The year which followed Basil's arrest, and during which he was in the
prison at Norwich, I wholly spent in London; not with any success
touching the procuring of his release, as I had expected, but with a
constant hope thereof which had its fulfilment later, albeit not by
any of the means I had looked to. I shared the while with Muriel the
care of her now aged and very infirm parents, taking her place at home
when she went abroad on her charitable errands, or employed by her in
the like good works when my ability would serve. A time cometh in most
persons' lives, when maturity doth supplant youthfulness. I say most
persons, because I have noticed that there are some who never do seem
to attain unto any maturity of mind, and do live and die with the same
childish spirit they had in youth. To others this change, albeit real,
is scarcely perceptible, so gradual are its effects; but some again,
either from a natural thoughtfulness, or by the influence of
circumstances tending to sober in them the exuberance of spirits which
appertaineth to early age, do wax mature in disposition before they
grow old in years; and this befel me at that time. The eager temper,
the intent desire and pursuit of enjoyment (of a good and innocent
sort, I thank God) which had belonged to me till then, did so much and
visibly abate, that it caused me some astonishment to see myself so
changed. Joyful hours I have since known, happy days wherein mine
heart hath been raised in adoring thankfulness to the Giver of all
good; but the color of my mind hath no more resembled that of former
years, than the hues of the evening sky can be likened to the roseate
flush of early morning. The joys have been tasted, the happiness
relished, but not with the same keenness as heretofore. Mine own
troubles, the crowning one of Basil's misfortune, and what I continued
then to witness in others of mine own faith, wrought in me these
effects. The life of a Catholic in England in these days must needs, I
think, produce one of two frames of mind. Either he will harbor angry
passions, which religion reproves, which change a natural indignation
into an unchristian temper of hatred, and lead him into plots and
treasons; or else he becomes detached from the world, very quiet,
given to prayer, ready to take at God's hands, and as from him at
men's also, sufferings of all kinds; and even those as yet removed
from so great perfection learn to be still, and to bethink themselves
rather of the next world than of the present one, more than even good
people did in old tunes.
The only friends I haunted at that time were Mr. and Mrs. Swithin
Wells. In the summer of that year I heard one day, when in their
company, that Father Edmund Campion was soon to arrive in London.
Father Parsons was then lodging at Master George Gilbert's house, and
much talk was ministered touching this other priest's landing, and how
he should be conducted thither in safety. Bryan Lacy, Thomas James,
and many others, took it by turns to watch at the landing-place where
he was expected to disembark. Each evening Mr. Wells's friends came
for to hear news thereof. One day, when no tidings of it had yet
transpired, and the company was leaving, Mr. James comes in, and
having shut the door, and glanced round the room before speaking,
says, with a smile,
"What think you, sirs and ladies?"
"Master Campion is arrived," cries Mistress Wells.
"God be praised!" cries her husband, and all giving signs of joy do
gather round Mr. James for to hear the manner of his landing.
"Well," quoth he, "I had been pacing up and down the quay for
well-nigh five hours, when I discerned a boat, which (God only knoweth
wherefore) I straightway apprehended to be the one should bring Master
Campion. And when it reached the landing-place, beshrew me if I did
not at once see a man dressed in some kind of a merchant suit, which,
from the marks I had of his features from Master Parsons, I made sure
was the reverend father. So when he steps out of the boat I stand
close to him, and in an audible voice, 'Good morrow, Edmund,' says I,
which he hearing, turns round and looks me in the face. We both smile
and shake hands, and I lead him at once to Master Gilbert's house. Oh,
I promise you, it was with no small comfort to myself I brought that
work to a safe ending. But now, sir," he continued, turning to Mr.
Wells, "what think you of this? Nothing will serve Master Campion but
a place must be immediately hired, and a spacious one also, for him to
begin at once to preach, for he saith he is here but for that purpose,
and that he would not the pursuivants should catch him before he hath
opened his lips in England; albeit, if God will grant him for the
space of one year to exercise his ministry in this realm, he is most
content to lay down his life afterward. And methinks he considers
Almighty God doth accept this bargain, and is in haste for to begin."
"Hath Master Gilbert called his friends together for to consider of
it?" asked Mr. Wells.
