A year elapsed betwixt the period of the so brief, but to me so
memorable, visit of the welcomest guests our house ever received--to
wit, my Lady Mounteagle and her grand-daughters--and that in which I
met with an accident, which compelled my parents to carry me to
Lichfield for chirurgical advice. Four times in the course of that
year I was honored with letters writ by the hand of Mistress Ann
Dacre; partly, as the gracious young lady said, by reason of her
grandmother's desire that the bud acquaintanceship which had sprouted
in the short-lived season of the aforesaid visit should, by such
intercourse as may be carried on by means of letters, blossom into a
flower of true friendship; and also that that worthy lady and my good
mother willed such a correspondence betwixt us as would serve to the
sharpening of our wits, and the using our pens to be good servants to
our thoughts. In the course of this history I will set down at
intervals some of the letters I received at divers times from this
noble lady; so that those who read these innocent pictures of herself,
portrayed by her own hand, may trace the beginnings of those virtuous
inclinations which at an early age were already working in her soul,
and ever after appeared in her.
On the 15th day of January of the next year to that in which my eyes
had feasted on this creature so embellished with rare endowments and
accomplished gracefulness, the first letter I had from her came
to my hand; the first link of a chain which knit together her heart
and mine through long seasons of absence and sore troubles, to the
great comforting, as she was often pleased to say, of herself, who was
so far above me in rank, whom she chose to call her friend, and of the
poor friend and servant whom she thus honored beyond her deserts. In
as pretty a handwriting as can well be thought of, she thus wrote:
"MY SWEET MISTRESS CONSTANCE,
--Though I enjoyed your company but for the too brief time
during which we rested under your honored parents' roof, I
retain so great a sense of the contentment I received
therefrom, and so lively a remembrance of the converse we
held in the grounds adjacent to Sherwood Hall, that I am
better pleased than I can well express that my grandmother
bids me sit down and write to one whom to see and to
converse with once more would be to me one of the chiefest
pleasures in life. And the more welcome is this command by
reason of the hope it raises in me to receive in return a
letter from my well-beloved Mistress Constance, which will
do my heart more good than anything else that can happen
to me. 'Tis said that marriages are made in heaven. When I
asked my grandam if it were so, she said, 'I am of
opinion, Nan, they are made in many more places than one;
and I would to God none were made but such as are agreed
upon in so good a place.' But methinks some friendships
are likewise made in heaven; and if it be so, I doubt not
but that when we met, and out of that brief meeting there
arose so great and sudden a liking in my heart for you,
Mistress Constance,--which, I thank God, you were not slow
to reciprocate,--that our angels had met where we hope one
day to be, and agreed together touching that matter.
"It suits ill a bad pen like mine to describe the fair seat we
reside in at this present time--the house of Mr. James Labourn,
which he has lent unto my grandmother. 'Tis most commodious and
pleasant, and after long sojourn in London, even in winter, a
terrestrial paradise. But, like the garden of Eden, not without
dangers; for the too much delight I took in out-of-doors pastimes--
and most of all on the lake when it was frozen, and we had merry
sports upon it, to the neglect of my lessons, not heeding the lapse
of time in the pursuit of pleasure--brought me into trouble and sore
disgrace. My grandmother ordered me into confinement for three days
in my own chamber, and I saw her not nor received her blessing all
that time; at the end of which she sharply reproved me for my fault,
and bade me hold in mind that 'twas when loitering in a garden Eve
met the tempter, and threatened further and severe punishment if I
applied not diligently to my studies. When I had knelt down and
begged pardon, promising amendment, she drew me to her and kissed
me, which it was not her wont often to do. 'Nan,' she said, 'I would
have thee use thy natural parts, and improve thyself in virtue and
learning; for such is the extremity of the times, that ere long it
may be that many first shall be last and many last shall be first in
this realm of England. But virtue and learning are properties which
no man can steal from another; and I would fain see thee endowed
with a goodly store of both. That great man and true confessor, Sir
Thomas More, had nothing so much at heart as his daughter's
instruction; and Mistress Margaret Roper, once my sweet friend,
though some years older than my poor self, who still laments her
loss, had such fine things said of her by the greatest men of this
age, as would astonish thee to hear; but they were what she had a
right to and very well deserved. And the strengthening of her mind
through study and religious discipline served her well at the
time of her great trouble; for where other women would have lacked
sense and courage how to act, she kept her wits about her, and
ministered such comfort to her father, remaining near him at the
last, and taking note of his wishes, and finding means to bury him
in a Christian manner, which none other durst attempt, that she had
occasion to thank God who gave her a head as well as a heart. And
who knows, Nan, what may befal thee, and what need thou mayst have
of the like advantages?'
