The deep clear azure of the French sky, the lightsome pure air, the
quaint houses, and outlandish dresses of the people in Calais; the
sound of a foreign tongue understood, but not familiar, for a brief
time distracted my mind from painful themes. Basil led me to the
church for to give thanks to God for his mercies to us, and mostly did
it seem strange to me to enter an edifice in which he is worshipped in
a Catholic manner, which yet hath the form and appearance of a church,
and resembles not the concealed chambers in our country wherein mass
is said; an open visible house for the King of kings, not a
hiding-place, as in England. After we had prayed there a short time,
Basil put into a box at the entrance the money which Lord Arundel had
designed for the poor. A pale thin man stood at the door, which, when
we passed, said, "God bless you!" Basil looked earnestly at him,
and then exclaimed, "As I live, Mr. Watson!" "Yea," the good man
answered, "the same, or rather the shadow of the same, risen at the
last from the bed of sickness. O Mr. Rookwood, I am glad to see you!"
"And so am I to meet with you, Mr. Watson," Basil answered; and then
told this dear friend who I was, and the sad hap of Lord Arundel,
which moved in him a great concern for that young nobleman and his
excellent lady. Many tokens of regard and interchange of information
passed between us. He showed us where he lived, in a small cottage
near unto the ramparts; and nothing would serve him but to gather for
me in the garden a nosegay of early flowerets which just had raised
their heads above the sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent him money in his
sickness, and an English lady married to a French gentleman provided
for his wants. "Ah! that was the good madame I told you of," Basil
cried, turning to me; "who would have harbored . . . ." Then he
stopped short; but Mr. Watson had caught his meaning, and with tears
in his eyes said: "Fear not to speak of her whose death bought my
life, and it may be also my soul's safety. For, God knoweth, the
thought of her doth never forsake me so much as for one hour;" and
thereupon we parted with much kindness on both sides. That night we
lay at a small hostelry in the town; and the next morning hired a cart
with one horse, which carried us to Boulogne in one day, and thence to
this village, where we have lived since for many years in great peace.
I thank God, and very much contentment of mind, and no regrets save
such as do arise in the hearts of exiles without hope of return to a
beloved native country.
The awaiting of tidings from England, which were long delayed, was at
the first a very sore trial, and those which reached us at last yet
more grievous than that suspense. Lord Arundel committed to the Tower;
his brother the Lord William and his sister the Lady Margaret not long
after arrested, which was more grief to him, his lady wrote to me,
than all his own troubles and imprisonment. But, O my God! how well
did that beginning match with what was to follow! Those ten years
which were spent amidst so many sufferings of all sorts by these two
noble persons, that the recital of them would move to pity the most
strong heart.
Mine own sorrows, leastways all sharp ones, ended with my passage into
France. If Basil showed himself a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet
better husband. His nature doth so delight in doing good that it wins
him the love of all our neighbors. His life is a constant exercise of
charity. He is most indulgent to his wife and kind to his children, of
which it hath pleased God to give him three--one boy and two girls, of
as comely visages and commendable dispositions as can reasonably be
desired. He hath a most singular affection for all such as do suffer
for their religion, and cherishes them with an extraordinary bounty to
the limits of his ability; his house being a common resort for all
banished Catholics which land at Boulogne, from whence he doth direct
them to such persons as can assist them in their need. His love toward
my unworthy self hath never decreased. Methinks it rather doth
increase as we advance in years. We have ever been actuated as by one
soul; and never have any two wills agreed so well as Basil's and mine
in all aims in this world and hopes for the next. If any, in the
reading of this history, have only cared for mine own haps, I pray
them to end their perusal of it here; but if, even as my heart hath
been linked from early years with Lady Arundel's, there be any in
which my poor writing hath awakened somewhat of that esteem for her
virtues and resentment of her sorrows which hath grown in me from long
experience of her singular worth; if the noble atonement for
youthful offences and follies already shown in her lord's return to
his duty to her, and altered behavior in respect to God, hath also
moved them to desire a further knowledge of the manner in which these
two exalted souls were advanced by long affliction to a high point of
perfection--then to such the following pages shall not be wholly
devoid of that interest which the true recital of great misfortune
doth habitually carry with it. If none other had written the life of
that noble lady, methinks I must have essayed to do it; but having
heard that a good clergyman hath taken this task in hand, secretly
preparing materials whilst she yet lives wherewith to build her a
memorial at a future time, I have restrained myself to setting down
what, by means of her own writing or the reports of others, hath
reached my knowledge concerning the ten years which followed my last
parting with her. This was the first letter I received from this
afflicted lady after her lord's arrest:
"O MY DEAR FRIEND--What days these have proved! Believe me, I
never looked for a favorable issue of this enterprise. When I first
had notice thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, which never
warmed again with hope. When I began to pray after hearing of it, I
had what methinks the holy Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we did
once visit together, as I doubt not thou dost remember) would have
called a foreshowing, or, as others do express it, a presentiment of
coming evil. But how soon the effect followed! I had retired to rest
at nine of the clock; and before I was undressed Bertha came in with
a most downcast countenance. 'What news is there?' I quickly asked,
misdoubting some misfortune had happened. Then she began to weep.