"Yea," answered Mr. James. "Tomorrow, at ten of the clock, a meeting
will be held, not at his house, for greater security, but at Master
Brown's shop in Southwark, for this purpose, and he prayeth you to
attend it, sir, and you, and you, and you," he continued, turning to
Bryan Lacy, William Gresham, Godfrey Fuljambe, Gervase Pierpoint, and
Philip and Charles Bassett, which were all present.
The next day I heard from Mrs. Wells that my Lord Paget, at the
instigation of his friends which met at Mr. Brown's, had hired, in his
own name, Noel House, in the which one very large chamber should serve
as a chapel, and that on the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, which
fell on the coming Sunday, Father Campion would say mass there, and
for the first time preach. She said the chief Catholics in London had
combined for to send there, in the night, some vestments, some
ornaments for the altar, books, and all that should be needful for
divine worship. And the young noblemen and gentlemen which had been at
her house the night before, and many others also, such as Lord Vaux,
William and Richard Griffith, Arthur Cresswell, Charles Tilvey,
Stephen Berkeley, James Hill, Thomas de Salisbury, Thomas Fitzherbert,
Jerom Bellamy, Thomas Pound, Richard Stanyhurst, Thomas Abington, and
Charles Arundel (this was one of the Queen's pages, but withal a
zealous Catholic), had joined themselves in a company, for to
act, some as sacristans of this secret chapel, some as messengers, to
go round and give notice of the preachments, and some as porters,
which would be a very weighty office, for one unreliable person
admitted into that oratory should be the ruin of all concerned.
Muriel and I, with Mr. Wells, went at an early hour on the Sunday to
Noel House. Master Philip Bassett was at the door. He smiled when he
saw us, and said he supposed he needed not to ask us for the password.
The chamber into which we went was so large, and the altar so richly
adorned, that the like, I ween, had not been seen since the queen had
changed the religion of the country.
Mass was said by Father Campion, and that noble company of devout
gentlemen aforementioned almost all communicated thereat, and many
others beside, an ladies not a few. When mass was ended, and Father
Campion stood up for to begin his sermon, so deep a silence reigned in
that crowded assembly--for the chamber was more full than it could
well hold--that a pin should have been heard to drop. Some thirsting
for to hear Catholic preaching, so rare in these days, some eager to
listen to the words of a man famous for his learning and parts, both
before and after his conversion, beyond any other in this country. For
mine own part, methought his very countenance was a preachment. When
his eyes addressed themselves to heaven, it seemed as if they did
verily see God, so piercing, so awed, so reverent was their gaze. He
took for his text the words, "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will
build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."
My whole soul was fastened on his words; and albeit I have had but
scant occasion to compare one preacher with another, I do not think it
should be possible for a more pathetic and stirring eloquence to flow
from human lips than his who that day gave God's message to a
suffering and persecuted people. I had not taken mine eyes off his
pale and glowing face not for so much as one instant, until, near the
close of his discourse, I chanced to turn them to a place almost
hidden by the curtain of an altar, where some gentlemen were standing,
concealing themselves from sight. Alas! in one instant the fervent
glowing of my heart, the staid, rapt intentness with which I had
listened, the heavenward lifting up of my soul, vanished as if a
vision of death had risen before me. I had seen Hubert Rookwood's
face, that face so like--oh, what anguish was that likeness to me
then!--to my Basil's. No one but me could perceive him, he was so hid
by the curtain; but where I sat it opened a little, and disclosed the
stern, melancholy, beautiful visage of the apostate, the betrayer of
his own brother, the author of our ruin, the destroyer of our
happiness. I thank God that I first beheld him again in that holy
place, by the side of the altar whereon Jesus had lately descended,
whilst the words of his servant were in mine ears, speaking of love
and patience. It was not hatred, God knoweth it, I then felt for
Basil's brother, but only terror for all present, and for him also, if
peradventure he was there with an evil intent. Mine eyes were fixed as
by a spell on his pale face, the while Father Campion's closing words
were uttered, which spoke of St. Peter, of his crime and of his
penance, of his bitter tears and his burning love. "If," he cried,
"there be one here present on whose soul doth lie the guilt of a like
sin; one peradventure yet more guilty than Peter; one like Judas in
his crime; one like Judas in his despair--to him I say, There is mercy
for thee; there is hope for thee, there is heaven for thee, if thou
wilt have it. Doom not thyself, and God will never doom thee." These
or the like words (for memory doth ill serve me to recall the fervent
adjurations of that apostolical man) he used; and, lo, I beheld tears
running down like rain from Hubert's eyes--an unchecked,
vehement torrent which seemed to defy all restraint. How I blessed
those tears! what a yearning pity seized me for him who did shed them!