"My grandmother looked so kindly on me then, that, albeit abashed at
the remembrance of my fault, I sought to move her to further
discourse; and knowing what great pleasure she had in speaking of
Sir Thomas More, at whose house in Chelsea she had oftentimes been a
visitor in her youth, I enticed her to it by cunning questions
touching the customs he observed in his family.
"'Ah, Nan!' she said, that house was a school and exercise
of the Christian religion. There was neither man nor woman
in it who was not employed in liberal discipline and
fruitful reading, although the principal study was
religion. There was no quarrelling, not so much as a
peevish word to be heard; nor was any one seen idle; all
were in their several employs: nor was there wanting sober
mirth. And so well-managed a government Sir Thomas did not
maintain by severity and chiding, but by gentleness and
kindness.'
"Methought as she said this, that my dear grandam in that matter of
chiding had not taken a leaf out of Sir Thomas's book; and there was
no doubt a transparency in my face which revealed to her this
thought of mine; for she straightly looked at me and said, 'Nan, a
penny for thy thoughts!' at the which I felt myself blushing, but
knew nothing would serve her but the truth; so I said, in as humble
a manner as I could think of, 'An if you will excuse me, grandam, I
thought if Sir Thomas managed so well without chiding, that you
manage well with it.' At the which she gave me a light nip on the
forehead, and said, 'Go to, child; dost think that any but saints
can rule a household without chiding, or train children without
whipping? Go thy ways, and mend them too, if thou wouldst escape
chastisement; and take with thee, Nan, the words of one whom we
shall never again see the like of in this poor country, which he
used to his wife or any of his children if they were diseased or
troubled, "We must not look at our pleasures to go to heaven in
feather-beds, or to be carried up thither even by the chins."' And
so she dismissed me; and I have here set down my fault, and the
singular goodness showed me by my grandmother when it was pardoned,
not thinking I can write anything better worth notice than the
virtuous talk with which she then favored me.
"There is in this house a chapel very neat and rich, and an ancient
Catholic priest is here, who says mass most days; at the which we,
with my grandmother, assist, and such of her servants as have not
conformed to the times; and this good father instructs us in the
principles of Catholic religion. On the eve of the feast of the
Nativity of Christ, my lady stayed in the chapel from eight at night
till two in the morning; but sent us to bed at nine, after the
litanies were said, until eleven, when there was a sermon, and at
twelve o'clock three masses said, which being ended we broke our
fast with a mince-pie, and went again to bed. And all the
Christmas-time we were allowed two hours after each meal for
recreation, instead of one. At other times, we play not at any game
for money; but then we had a shilling a-piece to make us merry;
which my grandmother says is fitting in this time of mirth and joy
for his birth who is the sole origin and spring of true comfort. And
now, sweet Mistress Constance, I must bid you farewell; for the
greatest of joys has befallen me, and a whole holiday to enjoy
it. My sweet Lord Dacre is come to pay his duty to my lady and tarry
some days here, on his way to Thetford, the Duke of Norfolk's seat,
where his grace and the duchess my good mother have removed. He is a
beauty, Mistress Constance; and nature has so profusely conferred on
him privileges, that when her majesty the queen saw him a short time
back on horseback, in the park at Richmond, she called him to her
carriage-door and honored him with a kiss, and the motto of the
finest boy she ever beheld. But I may not run on in this fashion,
letting my pen outstrip modesty, like a foolish creature, making my
brother a looking-glass and continual object for my eyes; but learn
to love him, as my grandam says, in God, of whom he is only
borrowed, and not so as to set my heart wholly on him. So beseeching
God bless you and yours, good Mistress Constance, I ever remain,
your loving friend and humble servant,
"ANN DACRE."
Oh, how soon were my Lady Mounteagle's words exalted in the event! and
what a sad brief note was penned by that affectionate sister not one
month after she writ those lines, so full of hope and pleasure in the
prospect of her brother's sweet company! For the fair boy that was the
continual object of her eyes and the dear comfort of her heart was
accidentally slain by the fall of a vaulting horse upon him at the
duke's house at Thetford.
"MY GOOD MISTRESS CONSTANCE"
(she wrote, a few days after his lamentable death),--"The lovingest
brother a sister ever had, and the most gracious creature ever born,
is dead; and if it pleased God I wish I were dead too, for my heart
is well-nigh broken. But I hope in God his soul is now in heaven,
for that he was so young and innocent; and when here, a short time
ago, my grandmother procured that he should for the first, and as it
has pleased God also for the only and the last, time, confess and be
absolved by a Catholic priest, in the which the hand of Providence
is visible to our great comfort, and reasonable hope of his
salvation. Commending him and your poor friend, who has great need
of them, to your good prayers, I remain your affectionate and humble
servant,
"ANN DACRE."
