CHAPTER XLIV.

THE FALL

When great men fall, the world is sure to talk of it for a long time. Ages after ages remember the prostrate and over-grown tree, whilst hundreds and thousands of minor bulk may lie upon the earth, and no one think anything more about them. The sapling may be snapt in the gale, but the oak--the majestic oak--is not thrown down without a tempest.

Nor was the great Cardinal overthrown without a revolution in the conduct and affairs of that prince and kingdom which he had so faithfully served. Even the clergy of the realm felt their portion of degradation in the loss of that representative, who, notwithstanding his extravagance, had certainly their temporal interest at heart.

Could Wolsey have returned with De Freston, an independent man, or dependent upon that early friendship which had no political or selfish interest in his career, he might have enjoyed the spirit of his youth upon the banks of the Orwell; and, had the enlightened Ellen been as she was in his early ambitious days of distinction, the incentive would have outweighed all the terrors of a king's frown, and he would have become a great man in his retirement.

But he went to York. There he shone as the friend of his clergy in a more subdued, but far more pleasant light. He was treated everywhere with courtesy, and had not jealously, animosity, and inveterate hatred been exercised to turn the King's mind against him, he would have become a far greater man than he had ever before been; for he might have learnt contentment.

But Ellen returns to her mansion in Brook Street; and De Freston is restored to his ancient castle. Friends from far came to meet them, as they returned, and to congratulate them upon the successful issue of that fiery trial.

Few escaped the inquisitorial court, which then sat upon heretics, as the reformers were called; and if they escaped without any falling away, or retraction of the position of truth which they held, their escape was attended with a triumph among the people, almost as great as if they had suffered martyrdom.

Bilney was never happy when he escaped from the first trial of his faith, until the spirit, the conscientious spirit of truth returned to him again, and told him it was better to suffer for the truth's sake, than to live in the favor and indulgences of sinful Rome.

Lord De Freston was happy, because he had compromised nothing, consented to no abjuration of his vows, and came home as he went up, a faithful Protestant.

There was great rejoicing at Ipswich, where, at that time, his trial was looked upon as a persecution; and every one who had imbibed anything of the growing love for truth, felt that his return was a species of victory obtained in righteousness. It had the desired effect of strengthening De Freston in his views of the truth, and afforded a forcible lesson to some then wavering in their minds, concerning the fearful consequences of embracing the truth.

The very return of De Freston caused Bilney's sorrow to be the greater, and this noble friend was one who deeply lamented with him his departure from the convictions of his soul for the mere sorrows of the world.

Better, far better, is it to stand firm, or die in a righteous cause, boldly confronting the king of terrors, with faith, than to deny, for the fancied sake of peace, the real convictions of truth.

De Freston had the strength and privilege to condole with Bilney upon his lapse, and grace to fortify his mind with the love of that Word, in which he afterwards sealed his triumph by martyrdom.

It was not to be expected that the return of De Freston, and his now public profession of the doctrines of the reformers, should be the entrance upon a life of worldly tranquillity. He was a marked man, a man against whom bigoted tongues wagged loud and long; and, as he was a learned man, and a fearless one as well, as far as regarded any temporal punishment for his faith, he hesitated not to set all the priests of Rome at defiance, and to dispute with any one of them concerning the doctrines of the reformation. His son-in-law, Latimer, was equally zealous in the defence of the truth, and exposed himself to all the fury of the times in which he lived.

'We must not shrink, Ellen,' he exclaimed, 'in our high position; we must still do our endeavors to shelter those poor clergymen in this town who stand up for the truth, and as long as my house can be the shelter for the persecuted, I feel happy, and I trust my dear Ellen does the same.'

'That she does, William, notwithstanding all the accusations she receives of deserting the Romish Church in which she was first brought up. You need not be afraid, my husband, after such an example as our dear father afforded us, when summoned to the conference in London, that I should shrink.

'I saw then, and loved his dignified and truthful demeanor, in the presence of those whom weaker minds would have feared. But I like not his living alone at Freston Castle. He grows old, and though his dear grey locks are a crown of glory to him, and his eye is not yet dim, nor his intellect abated in its wonted energies, bodily infirmities bend his gentle head, and he requires, I think, our constant residence with him.

'I cannot bear the idea of such a father being without our company. We may be useful here in promoting every good cause, but nature in the aged requires attention, and to whom can he look for love, piety, and respect, if not to his children? I propose, Latimer, that we leave our present residence, and if our father is willing, that we go to Freston.'

It was so agreed, and the faithful couple returned to dwell with Lord De Freston, who, though he had never asked it, was delighted at the mutual proposition of his children, to make abode with him in his old days. For a short time did the joys of their former years dwell with them, and a peaceful state marked the latter life of this excellent man, Lord De Freston.

Again the dear tower, the haunt of their youth, and Latimer's own project, became the place of their reading and converse; and hence issued many of those awakening epistles of the times which led to the enlightenment of not a few of the strenuous reformers of Ipswich and Bury.

The press of Master Antony Skolloker, and that of Master John Owen, showed up the monks of Bury, all the fooleries of the priests of Rome, and all the mal-practices and arbitrary doings of the diocese of Norwich. John Bale, the friend of Latimer, here wrote his 'Catalogus, Scriptorum Illustrium Britaniæ,' which he afterwards published at Ipswich.

It was in the month of December, 1530, when the log was burning on the old hall-fire, and the venerable De Freston was seated between his lovely daughter and Latimer, that a conversation arose concerning their friend the Cardinal. They were speaking of his greatness; of his altered condition, his residence and usefulness at York; when the warder's bell rang, and a young man was announced as desirous to see Lord De Freston.

He was welcomed into the hall, accoutred according to the times, in immense riding boots, long spurs, and stout leathern jerkin. The stranger bowed respectfully to the party, and looked up, as if he thought they would have recognised his features and guessed his communication; for he was, in the fashion of that day, dressed with a mourning scarf; and if these did not speak for him, the sober, grave, and mournful manner of his speech awoke in Ellen the first suspicion of his message, and then a recognition of his face, for she exclaimed--

'Thou art the bearer of ill-tidings of thy master.'

'Alas, lady! I am, indeed--my master is no more.'

'Is Wolsey dead, good Master Cavendish?

'He is dead, good Lord De Freston, and he often said to me, that I should find in thee a good man and true; a friend with whom I might awhile assuage that grief which now afflicts me.'

'And so thou shall; but take thy jerkin off. Good Latimer, attend for me on Master Cavendish, and bring him presently unto us again.'

Cavendish and Latimer retired, and when Lord De Freston looked at Ellen, she was weeping. The old man was touched, and spake most gently of him.

'We must not weep, my daughter, for the dead. Let us rather rejoice that all the agonies of his life are over.'

'In that I may, perhaps I do, rejoice, but we must heal more of his latter days to make me feel as hopeful for his future happiness as I could wish. He was a youth of promise, father; a wise, a discerning youth. I cannot forget the early devotion of his life to our society, when he appeared to possess a freedom which was then bidding fair to be untrammelled by superstition. I think of him then, dear father, and I wonder if this spirit of his youth revived in him during his last days.'

'We shall hear more of this anon. I loved his youth; I loved his learning too, my child. I admire many of his arts; but I fear he was unmerciful towards those who differed with him. But let us hear what Master Cavendish says. We must all depart. You must lose your father, too.'

This changed the current of Ellen's thoughts, and she wept no more, but spoke cheerfully to her parent--making a generous effort to divert any gloominess from his mind.