'Is my lord taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen him?' 'He is taken,'
she answered, 'and is now being carried to London for to be
committed to the Tower. Master Ralph, the port-master, hath brought
the news. A man, an hour ago, had reported as much in the town; but
Mr. Fawcett would not suffer your ladyship to be told of it before a
greater certainty thereof should appear. O woe be the day my lord
ever embarked!' Then I heard sounds of wailing and weeping in the
gallery; and opening the door, found Bessy's nurse and some other of
the servants lamenting in an uncontrolled fashion. I could not shed
one tear, but gave orders they should fetch unto me the man which
had brought the tidings. From him I heard more fully what had
happened; and then, in the same composed manner, desired my coach
and horses for to be made ready to take me to London the next day at
daybreak, and dismissed everybody, not suffering so much as one
woman to sit up with me. When all had retired, I put on my cloak and
hood; and listing first if all was quiet, went by the secret passage
to the chapel-room. When I got there, Father Southwell was in it,
saying his office. When he saw me enter at that unusual hour,
methinks the truth was made known to him at once; for he only took
me by the hand, and said: 'My child, this would be too hard to bear
if it were not God's sweet will; but being so, what remaineth but to
lie still under a Father's merciful infliction?' and then he took
out the crucifix, which for safety was locked up, and set it on the
altar. 'That shall speak to you better than I can,' he said; and
verily it did; for at the sight of my dying Saviour I wept. The
whole night was spent in devout exercises. At dawn of day Father
Southwell said mass, and I received. Then, before any one was astir,
I returned to mine own chamber, and, lying down for a few moments,
afterward rung the bell, and ordered horses to be procured for to
travel to London, whence I write these lines. I have here heard this
report of my dear lord's journey from one which conversed with Sir
George Carey, who commanded the guard which conducted him, that he
was nothing at all daunted with so unexpected a misfortune, and not
only did endure it with great patience and courage, but, moreover,
carried it with a joyful and merry countenance. One night in the way
he lodged at Guildford, where seeing the master of the inn (who
sometime was our servant, and who hath written it to one of my
women, his sister), and some others who wished well unto him,
weeping and sorrowing for his misfortunes, he comforted them all,
and willed them to be of good cheer, because it was not for any
crime--treason or the like--he was apprehended, but only
for attempting to leave the kingdom, the which he had done only for
his own safety. He is soon to be examined by some of the council
sent to the Tower for this special purpose by the queen. I have
sought to obtain access to him, but been flatly reused, and a hint
ministered to me that albeit my residence at Arundel House is
tolerated at the present, if the queen should come to stay at
Somerset House, which she is soon like to do, my departure hence
shall be enforced; but while I remain I would fain do some good to
persons afflicted as myself. I pray you, my good Constance, when you
find some means to despatch me a letter, therewith to send the names
and addresses of some of the poor folks Muriel was wont to visit;
for I am of opinion grief should not make us selfish, but rather
move us to relieve in others the pains of which we feel the sharp
edge ourselves. I have already met by accident with many necessitous
persons, and they do begin in great numbers to resort to this house.
God knoweth if the means to relieve them will not be soon lacking.
But to make hay whilst the sun shines is a wise saying, and in some
instances a precept. Alas! the sunshine of joy is already obscured
for me. Except for these poor pensioners, that of fortune causeth me
small concern.--
Thy loving friend, A. A. and S."