In that year died also, in childbirth, her grace the Duchess of
Norfolk, Mistress Ann's mother; and she then wrote in a less
passionate, but withal less comfortable, grief than at her brother's
loss, and, as I have heard since, my Lady Mounteagle had her
death-blow at that time, and never lifted up her head again as
heretofore. It was noticed that ever after she spent more time in
prayer and gave greater alms. Her daughter, the duchess, who at the
instance of her husband had conformed to the times, desired to have
been reconciled on her deathbed by a priest, who for that end was
conducted into the garden, yet could not have access unto her by
reason of the duke's vigilance to hinder it, or at least of his
continual presence in her chamber at the time. And soon after, his
grace, whose wards they were, sent for his three step-daughters to the
Charterhouse; the parting with which, and the fears she entertained
that he would have them carried to services and sermons in the public
churches, and hinder them in the exercise of Catholic faith and
worship, drove the sword yet deeper through my Lady Mounteagle's
heart, and brought down her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave,
notwithstanding that the duke greatly esteemed and respected her, and
was a very moral nobleman, of exceeding good temper and moderate
disposition. But of this more anon, as 'tis my own history I am
writing, and it is meet I should relate in the order of time what
events came under my notice whilst in Lichfield, whither my
mother carried me, as has been aforesaid, to be treated by a famous
physician for a severe hurt I had received. It was deemed convenient
that I should tarry some time under his care; and Mr. Genings, a
kinsman of her own, who with his wife and children resided in that
town, one of the chiefest in the county, offered to keep me in their
house as long as was convenient thereunto a kindness which my parents
the more readily accepted at his hands from their having often shown
the like unto his children when the air of the country was desired for
them.
Mr. and Mrs. Genings were of the religion by law established. He was
thought to be Catholic at heart; albeit he was often heard to speak
very bitterly against all who obeyed not the queen in conforming to
the new mode of worship, with the exception, indeed, of my mother, for
whom he had always a truly great affection. This gentleman's house was
in the close of the cathedral, and had a garden to it well stored with
fair shrubs and flowers of various sorts. As I lay on a low settle
near the window, being forbid to walk for the space of three weeks, my
eyes were ever straying from my sampler to the shade and sunshine out
of doors. Instead of plying at my needle, I watched the bees at their
sweet labor midst the honeysuckles of the porch, or the swallows
darting in and out of the eaves of the cathedral, or the butterflies
at their idle sports over the beds of mignonette and heliotrope under
the low wall, covered with ivy, betwixt the garden and the close. Mr.
Genings had two sons, the eldest of which was some years older and the
other younger than myself. The first, whose name was Edmund, had been
weakly when a child, and by reason of this a frequent sojourner at
Sherwood Hall, where he was carried for change of air after the many
illnesses incident to early age. My mother, who was some years married
before she had a child of her own, conceived a truly maternal
affection for this young kinsman, and took much pains with him both as
to the care of his body and the training of his mind. He was an apt
pupil, and she had so happy a manner of imparting knowledge, that he
learnt more, as he has since said, in those brief sojourns in her
house than at school from more austere masters. After I came into the
world, he took delight to rock me in my cradle, or play with me as I
sat on my mother's knee; and when I first began to walk, he would lead
me by the hand into the garden, and laugh to see me clutch marigolds
or cry for a sunflower.
"I warrant thou hast an eye to gold, Con," he would say; "for 'tis the
yellow flowers that please thee best."
There is an old hollow tree on the lawn at Sherwood Hall where I often
hid from him in sport, and he would make pretence to seek me
elsewhere, till a laugh revealed me to him, and a chase ensued down
the approach or round the maze. He never tired of my petulance, or
spoke rude words, as boys are wont to do; and had a more serious and
contemplative spirit than is often seen in young people, and likewise
a singular fancy for gazing at the sky when glowing with sunset hues
or darkened by storms, and most of all when studded at night with
stars. On a calm clear night I have noticed him for a length of time,
forgetting all things else, fix his eyes on the heavens, as if reading
the glory of the Lord therein revealed.
My parents did not speak to him of Catholic faith and worship, because
Mr. Genings, before he suffered his sons to stay in their house, had
made them promise that no talk of religion should be ministered to
them in their childhood. It was a sore trial to my mother to refrain,
as the Psalmist saith, from good words, which were ever rising from
her heart to her lips, as pure water from a deep spring. But she
instructed him in many things which belong to gentle learning, and in
French, which she knew well; and taught him music, in which he
made great progress. And this wrought with his father to the
furtherance of these his visits to us. I doubt not but that, when she
told him the names of the heavenly luminaries, she inwardly prayed he
might one day shine as a star in the kingdom of God; or when she
discoursed of flowers and their properties, that he should blossom as
a rose in the wilderness of this faithless world; or whilst guiding
his hands to play on the clavichord, that he might one day join in the
glorious harmony of the celestial choirs. Her face itself was a
preachment, and the tones of her voice, and the tremulous sighs she
breathed when she kissed him or gave him her blessing, had, I ween, a
privilege to reach his heart, the goodness of which was readable in
his countenance. Dear Edmund Genings, thou wert indeed a brother to me
in kind care and companionship whilst I stayed in Lichfield that
never-to-be-forgotten year! How gently didst thou minister to the sick
child, for the first time tasting the cup of suffering; now easing her
head with a soft pillow, now strewing her couch with fresh-gathered
flowers, or feeding her with fruit which had the bloom on it, or
taking her hand and holding it in thine own to cheer her to endurance!
