  One year later, the sun that flashed from Ely's towers flashed from the points of a thousand spears, from as many burnished helmets and glittering coats of mail, from the polished wood of hundreds of crossbows, from the resplendent surfaces of emblazoned shields, and from shining battle-axes, swinging against the glossy haunches of war-horses. It lit up splendid sword belts of rose, azure, and vermilion, tabards superb with armorial bearings, tunics and surcoats gamboised and interlaced with silks of yellow, blue, and flame color; it illumined waving pennons and guidons, and the more stately banners with their oft-repeated device of St. George and the dragon, or the golden keys of St. Peter. There at the head of his troops rode the proud figure of the fighting Bishop, Spencer of Norwich, his closely wrought suit of mail and helmet of finest blue steel rings, his surcoat of blue velvet, his gorget of the same, draped from the helmet. Blue flashed against blue, the clever handiwork of man and the illimitable cerulean of the sky. Every reason had Spencer of Norwich to be proud, for the Pope had appointed him special commissioner to raise and conduct a crusade in succor of brave Ghent against the minions of Antichrist at Avignon. Even now he was on his way to join the rest of his army to set sail later from Dover. For once the Pope's war was the people's war. For once the interests of the nation and the Papacy were one, and the wealth of England need not be squandered in the support of two opposing armies. Not only was England asked to fight its hereditary enemy, France, but it was asked to succor a brave people who had thrown off the sway of a ducal ruler and had gathered about a simple Flandrish burgher. No wonder that the plain people responded enthusiastically to this call. The very severity that Bishop Spencer had displayed in putting down the Uprising of the summer before now redounded to his credit—served to strengthen their confidence in him as a military leader. Urban, thoroughly in earnest in striking a telling blow against Avignon, now outdid himself in his concessions to those who poured their wealth and treasure at his feet. Not alone was absolution granted them, but during this great emergency it became possible to obtain it for dead friends Yet, notwithstanding the enthusiasm with which this army was raised and equipped, there rose through the land some bold voices protesting that, when the Lords and Knights and Bishops assembled at Westminster, it would have been better had they redressed the wrongs of the peasants, and restored quiet and order to the realm by wise internal regulations, instead of turning their eyes across the seas and voting moneys for a war that would neither raise up ruined manor houses nor restore wasted lands. Indeed, Wyclif and his fast-growing band of Lollards cried out in no uncertain tones that the whole quarrel between the contending Popes had to do only with worldly power and mastery, which was entirely unbefitting a Pope and wholly contrary to the example of Christ. "Neither the slaying of men nor the impoverishment of whole countries can be the outcome While the people of Ely had shouted themselves hoarse, and swung banners, and waved kerchiefs, two quiet figures had looked sadly, silently on, a man and a woman. They had watched the triumphant army pass, setting the dull fenland ablaze with color as it moved. When the last thread of scarlet was caught up in the blue haze where the sluggish river made its last bend, the couple turned their faces to the Cathedral. As they looked, the swamp at their feet suddenly burst into flame and then as suddenly darkened as the red sun sank. The low sparse trees, rising from the water, blackened against the horizon; the orange and the rose slowly faded from the sky, the violet-gray pallor of the night creeping over it. The rapture of day's meeting with night was over, and all the passion burned out. A few scattered groups of villagers passed them by, chatting eagerly, and then all was still. The man sighed heavily. The woman turned to him a quiet face, full of resolute courage. If there was anything to mar her perfect happiness, it was that the people had apparently been oblivious of And this was Ely! Ah, the wonderful old church! even in the gathering darkness it still crowned the wide landscape. She divined the poignant memories that were stirring in her husband's breast. Twice before had he faced Ely Minster,—once proudly defiant on the threshold of life, once stricken in the bitter consciousness of defeat. This time in his heart was neither defiance nor despair. He could not defy, for he looked no longer on the Cathedral as an enemy to be crushed, but as a force to be yoked into service. If there was some condemnation in his heart, yet there was reverence as well. Reverence, for he was passionately responsive to the Mystery and Power before him. Impotent indeed he believed the new religion would be if it reckoned not with this Power, if it tossed it aside as worthless. Neither could he despair, for while at one time he had worked with feverish energy in the stirring sight of a fixed goal, now he had learned the difficult