How I longed to clasp his hand and to weep with him! I lost sight of
him when the sermon was finished; but in the street, when we
departed--which was done slowly and by degrees, for to avoid notice,
four or five only going out at a time--I saw him on the other side of
the pavement. Our eyes met; he stopped in a hesitating manner, and I
also doubted what to do, for I thought Mistress Wells and Muriel would
be averse to speak to him. Then he rapidly crossed over, and said, in
a whisper:
"Will you see me, Constance, if I come to you this evening?"
I pondered; I feared to quench, it might be, a good resolve, or
precipitate an evil one by a refusal; and building hopes of the former
on the tears I had seen him shed, I said:
"Yea, if you come as Basil's brother and mine."
He turned and walked hastily away.
Mistress Wells and Muriel asked me with some affright if it was Hubert
who had spoken to me, for they had scarce seen his face, although from
his figure they had judged it was him; and when I told them he had
been at Noel House, "Then we are undone!" the one exclaimed; and
Muriel said, "We must straightway apprise Mr. Wells thereof; but there
should be hopes, I think, he came there in some good disposition."
"I think so too," I answered, and told them of the emotion which I had
noticed in him at the close of the sermon, which comforted them not a
little. But he came not that evening; and Mr. Wells discovered the
next day that it was Thomas Fitzherbert, who had lately arrived in
London, and was not privy to his late conformity, which had invited
him to come to Noel House. Father Campion continued to preach once a
day at the least, often twice, and sometimes thrice, and very
marvellous effects ensued. Each day greater crowds did seek admittance
for to hear him, and Noel House was as openly frequented as if it had
been a public church. Numbers of well-disposed Protestants came for to
hear him, and it was bruited at the time that Lord Arundel had been
amongst them. He converted many of the best sort, beside young
gentlemen students, and others of all conditions, which by day, and
some by night, sought to confer with him. I went to the preachments as
often as possible. We could scarce credit our eyes and ears, so
singular did it appear that one should dare to preach, and so many to
listen to Catholic doctrine, and to seek to be reconciled in the midst
of so great dangers, and under the pressure of tyrannic laws. Every
day some newcomer was to be seen at Noel House, sometimes their faces
concealed under great hats, sometimes stationed behind curtains or
open doors for to escape observation.
After some weeks had thus passed, when I ceased to expect Hubert
should come, he one day asked to see me, and having sent for Kate, who
was then in the house, I did receive him. Her presence appeared
greatly to displease him, but he began to speak to me in Italian; and
first he complained of Basil's pride, which would not suffer him to
receive any assistance from him who should be so willing to give it.
"Would you--" I said, and was about to add some cutting speech, but I
resolved to restrain myself and by no indiscreet words to harden his
soul against remorse, or perhaps endanger others. Then, after some
other talking, he told me in a cunning manner, making his meaning
clear, but not couching it in direct terms, that if I would conform to
the Protestant religion and marry him, Basil should be, he could
warrant it, set at liberty, and he would make over to him more than
one-half of the income of his estates yearly, which, being done in
secret, the law could not then touch him. I made no answer thereunto,
but fixing mine eyes on him, said, in English:
"Hubert, what should be your opinion of the sermon on St. Peter and
St. Paul's Day?" He changed color. "Was it not," I said, "a moving
one?" Biting his lip, he replied:
"I deny not the preacher's talent."
"O Hubert," I exclaimed, "fence not yourself with evasive answers. I
know you believe as a Catholic."
"The devils believe," he answered.