Thou wert so patient and so loving, both with her who was a great
trouble to thee and oftentimes fretful with pain, and likewise with
thine own little brother, an angel in beauty and wit, but withal of so
petulant and froward a disposition that none in the house durst
contradict him, child as he was; for his parents were indeed weak in
their fondness for him. In no place and at no time have I seen a boy
so indulged and so caressed as this John Genings. He had a pretty
wilfulness and such playful ways that his very faults found favor with
those who should have corrected them, and he got praise where others
would have met with chastisement. Edmund's love for this fair urchin
was such as is seldom seen in any save in a parent for a child. It was
laughable to see the lovely imp governing one who should have been his
master, but through much love was his slave, and in a thousand cunning
ways, and by fanciful tricks, constraining him to do his bidding.
Never was a more wayward spirit enclosed in a more winsome form than
in John Genings. Never did childish gracefulness rule more absolutely
over superior age, or love reverse the conditions of ordinary
supremacy, than in the persons of these two brothers.
A strange thing occurred at that time, which I witnessed not myself,
and on which I can give no opinion, but as a fact will here set it
down, and let such as read this story deem of it as they please. One
night that, by reason of the unwonted chilliness of the evening, such
as sometimes occurs in our climate even in summer, a fire had been lit
in the parlor, and the family were gathered round it, Edmund came of a
sudden into the room, and every one took notice that his face was very
pale. He seemed in a great fear, and whispered to his mother, who said
aloud--"Thou must have been asleep, and art still dreaming, child."
Upon which he was very urgent for her to go into the garden, and used
many entreaties thereunto. Upon which, at last, she rose and followed
him. In another moment she called for her husband, who went out, and
with him three or four other persons that were in the room, and I
remained alone for the space of ten or fifteen minutes. When they
returned, I heard them speaking with great fear and amazement of what
they had seen; and Edmund Genings has often since described to me what
he first, and afterward all the others, had beheld in the sky. He was
gazing at the heavens, as was his wont, when a strange spectacle
appeared to him in the air. As it were, a number of armed men with
weapons, killing and murdering others that were disarmed, and great
store of blood running everywhere about them. His parents and those
with them witnessed the same thing, and a great fear fell upon
them all. I noticed that all that evening they seemed scared, and
could not speak of this appearance in the sky without shuddering. But
one that was more bold than the rest took heart, and cried, "God send
it does not forbode that the Papists will murder us all in our beds!"
And Mistress Genings, whose mother was a French Huguenot, said,
"Amen!" I marked that her husband and one or two more of the company
groaned, and one made, as if unwittingly, the sign of the cross. There
were some I know in that town, nay and in that house, that were at
heart of the old religion, albeit, by reason of the times, they did
not give over attending Protestants' worship.
A few days later I was sitting alone, and had a long fit of musing
over the many new thoughts that were crowding into my mind, as yet too
childish to master them, when Edmund came in, and I saw he had been
weeping. He said nothing at first, and made believe he was reading;
but I could see tears trickling down through his fingers as he covered
his face with his hands. Presently he looked up and cried out,
"Cousin Constance, Jack is going away from us."
"And if it please God, not for a long time," I answered; for it
grieved me to see him sad.
"Nay, but he is going for many years, I fear," Edmund said. "My uncle,
Jean de Luc, has asked for him to be brought up in his house at La
Rochelle. He is his godfather, and has a great store of money, which
he says he will leave to Jack. Alack! cousin Constance, I would that
there was no such thing in the world as money, and no such country as
France. I wish we were all dead." And then he fell to weeping again
very bitterly.
I told him in a childish manner what my mother was wont to say to me
when any little trouble fell to my lot--that we should be patient, and
offer up our sufferings to God.
"But I can do nothing now for Jack," he cried. "It was my first
thought at waking and my last at night, how to please the dear urchin;
but now 'tis all over."
"Oh, but Edmund," I cried, "an if you were to be as good as the
blessed saints in heaven, you could do a great deal for Jack."