"Will and Meg are at present in separate prisons. It is impossible but
that she shall be presently released; for against her nothing can be
alleged, so much as to give a pretence for an accusation. My lord and
Will's joint letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydges--who, out of
confidence, mentioned it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, who lives
at Paris, and is now discovered to be a spy--is the ground of the
charges against them. How utterly unfounded thou well knowest; but so
much as to write to Dr. Allen is now a crime, howsoever innocent the
matter of such a correspondence should be. I do fear that in one of
his letters--but I wot not if of this they have possession--my lord,
who had just heard that the Earl of Leicester had openly vowed to make
the name of Catholic as odious in England as the name of Turk, did
say, in manner of a jest, that if some lawful means might be found to
take away this earl, it would be a great good for Catholics in
England; which careless sentence may be twisted by his enemies to his
disadvantage."
Some time afterward, a person passing from London to Rheims, brought
me this second letter from her ladyship, written at Rumford, in Essex:
"What I have been warned of verily hath happened. Upon the queen's
coming to London last month, it was signified to me I should leave it.
Now that Father Southwell hath been removed from Arundel Castle, and
no priest at this time can live in it, I did not choose to be
delivered there, without the benefit of spiritual assistance in case
of danger of death, and so hired a house in this town, at a short
distance of which a recusant gentleman doth keep one in his house. I
came from London without obtaining leave so much as once to see my
dear husband, or to send him a letter or message, or receive one from
him. But this I have learnt, that he cannot speak with any person
whatsoever but in the presence and hearing of his keeper or the
lieutenant of the Tower, and that the room in which he is locked up
has no sight of the sun for the greatest part of the year; so that if
not changed before the winter cometh it shall prove very unwholesome;
and moreover the noisomeness thereof caused by a vault that is under
it is so great that the keeper can scarce endure to enter into it,
much less to stay there any time. Alas! what ravages shall this
treatment cause on a frame of great niceness and delicate habits, I
leave you to judge. By this time he hath been examined twice; and
albeit forged letters were produced, the falsity of which the council
were forced to admit, and he was charged with nothing which could be
substantiated, except leaving the realm without license of the queen,
and being reconciled to the Church of Rome, his sentence is yet
deferred, and his imprisonment as strict as ever. I pray God it may
not be deferred till his health is utterly destroyed, which, I doubt
not, is what his enemies would most desire.
"Last evening I had the exceeding great comfort of the coming hither
of mine own dear good Meg, who hath been some time released from
prison, with many vexatious restraints, howsoever, still laid upon
her. Albeit very much advanced in her pregnancy, nothing would serve
her when she had leave to quit London but to do me this good. This is
the first taste of joy I have had since my lord's commitment. In her
face I behold his; when she speaks I hear him. No talk is ministered
between us but of that beloved husband and brother; our common prayers
are put up for him. She hath spied his spies for to discover all which
relates to him, and hath found means to convey to him--I thank God for
it--some books of devotion, which he greatly needed. She is yet a-bed
this morning, for we sat up late yester-eve, so sweet, albeit sad, was
the converse we held after so many common sufferings. But methinks I
grudge her these hours of sleep, longing for to hear again those loved
accents which mind me of my dear Phil.
"My pen had hardly traced those last words, when a messenger arrived
from the council with an express command to Margaret from her majesty
not to stay with me another night, but forthwith to return to London.
The surprise and fear which this message occasioned hastened the event
which should have yet been delayed some weeks. A few hours after (I
thank God, in safety) a fair son was born; but in the mother's heart
and mine apprehension dispelled joy, lest enforced disobedience should
produce fresh troubles. Howsoever, she recovered quickly; and as soon
as she could be removed I lost her sweet company. Thine affectionate
friend to command,
"A. A. AND S."
Some time afterward, one Mr. Dixon, a gentleman I had met once or
twice in London, tarried a night at our house, and brought me the news
that God had given the Countess of Arundel a son, which she had
earnestly desired her husband should be informed of, but he heard it
had been refused. Howsoever, when he was urgent with his keepers to
let him know if she had been safely delivered, they gave him to
understand that she had another daughter; his enemies not being
willing he should have so much contentment as the birth of a son
should have yielded him.
"Doth the queen," I asked of this gentleman, "then not mitigate her
anger against these noble persons?"