"Hubert," I then said, with all the energy of my soul, "if you would
not miserably perish--if you would not lose your soul--promise me this
night to retrace your steps; to seek Father Campion and be
reconciled." His lip quivered; methought I could almost see his good
angel on one side of him and a tempting fiend on the other. But the
last prevailed, for with a bitter sneer he said:
"Yea, willingly, fair saint, if you will marry me."
Kate, who till then had not much understood what had passed, cried
out, "Fie, Hubert, fie on thee to tempt her to abandon Basil, and he a
prisoner."
"Madam," he said, turning to her, "recusants should not be so bold in
their language. The laws of the land are transgressed in a very daring
manner now-a-days, and those who obey them taunted for the performance
of their duty to the queen and the country."
Oh, what a hard struggle it proved to be patient; to repress the
vehement reproaches which hovered on my lips. Kate looked at me
affrighted. I trembled from head to foot. Father Campion's life and
the fate of many others, it might be, were in the hands of this man,
this traitor, this spy. To upbraid him I dared not, but wringing my
hands, exclaimed:
"O Hubert, Hubert! for thy mother's sake, who looks down on us from
heaven, listen to me. There be no crimes which may not be forgiven;
but some there be which if one doth commit them he forgiveth not
himself, and is likely to perish miserably."
"Think you I know this not?" he fiercely cried; "think you not that I
suffer even now the torment you speak of, and envy the beggar in the
street his stupid apathy?" He drew a paper from his bosom and unfolded
it. A terrible gleam shot through his eyes. "I could compel you to be
my wife."
"No," I said, looking him in the face, "neither man nor fiends can
give you that power. God alone can do it, and he will not."
"Do you see this paper?" he asked. "Here are the names of all the
recusants who have been reconciled by the Pope's champion. I have but
to speak the word, and to-morrow they are lodged in the Marshalsea or
the Tower, and the priest first and foremost."
"But you will not do it," I said, with a singular calmness. "No,
Hubert; as God Almighty liveth, you will not. You cannot commit this
crime, this foul murther."
"If it should come to that," he fiercely cried, "if blood should be
shed, on your head it will fall. You can save them if you list."
"Would you compel me by a bloody threat to utter a false vow?" I said.
"O Hubert, Hubert! that you, you should threaten to betray a priest,
to denounce Catholics! There was a day--have you forgot it?--when at
the chapel at Euston, your father at your side, you knelt, an innocent
child, at the altar's rail, and a priest came to you and said,
'_Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam ad vitam
aeternam_.' If any one had then told you"--
"Oh, for God's sake speak not of it!" he wildly cried; "that way
madness doth lie."
"No, no," I cried; "not madness, but hope and return."
A change came over his face; he thrust the paper in my hand. "Destroy
it," he cried; "destroy it, Constance!" And then bursting into tears,
"God knoweth I never meant to do it."
"O Hubert, you have been mad, dear brother, more mad than guilty.
Pray, and God will bless you."
"Call me not brother, Constance Would to God I had been _only_ mad!
But it is too late now to think on it."
"Nay, nay," I cried, "it never is too late."
"Pray for me then," he said, and went to the door: but, turning
suddenly, whispered in a scarce audible manner, "Ask Father Campion to
pray for me," and then rushed out.
Kate had now half-fainted, and would have it we were all going to be
killed. I pacified and sent her home, lest she should fright her
parents with her rambling speeches.
Albeit Hubert's last words had seemed to be sincere, I could not but
call to mind how, after he had been apparently cut to the heart and
moved even to tears by Father Campion's preaching, he had soon uttered
threats which, howsoever recalled, left me in doubt if it should be
safe to rely on his silence; so I privately informed Mr. Wells, and he
Master George Gilbert and Father Parsons, of what had passed between
us. At the same time, I have never known whether by Hubert's means, or
in any other way, her majesty's council got wind of the matter, and
gave out that great confederacies were made by the Pope and foreign
princes for the invasion of this country, and that Jesuits and
seminary priests were sent to prepare their ways. Exquisite diligence
was used for the apprehension of all such, but more particularly the
Pope's champion, as Master Campion was called. So in the certainty
that Hubert was privy to the existence of the chapel at Noel House,
and that many Protestants were also acquainted with it, and likewise
with his lodging at Master Elliot's, where not a few resorted to him
in the night, he was constrained by Father Parsons to leave London, to
the no small regret of Catholics and others also which greatly admired
his learning and eloquence, the like of which was not to be found in
any other person at that time. None of those which had attended the
preachments at Noel House were accused, nor the place wherein they had
met disclosed, which inclineth me to think Hubert did not reveal to
her majesty's government his knowledge thereof.