"How so, cousin Constance?" he asked, not comprehending my meaning;
and thereupon I answered:
"When once I said to my sweet mother, 'It grieves me, dear heart, that
I can give thee nothing, who gives me so much,' she bade me take heed
that every prayer we say, every good work we do, howsoever imperfect,
and every pain we suffer, may be offered up for those we love; and so
out of poverty, and weakness, and sorrow, we have wherewith to make
precious and costly and cheerful gifts."
I spoke as a child, repeating what I had heard; but he listened not as
a child. A sudden light came into his eyes, and methinks his good
angel showed him in that hour more than my poor lips could utter.
"If it be as your sweet mother says," he joyfully cried, "we are rich
indeed; and, even though we be sinners and not saints, we have
somewhat to give, I ween, if it be only our heartaches, cousin
Constance, so they be seasoned with prayers."
The thought which in my simplicity I had set before him took root, as
it were, in his mind. His love for a little child had prepared the way
for it; and the great brotherly affection which had so long dwelt in
his heart proved a harbinger of the more perfect gift of charity; so
that a heavenly message was perchance conveyed to him that day by one
who likewise was a child, even as the word of the Lord came to the
prophet through the lips of the infant Samuel. From that time forward
he bore up bravely against his grief; which was the sharper inasmuch
that he who was the cause of it showed none in return, but rather joy
in the expectancy of the change which was to part them. He would
still be a-prattling on it, and telling all who came in his way that
he was going to France to a good uncle; nor ever intended to return,
for his mother was to carry him to La Rochelle, and she should stay
there with him, he said, and not come back to ugly Lichfield.
"And art thou not sorry, Jack," I asked him one day, "to leave poor
Edmund, who loves thee so well?"
The little madcap was coursing round the room, and cried, as he ran
past me, for he had more wit and spirit than sense or manners:
"Edmund must seek after me, and take pains to find me, if so be he
would have me."
These words, which the boy said in his play, have often come back to
my mind since the two brothers have attained unto a happy though
dissimilar end.
When the time had arrived for Mistress Genings and her youngest son to
go beyond seas, as I was now improved in health and able to walk, my
father fetched me home, and prevailed on Mr. Genings to let Edmund go
back with us, with the intent to divert his mind from his grief at his
brother's departure.
I found my parents greatly disturbed at the news they had had touching
the imprisonment of thirteen priests on account of religion, and of
Mr. Orton being likewise arrested, who was a gentleman very dear to
them for his great virtues and the steadfast friendship he had ever
shown to them.
My mother questioned Edmund as to the sign he had seen in the heavens
a short time back, of which the report had reached them; and he
confirming the truth thereof, she clasped her hands and cried:
"Then I fear me much this forebodes the death of these blessed
confessors, Father Weston and the rest."
Upon which Edmund said, in a humble manner:
"Good Mistress Sherwood, my dear mother thought it signified that
those of your religion would murder in their beds such as are of the
queen's religion; so maybe in both cases there is naught to
apprehend."
"My good child," my mother answered, "in regard of those now in
durance for their faith, the danger is so manifest, that if it please
not the Almighty to work a miracle for their deliverance, I see not
how they may escape."
After that we sat awhile in silence; my father reading, my mother and
I working, and Edmund at the window intent as usual upon the stars,
which were shining one by one in the deep azure of the darkening sky.
As one of greater brightness than the rest shone through the branches
of the old tree, where I used to hide some years before, he pointed to
it, and said to me, who was sitting nearest to him at the window:
"Cousin Constance, think you the Star of Bethlehem showed fairer in
the skies than yon bright star that has just risen behind your
favorite oak? What and if that star had a message for us!"
My father heard him, and smiled. "I was even then," he said, "reading
the words of one who was led to the true religion by the contemplation
of the starry skies. In a Southern clime, where those fair luminaries
shine with more splendor than in our Northern heavens, St. Augustine
wrote thus;" and then he read a few sentences in Latin from the book
in his hand,--"Raising ourselves up, we passed by degrees through all
things bodily, even the very heavens, whence sun and moon and stars
shine upon the earth. Yea, we soared yet higher by inward musing and
discourse and admiring of God's works, and we came to our own minds
and went beyond them, so as to arrive at that region of never-failing
plenty where thou feedest Israel for ever with the food of truth."
These words had a sweet and solemn force in them which struck on the
ear like a strain of unearthly music, such as the wind-harp wakes in
the silence of the night. In a low voice, so low that it was like
the breathing of a sigh, I heard Edmund say, "What is truth?" But when
he had uttered those words, straightway turning toward me as if to
divert his thoughts from that too pithy question, he cried: "Prithee,
cousin Constance, hast thou ended reading, I warrant for the hundredth
time, that letter in thine hand? and hast thou not a mind to impart to
thy poor kinsman the sweet conceits I doubt not are therein
contained?" I could not choose but smile at his speech; for I had
indeed feasted my eyes on the handwriting of my dear friend, now no
longer Mistress Dacre, and learnt off, as it were by heart, its
contents. And albeit I refused at first to comply with his request,
which I had secretly a mind to; no sooner did he give over the urging
of it than I stole to his side, and, though I would by no means let it
out of my hand, and folded down one side of the sheet to hide what was
private in it, I offered to read such parts aloud as treated of
matters which might be spoken of without hindrance.