"So far from it," he answered, "that when, at the beginning of this
trouble, Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis Knowles for to seek by his
means to obtain an audience from her majesty, in order to sue for her
husband, he told her she would sooner release him at once--which,
howsoever, she had no mind to do--than only once allow her to enter
her presence. He then, her ladyship told me, rated her exceedingly,
asking if she and her husband were not ashamed to make themselves
papists, only out of spleen and peevish humor to cross and vex
the queen? She answered him in the same manner as her lord did one of
his keepers, who told him very many in the kingdom were of opinion
that he made show to be Catholic only out of policy; to whom he said,
with great mildness, that God doth know the secrets of all hearts, but
that he thought there was small policy for a man to lose his liberty,
hazard his estate and life, and live in that manner in a prison as he
then did."
A brief letter from Lady Tregony informed me soon after this that,
after a third examination, the court had fined Lord Arundel in £10,000
unto the queen and adjudged him to imprisonment during her pleasure.
What that pleasure proved, ten years of unmitigated suffering and slow
torture evinced; one of the most grievous of which was that his lady
could never obtain for to see him, albeit other prisoners' wives had
easy access to them. This touching letter I had from her three years
after he was imprisoned:
"MINE OWN GOOD FRIEND--Life doth wear on, and relief of one sort
leastways comes not; but God forbid I should repine. For such
instances I see in the letters of my dear lord--which when some of
his servants do leave the Tower, which, worn out as they soon become
by sickness, they must needs do to preserve their lives--he findeth
means to write to me or to Father Southwell, that I am ashamed to
grieve overmuch at anything which doth befal us--when his willingness
and contentment to suffer are so great. As when he saith to that good
father, 'For all crosses touching worldly matters, I thank God they
trouble me not much, and much the less for your singular good counsel,
which I beseech our Lord I may often remember; and to me this dear
husband writes thus: 'I beseech you, for the love of God, to comfort
yourself whatsoever shall happen, and to be best pleased with that
which shall please God best, and be his will to send. I find that
there is some intent to do me no good, but indeed to do me the most
good of all; but I am--and, thank God, doubt not but I shall be by his
grace--ready to endure the worst which flesh and blood can do unto
me.' O Constance, flesh and blood doth sometimes rebel against the
keen edge of suffering; but I pray you, my friend, how can I complain
when I hear of this much, long dearly cherished husband, ascending by
steps the ladder of perfection, advancing from virtue to virtue as the
psalm saith, never uttering one unsubmissive word toward God, or one
resentful one toward his worst enemies; making, in the most sublime
manner, of necessity virtue, and turning his loathsome prison into a
religious cell, wherein every exercise of devotion is duly practised,
and his soul trained for heaven?
"The small pittance the queen alloweth for his maintenance he so
sparingly useth, that most of it doth pass into the hands of the poor
or other more destitute prisoners than himself. But sickness and
disease prey on his frame. And the picture of him my memory draweth is
gradually more effaced in the living man, albeit vivid in mine own
portraying of it.
There is now a priest imprisoned in the Tower, not very far from the
chamber wherein my lord is confined; one of the name of Bennet. My
lord desired much to meet him, and speak with him for the comfort of
his soul, and I have found means to bring it to effect by mediation of
the lieutenant's daughter, to whom I have given thirty pounds for her
endeavors in procuring it. And moreover she hath assisted in conveying
into his chamber church-stuff and all things requisite for the saying
of mass, whereunto she tells me, to my indescribable comfort, he
himself doth serve with great humility, and therein receives the
blessed sacrament frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, she saith, and Mr.
Shelly, which are likewise prisoners at this time, she introduces
secretly into his lodgings for to hear mass and have speech with
him. Alas! what should be a comfort to him, and so the greatest of
joys to me, the exceeding peril of these times causeth me to look upon
with apprehension; for these gentlemen, albeit well disposed, are not
famed for so much wisdom and prudence as himself, in not saying or
doing anything which might be an occasion of danger to him; and the
least lack of wariness, when there is so much discourse about the
great Spanish fleet which is now in preparation, should prove like to
be fatal. God send no worse hap befal us soon.
"In addition to these other troubles and fears, I am much molested by
a melancholy vapor, which ascends to my head, and greatly troubles me
since I was told upon a sudden of the unexpected death of Margaret
Sackville, whom, for her many great virtues and constant affection
toward myself, I did so highly esteem and affection."
From that time for a long while I had no direct news of Lady Arundel;
but report brought us woful tidings concerning her lord, who, after
many private examinations, had been brought from the Tower to the
King's Bench Court, in the hall of Westminster, and there publicly
arraigned on the charge of high treason, the grounds of which
accusation being that he had prayed and procured others to make
simultaneous prayer for twenty-four hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to
say a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the success of the Spanish fleet.