About two months afterward Basil's release and banishment happened. I
would fain have seen him on his way to the coast; but the order for
his departure was so sudden and peremptory, the queen's officers not
losing sight of him until he was embarked on a vessel going to France,
that I was deprived of that happiness. That he was no longer a
prisoner I rejoiced; but it seemed as if a second and more grievous
separation had ensued, now that the sea did divide me from the dear
object of my love.
Lady Arundel, whose affectionate heart resented with the most tender
pity the abrupt interruption of our happiness, had often written to me
during this year to urge my coming to Arundel Castle; "for," said she,
"methinks, my dear Constance, a third turtle-dove might now be added
to the two on the Queen of Scotland's design; and on thy tree, sweet
one, the leaves are, I warrant thee, very green yet, and future joys
shall blossom on its wholesome branches, which are pruned but not
destroyed, injured but not withered." She spoke with no small
contentment of her then residence, that noble castle, her husband's
worthiest possession (as she styled it), and the grandest jewel of his
earldom. For albeit (thus she wrote) "Kenninghall is larger in the
extent it doth cover and embrace, and far more rich in its decorations
and adornments, I hold it not to be comparable in true dignity to this
castle, which, for the strength of its walls, the massive grandeur of
its keep, the vast forests which do encircle it, the river which
bathes its feet, the sea in its vicinity and to be seen from its
tower, the stately trees about it, and the clinging ivy which softens
with abundant verdure the stern, frowning walls, hath not its like in
all England." But a letter I had from this dear lady a few months
after this one contained the most joyful news I could receive, as will
be seen by those who read it:
"My good Constance" (her ladyship wrote), "I would I had you a
prisoner in this fortress, to hold and detain at my pleasure.
Methinks I will present thee as a recusant, and sue for the privilege
of thy custody. Verily, I should keep good watch over thee. There be
dungeons enough, I warrant you, in the keep, wherein to imprison
runaway friends. Master Bayley doth take great pains to explain to me
the names and old uses of the towers, chapels, and buildings within
and without the castle, which do testify to the zeal and piety of past
generations: the Chapel of St. Martin, in the keep, which was the
oratory of the garrison; the old collegiate buildings of the College
of the Holy Trinity; the b Maison-Dieu, designed by Richard, Earl of
Arundel, and built by his son on the right bank of the river, for the
harboring of twenty aged and poor men, either unmarried or widowers,
which, from infirmity, were unable to provide for their own support;
the Priory of the Friars Preachers, with the rising gardens behind it;
the Chapel of Blessed Mary, over the gate; that of St. James ad
Leprosos, which was attached to the Leper's Hospital; and St.
Lawrence's, which standeth on the hill above the tower; and in the
valley below, the Priory of St. Bartholomew, built by Queen Adeliza
for the monks of St. Austin. Verily the poor were well cared for when
all these monasteries and hospitals did exist; and it doth grieve me
to think that the moneys which were designed by so many pious men of
past ages for the good of religion should now be paid to my lord, and
spent in worldly and profane uses. Howsoever, I have better hopes than
heretofore that he will one day serve God in a Christian manner. And
now, methinks, after much doubting if I should dare for to commit so
weighty a secret unto paper, that I must needs tell thee, as this time
I send my letter by a trusty messenger, what, if I judge rightly, will
prove so great a comfort to thee, my dear Constance, that thine own
griefs shall seem the lighter for it. Thou dost well know how long I
have been well-affected to Catholic religion, increasing therein daily
more and more, but yet not wholly resolved to embrace and profess it.