With a smiling countenance, then, he set himself to listen, and I to
be the mouthpiece of the dear writer, whose wit was so far in advance
of her years, as I have since had reason to observe, never having met
at any time with one in whom wisdom put forth such early shoots.
"DEAR MISTRESS CONSTANCE"
(thus the sweet lady wrote),--"Wherefore this long silence and
neglect of your poor friend? An if it be true, which pains me much
to hear, that the good limb which, together with its fellow, like
two trusty footmen, carried you so well and nimbly along the alleys
of your garden this time last year, has, like an arrant knave,
played fast and loose, and failed in its good service,--wherein, I am
told, you have suffered much inconvenience,--is it just that that
other servant, your hand, should prove rebellious too, refuse to
perform its office, and write no more letters at your bidding? For
I'll warrant 'tis the hand is the culprit, not the will; which
nevertheless should be master, and compel it to obedience. So, an
you love me, chide roundly that contumacious hand, which fails in
its duty, which should not be troublesome, if you but had for me
one-half of the affection I have for you. And indeed, Mistress
Constance, a letter from you would be to me, at this time, the
welcomest thing I can think of; for since we left my grandmother's
seat, and came to the Charterhouse, I have new friends, and many
more and greater than I deserve or ever thought to have; but, by
reason of difference of age or of religion, they are not such as I
can well open my mind to, as I might to you, if it pleased God we
should meet again. The Duke of Norfolk is a very good lord and
father to me; but when there are more ways of thinking than one in a
house, 'tis no easy matter to please all which have a right to be
considered; and, in the matter of religion, 'tis very hard to avoid
giving offence. But no more of this at present; only I would to God
Mr. Fox were beyond seas, and my lady of Westmoreland at her home in
the North; and that we had no worse company in this house than Mr.
Martin, my Lord Surrey's tutor, who is a gentleman of great learning
and knowledge, as every one says, and of extraordinary modesty in
his behavior. My Lord Surrey has a truly great regard for him, and
profits much in his learning by his means. I notice he is Catholic
in his judgment and affections; and my lord says he will not stay
with him, if his grace his father procures ministers to preach to
his household and family, and obliges all therein to frequent
Protestant service. I wish my grandmother was in London; for I am
sometimes sore troubled in my mind touching Catholic religion and
conforming to the times, of which an abundance of talk is ministered
unto us, to my exceeding great discomfort, by my Lady Westmoreland,
his grace's sister, and others also. An if I say aught thereon
to Mistress Fawcett (a grave and ancient gentlewoman, who had the
care of my Lord Surrey during his infancy, and is now set over us
his grace's wards), and of misliking the duke's ministers and that
pestilent Mr. Fox--(I fear me, Mistress Constance, I should not have
writ that unbeseeming word, and I will e'en draw a line across it,
but still as you may read it for indeed 'tis what he is; but 'tis
from himself I learnt it, who in his sermons calls Catholic religion
a pestilent idolatry, and Catholic priests pestilent teachers and
servants of Antichrist, and the holy Pope at Rome the man of sin)
she grows uneasy, and bids me be a good child to her, and not to
bring her into trouble with his grace, who is indeed a very good
lord to us in all matters but that one of compelling us to hear
sermons and the like. My Lord Surrey mislikes all kinds of sermons,
and loves Mr. Martin so well, that he stops his ears when Mr. Fox
preaches on the dark midnight of papacy and the dawn of the gospel's
restored light. And it angers him, as well it should, to hear him
call his majesty King Philip of Spain, who is his own godfather,
from whom he received his name, a wicked popish tyrant and a son of
Antichrist. My Lady Margaret, his sister, who is a year younger than
himself, and has a most admirable beauty and excellent good nature,
is vastly taken with what she hears from me of Catholic religion;
but methinks this is partly by reason of her misliking Mr. Fulk and
Mr. Clarke's long preachments, which we are compelled to hearken to;
and their fashion of spending Sunday, which they do call the
Sabbath-day, wherein we must needs keep silence, and when not in
church sit still at home, which to one of her lively disposition is
heavy penance. Methinks when Sunday comes we be all in disgrace;
'tis so like a day of correction. My Lord Surrey has more liberty;
for Mr. Martin carries him and his brothers after service into the
pleasant fields about Westminster Abbey and the village of Charing
Cross, and suffers them to play at ball under the trees, so they do
not quarrel amongst themselves. My Lord Henry Howard, his grace's
brother, always maintains and defends the Catholic religion against
his sister of Westmoreland; and he spoke to my uncles Leonard,
Edward, and Francis, and likewise to my aunt Lady Montague, that
they should write unto my grandmother touching his grace bringing us
up as Protestants. But the Duke of Norfolk, Mrs. Fawcett says, is
our guardian, and she apprehends he is resolved that we shall
conform to the times, and that no liberty be allowed us for the
exercise of Catholic religion."
