest sister of King Henry, of rapid decline, while on her way home from England; and her death was quickly followed by that of Hubert's great enemy, the Bishop of Winchester. The filling up of the vacant see caused one of the frequent struggles between England and Rome. The Chapter of Winchester wished to have the Bishop of Chichester: the King was determined to appoint the Queen's uncle, Guglielmo of Savoy; and, as he often did to gain his ends, Henry sided with Rome against his own people.

The disruption between the Greek and Latin Churches being now an accomplished fact, the Archbishop of Antioch went the length of excommunicating the Pope and the whole Roman Church, a.s.serting that if there were to be a supreme Pontiff, he had the better claim to the t.i.tle. This event caused a disruption on a small scale in Margaret's bower, where Beatrice scandalised the fair community by wanting to know why the Pope should not be excommunicated if he deserved it.

"Excommunicate the head of the Church!" said Hawise, in a horrified tone.

"Well, but here are two Churches," persisted Beatrice. "If the Pope can excommunicate the Archbishop, what is to prevent the Archbishop from excommunicating the Pope?"

"Poor creature!" said Hawise pityingly.

"The Eastern schism is no Church!" added Eva.

"Oh, I do wish some of you would tell me what you mean by a Church!"

exclaimed Beatrice, earnestly, laying down her work. "What makes one thing a Church, and another a schism?"

But that was just what n.o.body could tell her. Hawise leaped the chasm deftly by declaring it an improper question. Eva said, "_Si bete_!" and declined to say more.

"Well, I may be a fool," said Beatrice bluntly: "but I do not think you are much better if you cannot tell me."

"Of course I could tell thee, if I chose!" answered Eva, with lofty scorn.

"Then why dost thou not?" was the unanswerable reply.

Eva did not deign to respond. But when Bruno next appeared, Beatrice put her question.

"The Church is what Christ builds on Himself: a schism is bred in man's brain, contrary to holy Scripture."

In saying which, Bruno only quoted Bishop Grosteste.

"But, seeing men are fallible, how then can any human system claim to be at all times The Church?" asked Beatrice.

"The true Church is not a human system at all," said he.

"Father, Beatrice actually fancies that the Archbishop of Antioch could excommunicate the holy Father!" observed Hawise in tones of horror.

"I suppose any authority can excommunicate those below him, in the Church visible," said Bruno, calmly: "in the invisible Jerusalem above, which is the mother of us all, none excommunicates but G.o.d. 'Every branch in Me, not fruit-bearing, He taketh it away.' My daughters, it would do us more good to bear that in mind, than to blame either the Pope or the Archbishop."

And he walked away, as was his wont when he had delivered his sentence.

That afternoon, the Countess sent for Beatrice and Doucebelle to her own bower. They found her seated by the window, with unusually idle hands, and an expression of sore disturbance on her fair, serene face.

"There is bad news come, my damsels," she said, when the girls had made their courtesies. "And I do not know how to tell my Magot. Perhaps one of you might manage it better than I could. And she had better be told, for she is sure to hear it in some way, and I would fain spare the child all I can."

"About Sir Richard the Earl, Lady?" asked Beatrice.

"Yes, of course. He is married, Beatrice."

"To whom, Lady?" asked Beatrice, calmly but Doucebelle uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n under her breath.

"To Maud, daughter of Sir John de Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln. It is no fault of his, poor boy! The Lord King would have it so. And the King has made a good thing of it, for I hear that the Earl of Lincoln has given him above three thousand gold pennies to have the marriage, and has remitted a debt of thirteen hundred more. A good thing for him!-- and it may be quite as well for Richard. But my poor child! I cannot understand how it is that she does not rouse up and forget her disappointment. It is very strange."

It was very strange, to the mother who loved Margaret so dearly, and yet understood her so little. But Doucebelle silently thought that any thing else would have been yet stranger.

"And you would have us tell her, Lady?"

"It would be as well. Really, I cannot!"

The substratum was showing itself for a moment in the character of the Countess.

"Dulcie would do it better than I," said Beatrice, "I am a bad hand at beating about the bush. I might do it too bluntly."

"Then, Dulcie, do tell her!" pleaded the Countess.

"Very well, Lady." But all Doucebelle's unselfishness did not prevent her from feeling that she would almost rather have had any thing else to do.

She went back slowly to Margaret's bower, tenanted at that moment by no one but its owner. Margaret looked up as Doucebelle entered, and read her face as easily as possible.

"Evil tidings!" she said, quietly enough. "For thee, or for me, Dulcie?"

Doucebelle came and knelt beside her.

"For me, then!" Margaret's voice trembled a little. "Go on, Dulcie!