But by reading a book treating of the danger of schism, soon after my
coming here, I was so efficaciously moved, that I made a firm purpose
to become a member of the Catholic and only true Church of God. I
charged Mr. Bayley to seek out a grave and ancient priest, and to
bring him here privately; for I desired very much that my
reconciliation, and meeting with this priest to that intent, should be
kept as secret as was possible, for the times are more troublesome
than ever, and I would fain have none to know of it until I can
disclose it myself to my lord in a prudent manner. I have, as thou
knoweth, no Catholic women about me, nor any one whom I durst acquaint
with this business; so I was forced to go alone at an unseasonable
hour from mine own lodging in the castle, by certain dark ways and
obscure passages, to the chamber where this priest (whose name, for
greater prudence, I mention not here) was lodged, there to make my
confession--it being thought, both by Mr. Bayley and myself, that
otherwise it could not possibly be done without discovery, or at least
great danger thereof. Oh, mine own dear Constance, when I returned by
the same way I had gone, lightened of a burthen so many years endured,
cheered by the thought of a reconcilement so long desired,
strengthened and raised, leasts ways for a while, above all worldly
fears, darkness appeared light, rough paths smooth; the moon, shining
through the chinks of the secret passage, which I thought had shed
before a ghastly light on the uneven walls, now seemed to yield a mild
and pleasant brightness, like unto that of God's grace in a heart at
peace. And this exceeding contentment and steadfastness of spirit have
not--praise him for it--since left me; albeit I have much cause for
apprehension in more ways than one; for what in these days is so
secret it becometh not known? But whatever now shall befal me--public
dangers or private sorrows--my feet do rest on a rock, not on
the shifting sands of human thinkings, and I am not afraid of what man
can do unto me. Yea, Philip's displeasure I can now endure, which of
all things in the world I have heretofore most apprehended."
The infinite contentment this letter gave me distracted me somewhat
from the anxious thoughts that filled my mind at the time it reached
me, which was soon after Hubert's visit. A few days afterward Lady
Arundel wrote again:
"My lord has been here, but stayed only a brief time. I found him very
affectionate in his behavior, but his spirits so much depressed that I
feared something had disordered him. Conversation seemed a burthen to
him, and he often shut himself up in his own chamber or walked into
the park with only his dog. When I spoke to him he would smile with
much kindness, uttering such words as 'sweet wife,' or 'dearest Nan,'
and then fall to musing again, as if his mind had been too oppressed
with thinking to allow of speech. The day before he left I was sorting
flowers at one end of the gallery in a place which the wall projecting
doth partly conceal. I saw him come from the hall up the stairs into
it, and walk to and fro in an agitated manner, his countenance very
much troubled, and his gestures like unto those of a person in great
perplexity of mind. I did not dare so much as to stir from where I
stood, but watched him for a long space of time with incredible
anxiety. Sometimes he stopped and raised his hand to his forehead.
Another while he went to the window and looked intently, now at the
tower and the valley beyond it, now up to the sky, on which the last
rays of the setting sun were throwing a deep red hue, as if the world
had been on fire. Then turning back, he joined his hands together and
anon sundered them again, pacing up and down the while more rapidly
than before, as if an inward conflict urged this unwitting speed. At
last I saw him stand still, lift up his hands and eyes to heaven, and
move his lips as if in prayer. What passed in his mind then, God only
knowcth. He is the most reluctant person in the world to disclose his
thoughts.
"When an hour afterward we met in the library his spirits seemed
somewhat improved. He spoke of his dear sister Meg with much
affection, and asked me if I had heard from Bess. Lord William, he
said, was the best brother a man ever had; and that it should like him
well to spend his life in any corner of the world God should appoint
for him, so that he had to keep him company Will and Meg and his dear
Nan, 'which I have so long ill-treated,' he added, 'that as long as I
live I shall not cease to repent of it; and God he knoweth I deserve
not so good a wife;' with many other like speeches which I wish he
would not use, for it grieveth me he should disquiet himself for what
is past, when his present kindness doth so amply recompense former
neglect. Mine own Constance, I pray you keep your courage alive in
your afflictions. There be no lane so long but it hath a turning, the
proverb saith. My sorrows seemed at one time without an issue. Now
light breaketh through the yet darksome clouds which do environ us. So
will it be with thee. Burn this letter, seeing it doth contain what
may endanger the lives of more persons than one.--Thy loving, faithful
friend,
"ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY."
A more agitated letter followed this one, written at different times,
and detained for some days for lack of a safe messenger to convey it.