At this part of the letter I stopped reading; and Edmund, turning to
my father, who, though he before had perused it, was also listening,
said: "And if this be liberty of conscience, which Protestants speak
of, I see no great liberty and no great conscience in the matter."
His cheek flushed as he spoke, and there was a hoarseness in his voice
which betokened the working of strong feelings within him. My father
smiled with a sort of pitiful sadness, and answered:
"My good boy, when thou art somewhat further advanced in years, thou
wilt learn that the two words thou art speaking of are such as men
have abused the meaning of more than any others that can be thought
of; and I pray to God they do not continue to do so as long as the
world lasts. It seems to me that they mostly mean by 'liberty' a
freedom to compel others to think and to act as they have themselves a
mind to; and by 'conscience' the promptings of their own judgments
moved by their own passions."
"But 'tis hard," Edmund said, "'tis at times very hard, Mr. Sherwood,
to know whereunto conscience points, in the midst of so many inward
clamors as are raised in the soul by conflicting passions of dutiful
affection and filial reverence struggling for the mastery. Ay,
and no visible token of God's will to make that darkness light. Tis
that," he cried, more moved as he went on, "that makes me so often
gaze upward. Would to God I might see a sign in the skies! for there
are no sign-posts on life's path to guide us on our way to the
heavenly Jerusalem, which our ministers speak of."
"If thou diligently seekest for sign-posts, my good boy," my father
answered, "fear not but that he who said, 'Seek, and you shall find,'
will furnish thee with them. He has not left himself without
witnesses, or his religion to be groped after in hopeless darkness, so
that men may not discern, even in these troublous times, where the
truth lies, so they be in earnest in their search after it. But I will
not urge thee by the cogency of arguments, or be drawn out of the
reserve I have hitherto observed in these matters, which be
nevertheless the mightiest that can be thought of as regards the
soul's health."
And so, breaking off this discourse, he walked out upon the terrace;
and I withdrew to the table, where my mother was sitting, and once
more conned over the last pages of _my lady's_ letter, which, when the
reader hath read, he will perceive the writer's rank and her right to
be thus titled.
"And now, Mistress Constance, I must needs inform you of a
matter I would not leave you ignorant of, so that you
should learn from strangers what so nearly concerns one
whom you have a friendship to--and that is my betrothal
with my Lord Surrey. The ceremony was public, inasmuch as
was needful for the solemnising of a contract which is
binding for life--'until death us do part,' as the
marriage service hath it. How great a change this has
wrought in my thoughts, none knows but myself; for though
I be but twelve years of age (for his grace would have the
ceremony to take place on my birthday), one year older
than yourself, and so lately a child that not a very long
time ago my grandmother would chastise me with her own
hands for my faults, I now am wedded to my young lord, and
by his grace and all the household titled Countess of
Surrey! And I thank God to be no worse mated; for my lord,
who is a few months younger than me, and a very child for
frolicksome spirits and wild mirth, has, notwithstanding,
so great a pleasantness of manners and so forward a wit,
that one must needs have pleasure in his company; and I
only wish I had more of it. Whilst we were only friends
and playmates, I used to chide and withstand him, as one
older and one more staid and discreet than himself; but,
ah me! since we have been wedded, 'tis grand to hear him
discourse on the duty of wives, and quote the Bible to
show they must obey their husbands. He carries it in a
very lordly fashion; and if I comply not at once with his
commands, he cries out what he has heard at the
play-house:
'Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she's froward, peevish sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy, or sway,
Where they are bound to serve, love, and obey.'
He has a most excellent memory. If he has but once heard out of any
English or Latin book so much read as is contained in a leaf, he
will forthwith perfectly repeat it. My Lord Henry, his uncle, for a
trial, invented twenty long and difficult words a few days back,
which he had never seen or heard before; yet did he recite them
readily, every one in the same order as they were written, having
only once read them over. But, touching that matter of obedience,
which I care not to gainsay, 'tis not easy at present to obey my
lord my husband, and his grace his father, and Mistress Fawcett,
too, who holds as strict a hand over the Countess of Surrey as over
Mistress Ann Dacre; for the commands of these my rulers do not at
all times accord: but I pray to God I may do my duty, and be a good
wife to my lord; and I wish, as I said before, my grandmother
had been here, and that I had been favored with her good counsel,
and had had the benefit of shrift and spiritual advice ere I entered
on this stage of my life, which is so new to me, who was but a child
a few weeks ago, and am yet treated as such in more respects than
one.