lesson of working on in perfect courage and perfect steadfastness for an end which he could never hope to see, which he knew could be accomplished only by God in the fulness of His time. How much had taken place in the twelvemonth that had passed since he had faced Ely Minster! He had not died on that awful night, although he had thought it the end and had welcomed it. But he had gone through a long and serious illness. Tenderly nursed by Matilda, and safely hidden from those who were going about the land slaying all the poor priests they could lay hands on, little by little he had regained his strength until he could endure the telling of the terrible end of the Uprising. As soon as he could, he made a pilgrimage to Lutterworth, and there had a last solemn talk with John Wyclif. Once more he took up the threads of life, once more under orders from his old master. And with his bodily ills he cast off those of his moral The Uprising was a thing of the past. It had taken more than forty years to come, a few swift days had seen its end. For one brief moment England had lain at the feet of Piers Ploughman, poor Piers never less truly conqueror than then! The gaol at Maidstone had been broken into, and John Ball placed again at the head of his people; the palace of the most powerful Duke of the realm had been sacked and reduced to ashes; the head of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of all England, had grinned from the top of London bridge in grim companionship with the murdered Treasurer of the nation. On the top of the pillory in the Bury market-place, the lifeless lips of the Chief Justice of England pressed those of the Prior of the Monastery in ghastly jest on the league between Church and Law against poor Piers. Yea, all England at the feet of its rustics—and to what end? To disperse to their homes, drunk with joy over the roseate promises of their King. The true value of a King's promise was to be learned later. Never again would a King be to them quite so kingly, since one had Again Robert Annys recalled that text as he stood this time before the Cathedral. But no longer it agonized him as on that night when he lay prone among the rushes. Now he saw deeper into the heart of things. He saw that the fruit of the tree is the fruit not alone of the leafy bough on which it hangs, nor alone of the strong, gnarled trunk, nor alone of the roots, deep down and hidden; but that it is borne alike of the kernel that has taken many seasons to reach the height of a man, alike of the very rainfalls that have fed the roots with the salts of the soil. Who indeed shall ever account for all the forces The Uprising had failed because the people were not yet ready for success. They had failed in self-command, and therefore had grievously failed to command others. It was hard to look into the future with any show of bravery when one realized how much, how much the people must learn, how much work there was to be done by a few strong, patient souls. And yet, to Robert Annys the very failure of the Uprising had within it something precious. He believed that if no slightest seed may fall to the ground unheeded, surely the earnest efforts of thousands upon thousands of men could not be suffered to fall barren upon Eternity. And he was right. Who shall ever say all that was done or not done by that wonderful outspeaking of the heart of the English peasantry more than half a thousand years ago—that stirring voice sinking again into silence as mysteriously as it arose? And yet who shall say that it was hushed? Is it not nearer the truth to say that it was held in the air, vibrating down through the centuries, silent unto Man, only until such time as his ears were attuned to hearken? Indeed, easier is it to trace the tall waving In truth no historian may ever tell of the end of the Great Uprising, for it had no end, but it goeth ever on and on. THE HERITAGE OF UNREST A novel of the army on the frontier during the time of the Indian outbreaks under Geronimo and others in the late seventies. Historically the book is valuable—though this is nearly forgotten in its interest—as a picture of scenes that can never be repeated; a book which American social literature could ill afford to lose—while it is also an absorbing love story. "A picture of the great West—the West of the days of the Apache raids—clear and vivid."—Baltimore Sun. "'The Heritage of Unrest' is a remarkable book, and in all respects it is an interesting departure from the current line of fiction. It is a story of American army life fully matching the frontier sketches of Owen Wister, and told with such touches of offhand colloquialism, now and again, as might mark the work of a Yankee Kipling."—New York World. "In every respect—character, plot, style, scenes, descriptions, and personages—the book is unconventional ... refreshing."—Boston Herald. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY IN THE PALACE OF THE KING Author of "Via Crucis," "Saracinesca," etc. "Marion Crawford's latest story, 'In the Palace of the King,' is quite up to the level of his best works for cleverness, grace of style, and sustained interest. It is, besides, to some extent a historical story, the scene being the royal palace at Madrid, and the author drawing the characters of Philip II. and Don John of Austria with an attempt, in a broad, impressionist way, at historic faithfulness. His reproduction of the life at the Spanish court is as brilliant and picturesque as any of his Italian scenes, and in minute study of detail is, in a real and valuable sense, true history."—The Advance. "Mr. Crawford has taken a love story of vital interest and has related the web of facts simply, swiftly, and with moderation ... a story as brilliant as it is romantic in its setting. Here his genius for story telling is seen at its best."—Boston Herald. "For sustained intensity and graphic description Marion Crawford's new novel is inapproachable in the field of recent fiction."—Times Union, Albany. "Don John of Austria's secret marriage with the daughter of one of King Philip's officers is the culminating point of this story.... An assassination, a near approach to a palace revolution, a great scandal, and some very pretty love-making, besides much planning and plotting, take place."—Boston Transcript. "Mr. Crawford wastes no time in trying to re-create history, but puts his reader into the midst of those bygone scenes and makes him live in them.... In scenes of stirring dramatic intensity.... It all seems intensely real so long as one is under the novelist's spell."—Chicago Tribune. "No man lives who can endow a love tale with a rarer charm than Crawford."—San Francisco Evening Bulletin. "No book of the season has been more eagerly anticipated, and none has given more complete satisfaction ... a drama of marvellous power and exceptional brilliancy, forceful and striking ... holding the reader's interest spell-bound from the first page of the story to the last, reached all too soon."—The Augusta Herald. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY THE LIFE AND DEATH OF Author of "The Forest Lovers," "Little Novels of Italy," etc. "The hero of Mr. Hewlett's latest novel is Richard Coeur de Lion, whose character is peculiarly suited to the author's style. It is on a much wider plan than 'The Forest Lovers,' and while not historical in the sense of attempting to follow events with utmost exactness, it will be found to give an accurate portrayal of the life of the day, such as might well be expected from the author's previous work. There is a varied and brilliant background, the scene shifting from France to England, and also to Palestine. In a picturesque way, and a way that compels the sympathies of his readers, Mr. Hewlett reads into the heart of King Richard Coeur de Lion, showing how he was torn by two natures and how the title 'Yea and Nay' was peculiarly significant of his character."—Boston Herald. "The tale by itself is marvellously told; full of luminous poetry; intensely human in its passion; its style, forceful and picturesque; its background, a picture of beauty and mysterious loveliness; the whole, radiant with the very spirit of romanticism as lofty in tone and as serious in purpose as an epic poem. It is a book that stands head and shoulders above the common herd of novels—the work of a master hand."—Indianapolis News. "Mr. Hewlett has done one of the most notable things in recent literature, a thing to talk about with abated breath, as a bit of master-craftsmanship touched by the splendid dignity of real creation."—The Interior. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY THE REIGN OF LAW Author of "The Choir Invisible" "A Kentucky Cardinal," etc. "The whole book is a brilliant defence of Evolution, a scholarly statement of the case. Never before has that great science been so presented; never before has there been such a passionate yet thrilling appeal."—Courier Journal. "This is a tremendous subject to put into a novel; but the effort is so daring, and the treatment so frank and masterly on its scientific side, that the book is certain to command a wide hearing, perhaps to provoke wide controversy."—Tribune, Chicago. "'When a man has heard the great things calling to him, how they call, and call, day and night, day and night!' This is really the foundation idea, the golden text, of Mr. James Lane Allen's new and remarkable novel."—Evening Transcript, Boston. "In all the characteristics that give Mr. Allen's novels such distinction and charm 'The Reign of Law' is perhaps supreme ... but it is pre-eminently the study of a soul ... religion is here the dominant note."—The New York Times' Saturday Review. "In David there is presented one of the noblest types of our fiction; the incarnation of brilliant mentality and splendid manhood.... No portrait in contemporary literature is more symbolic of truth and honor."—The Times, Louisville. "Mr. Allen has a style as original and almost as perfectly finished as Hawthorne's, and he has also Hawthorne's fondness for spiritual suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels of the period.... If read in the right way, it cannot fail to add to one's spiritual possessions."—San Francisco Chronicle. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY |
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