"What I much fear," so it began, "is the displeasure of my lord when
he comes to know of my reconcilement, for it cannot, I think, be long
concealed from him. This my fear, dear Constance, hath been much
increased by the coming down from London of one of his chaplains, who
affirms he was sent on purpose by the earl to read prayers and to
preach to me and my family; and on last Sunday he came into the
great chamber of the castle, expecting and desiring to know my
pleasure therein. I thought best for to send for him to my chamber,
and I desired him not to trouble himself nor me in that matter, for I
would satisfy the earl therein. But oh, albeit I spoke very
composedly, my apprehensions are very great. For see, my dear friend,
Philip hath been but lately reconciled to me, and his fortunes are in
a very desperate condition, so that he may think I have given the last
blow to them by this act, which his enemies will surely brave at.
Think not I do repent of it. God knoweth I should as soon repent of my
baptism as of my return to his true Church; but though the spirit is
steadfast, the flesh is weak, and the heart also. What will he say to
me when he cometh? He did once repulse me, but hath never upbraided
me. How shall I bear new frowns after recent caresses?--peradventure
an eternal parting after a late reunion? O Constance, pray for me. But
I remember I have no means for to send this letter. But God be
praised, I have now friends in heaven which I may adjure to pray for
me who have at hand no earthly ones."
Four or live days later, her ladyship thus finished her letter:
"God is very merciful; oh, let his holy name be praised and magnified
for ever! Now the weight of a mountain is off my heart. Now I care not
for what man may do unto me. Phil has been here, and I promise thee,
dear Constance, when his horse stopped at the castle-door, my heart
almost stopped its beating, so great was my apprehension of his anger.
But, to my great joy and admiration, he kissed me very tenderly, and
did not speak the least word of the chaplain's errand. And when we did
walk out in the evening, and, mounting to the top of the keep, stood
there looking on the fine trees and the sun sinking into the sea, my
dear lord, who had been some time silent, turned to me and said, 'Meg
has become Catholic.' Joy and surprise almost robbed me of my breath;
for next to his reconcilement his sister's was what I most desired in
the world, and also I knew what a particular love he had ever shown
for her, as being his only sister, by reason whereof he would not seem
to be displeased with her change, and consequently he could not in
reason be much offended with myself for being what she was; so when he
said, 'Meg has become Catholic,' I leant my face against his shoulder,
and whispered, 'So hath Nan.' He spoke not nor moved for some minutes.
Methinks he could have heard the beatings of my heart. I was comforted
that, albeit he uttered not so much as one word, he made no motion for
to withdraw himself from me, whose head still rested against his
bosom. Suddenly he threw his arms about me, and strained me to his
breast. So tender an embrace I had never before had from him, and I
felt his tears falling on my head. But speech there was none touching
my change. Howsoever, before he left me I said to him 'My dear Phil,
Holy Scripture doth advise those who enter into the service of
Almighty God to prepare themselves for temptation. As soon as I
resolved to become Catholic, I did deeply imprint this in my mind; for
the times are such that I must expect to suffer for that cause.' 'Yea,
dearest Nan,' he answered, with great kindness, 'I doubt not thou hast
taken the course which will save thy soul from the danger of
shipwreck, although it doth subject thy body to the peril of
misfortune.' Then waxing bolder, I said, 'And thou, Phil--' and there
stopped short, looking what I would speak. He seemed to struggle for a
while with some inward difficulty of speaking his mind, but at last he
began, 'Nan, I will not become Catholic before I can resolve to live
as a Catholic, and I defer the former until I have an intent and
resolute purpose to perform the latter. O Nan, when I think of
my vile usage of thee, whom I should have so much loved and esteemed
for thy virtue and discretion; of my wholly neglecting, in a manner,
my duty to the earl my grandfather, and my aunt Lady Lumley; of my
wasting, by profuse expenses, of great sums of money in the following
of the courts, the estate which was left me, and a good quantity of
thine own lands also; but far more than all, my total forgetting of my
duty to Almighty God--for, carried away with company, youthful
entertainments, pleasures, and delights, my mind being wholly
possessed with them, I did scarce so much as think of God, or of
anything concerning religion or the salvation of my soul--I do feel
myself unworthy of pardon, and utterly to be contemned.'