"My lord has told me a secret which Higford, his father's servant,
let out to him; and 'tis something so weighty and of so great
import, that since he left me my thoughts have been truants from my
books, and Monsieur Sebastian, who comes to practice us on the lute,
stopped his ears, and cried out that the Signora Contessa had no
mercy on him, so to murther his compositions. Tis not the part of a
true wife to reveal her husband's secrets, or else I would tell you,
Mistress Constance, this great news, which I can with trouble keep
to myself; and I shall not be easy till I have seen my lord again,
which should be when we walk in the garden this evening; but I pray
to God he may not be off instead to the Mall, to play at kittlepins;
for then I have small chance to get speech with him to-day. Mr.
Martin is my very good friend, and reminds the earl of his duty to
his lady; but if my lord comes at his bidding, when he would be
elsewhere than in my company, 'tis little contentment I have in his
visits.
"'Tis yesterday I writ thus much, and now 'tis the day to send this
letter; and I saw not my lord last night by reason of his
grandfather my Lord Arundel sending to fetch me unto his house in
the Strand. His goodness to me is so great, that nothing more can be
desired; and his daughter my Lady Lumley is the greatest comfort I
have in the world. She showed me a fair picture of my lord's mother,
who died the day he was born, not then full seventeen years of age.
She was of so amiable a disposition, so prudent, virtuous, and
religious, that all who knew her could not but love and esteem her.
And I read a letter which this sweet lady had written in Latin to
her father on his birthday, to his great contentment, who had
procured her to be well instructed in that language, as well as in
her own and in all commendable learning. Then I played at primero
with my Lord Arundel and my Lady Lumley and my uncle Francis. The
knave of hearts was fixed upon for the quinola, and I won the flush.
My uncle Francis cried the winning card should be titled Dudley.
'Not so,' quoth the earl; 'the knave that would match with the queen
in the suit of hearts should never win the game.' And further talk
ensued; from which I learnt that my Lord Arundel and the Duke of
Norfolk mislike my Lord Leicester, and would not he should marry the
queen; and my uncle laughed, and said, 'My lord, no good Englishman
is there but must be of your lordship's mind, though none have so
good reason as yourself to hinder so base a contract; for if my Lord
of Leicester should climb unto her majesty's throne, beshrew me if
he will not remember the box on the ear your lordship ministered to
him some time since;' at which the earl laughed, too; but my Lady
Lumley cried, 'I would to God my brother of Norfolk were rid of my
Lord Leicester's friendship, which has, I much fear me, more danger
in it than his enmity. God send he does not lead his grace into
troubles greater than can well be thought of!' Alack, Mistress
Constance, what uneasy times are these which we have fallen on! for
methinks 'troubles' is the word in every one's mouth. As I was about
to step into the chair at the hall-door at Arundel House, I heard
one of my lord's guard say to another, 'I trust the white horse will
be in quiet, and so we shall be out of trouble.' I have asked Mr.
Martin what these words should mean; whereupon he told me the white
horse, which indeed I might have known, was the Earl of Arundel's
cognisance; and that the times were very troublesome, and plots were
spoken of in the North anent the Queen of Scots, her majesty the
queen's cousin, who is at Chatesworth; and when he said that,
all of a sudden I grew red, and my cheeks burned like two hot coals;
but he took no heed, and said, 'A true servant might well wish his
master out of trouble, when troubles were so rife.' And now shame
take me for taking up so much of your time, which should be spent in
more profitable ways than the reading of my poor letters; and I must
needs beg you to write soon, and hold me as long as I have held you,
and love me, sweet one, as I love you. My Lady Margaret, who is in a
sense twice my sister, says she is jealous of Mistress Constance
Sherwood, and would steal away my heart from her; but, though she is
a winsome and cunning thief in such matters, I warrant you she shall
fail therein. And so, commending myself to your good prayers, I
remain
"Your true friend and loving servant,
"ANN SURREY."
As I finished and was folding up my letter the clock struck nine. It
was waning darker without by reason of a cloud which had obscured the
moon. I heard my father still pacing up and down the gravel-walk, and
ever and anon staying his footsteps awhile, as if watching. After a
short space the moon shone out again, and I saw the shadows of two
persons against the wall of the kitchen garden. Presently the
hall-door was fastened and bolted, as I knew by the rattling of the
chain which hung across it. Then my father looked in at the door and
said, "'Tis time, goodwife, for young folks to be abed." Upon which my
mother rose and made as if she was about to withdraw to her
bed-chamber. Edmund followed us up stairs, and, wishing us both
good-night, went into the closet where he slept. Then my mother,
taking me by the hand, led me into my father's study.