"So much goodness, humility, and virtuous intent was apparent in this
speech, and such comfortable hopes of future excellence, that I could
not forbear from exclaiming, 'My dear Phil, I ween thou wilt be one of
those who shall love God much, forasmuch as he will have forgiven thee
much.' And then I asked him how long it was since this change in his
thinking, albeit not yet acted upon, had come to him? He said, it so
happened that he was present, the year before, at a disputation held
in the Tower of London, between Mr. Sherwin and some other priests on
the one part, Charles Fulk, Whittakers, and some other Protestant
ministers on the other; and, by what he heard and saw there, he had
perceived, he thought, on which side the truth and true religion was,
though at the time he neither did intend to embrace or follow it. But,
he added, what had moved him of late most powerfully thereunto was a
sermon of Father Campion's, which he had heard at Noel House, whither
Charles Arundel had carried him, some days before his last visit to
me. 'The whole of those days,' he said, 'my mind was so oppressed with
remorse and doubt, that I knew no peace, until one evening, by a
special grace of God, when I was walking alone in the gallery, I
firmly resolved--albeit I knew not how or when to accomplish this
purpose--to become a member of his Church, and to frame my life
according to it; but I would not acquaint thee, or any other person
living, with this intention, until I had conferred thereof with my
brother William. Thou knowest, Nan, the very special love I bear him,
and which he hath ever shown to me. Well, a few days after I returned
to London, I met him accidentally in the street, he having come from
Cumberland touching some matter of Bess's lands; and taking him home
with me, I discovered to him my determination, somewhat covertly at
first; and after I lent him a book to read, which was written not long
ago by Dr. Allen, and have dealt with him so efficaciously that he has
also resolved to become Catholic. He is to meet me again next week,
for further conference touching the means of putting this intent into
execution, which verily I see not how to effect, being so watched by
servants and so-called friends, which besiege my doors and haunt mine
house in London on all occasions.'
"This difficulty, dear Constance, I sought to remedy by acquainting my
lord that his secretary, Mr. Mumford, was Catholic, and he could,
therefore, disclose his thought with safety to him. And I also advised
him to seek occasion to know Mr. Wells and some other zealous persons,
which would confirm him in his present resolution and aid him in the
execution thereof. It may be, therefore, you will soon see him, and
fervently do I commend him to thy prayers and whatever service in the
one thing needful should be in thy power to procure for him. My heart
is so transported with joy that I never remember the like emotions to
have filled it. My most hope for this present time at least had been
he should show no dislike to my being Catholic; and lo, I find him to
be one in heart, and soon to be so in effect; and the great gap
between us, which so long hath been a yawing chasm of despair, now
filled up with a renewed love, and yet more by a parity of thinking
touching what it most behoveth us to be united in. _Deo gratias!_"
Here this portion of my lady's manuscript ended, but these few hasty
lines were written below, visibly by a trembling hand, and the whole
closed, I ween, abruptly. Methinks it was left for me at Mr. Wells's,
where I found it, by Mr. Mumford, or some other Catholic in the earl's
household:
"The inhabitants of Arundel have presented me for a recusant, and Mr.
Bayley has been committed and accused before the Bishop of Chichester
as a seminary priest. He hath, of course, easily cleared himself of
this; but because he will not take the oath of supremacy, he is forced
to quit the country. He hath passed into Flanders."
And then for many weeks I had no tidings of the dear writer, until one
day it was told us that when the queen had notice of her reconcilement
she disliked of it to such a degree that presently she ordered her,
being then with child, to be taken from her own house and carried to
Wiston, Sir Thomas Shirley's dwelling-place, there to be kept prisoner
till further orders. Alas! all the time she remained there I received
not so much as one line from her ladyship, nor did her husband either,
as I afterward found. So straitly was she confined and watched that
none could serve or have access to her but the knight and his lady,
and such as were approved by them. Truly, as she since told me, they
courteously used her; but special care was taken that none that was
suspected for a priest should come within sight of the house, which
was no small addition to her sufferings. Lady Margaret Sackville was
at that time also thrown into prison.