Whereas the whole truth of this matter consisted in this, that when a
report became current among the Catholics about London that a sudden
massacre of them all was intended upon the first landing of the
Spaniards, this coming to the earl's ear, he judged it necessary that
all Catholics should betake themselves to prayer, either for the
avoiding of the danger or for the better preparing themselves
thereunto, and so persuaded those in the Tower to make prayer together
for that end, and also sent to some others for the same purpose,
whereof one of greater prudence and experience than the rest signified
unto him that perhaps it might be otherwise interpreted by their
enemies than he intended, wishing him to desist, as presently
thereupon he did; but it was then too late. Some which he had trusted,
either out of fear or fair promises, testified falsely against him--of
which Mr. Bennet was one, who afterward retracted with bitter anguish
his testimony, in a letter to his lordship, which contained these
words: "With a fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tormented conscience,
only for saving of my life and liberty, I said you moved me to say a
mass for the good success of the Spanish fleet. For which unjust
confession, or rather accusation, I do again and again, and to my
life's end, most instantly crave God's pardon and yours; and for my
better satisfaction of this, my unjust admission, I will, if need
require, offer up both life and limbs in averring my accusation to be,
as it is indeed, and as I shall answer before God, angels, and men,
most unjust, and only done out of fear of the Tower, torments, and
death." Notwithstanding the earl's very stout and constant denial of
the charge, and pleading the above letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting
his false statement, he was condemned of high treason, and had
sentence pronounced against him. But the execution was deferred, and
finally the queen resolved to spare his life, but yet by no means to
release him. His estates, and likewise his lady's, were forfeited to
the crown, and he at that time dealt with most unkindly, as the
following letter will show:
"DEAR CONSTANCE--At last I have found the means of sending a packet by
a safe hand, which in these days, when men do so easily turn
traitors--notable instances of which, to our exceeding pain and
trouble, have lately occurred--is no easy matter. I doubt not but thy
fond affectionate heart hath followed with a sympathetic grief the
anguish of mine during the time past, wherein my husband's life
hath been in daily peril; and albeit he is now respited, yet, alas! as
he saith himself, and useth the knowledge to the best purpose, he is
but a doomed man; reprieved, not pardoned; spared, not released. Mine
own troubles beside have been greater than can be thought of; by
virtue of the forfeiture of my lord's estates and mine, my home hath
been searched by justices, and no room, no corner, no trunk or coffer,
left unopened and unransacked. I have often been brought before the
council and most severely examined. The queen's officers and others in
authority--to whom I am sometimes forced to sue for favor, or some
mitigation of mine own or my lord's sufferings--do use me often very
harshly, and reject my petitions with scorn and opprobrious language.
All our goods are seized for the queen. They have left me nothing but
two or three beds, and these, they do say, but for a time. When
business requires, I am forced to go on foot, and slenderly attended;
my coach being taken from me. I have retained but two of my servants
--my children's nurse being one. I have as yet no allowance, as is
usual in such cases, for the maintenance of my family; so I am forced
to pay them and buy victuals with the money made by the sale of mine
own jewels; and I am sometimes forced to borrow and make hard shifts
to procure necessary provisions and clothes for the children; but if I
get eight pounds a week, which the queen hath been moved to allow me,
then methinks I shall think myself no poorer than a Christian woman
should be content to be; and I have promised Almighty God, if that
good shall befal us, to bestow one hundred marks out of it yearly on
the poor. I am often sent out of London by her majesty's commands,
albeit some infirmities I do now suffer from force me to consult
physicians there. Methinks when I am at Arundel House I am not wholly
parted from my lord, albeit my humble petition, by means of friends,
to see him is always denied. When I hear he is sick, mine anguish
increases. The like favor is often granted to Lady Latimore and others
whose husbands are at this time prisoners in the Tower, but I can
never obtain it. The lieutenant's daughter, whom I do sometimes see,
when she is in a conversible mood doth inform me of my dear husband's
condition, and relates instances of his goodness and patience which
wring and yet comfort mine heart. What think you of his never having
been heard so much as once to complain of the loss of his goods or the
incommodities of his prison; of his gentleness and humility where he
is himself concerned; of his boldness in defending his religion and
her ministers, which was alike shown, as well as his natural
cheerfulness, in a conversation she told me had passed between her
father, the lieutenant, and him, a few days ago? You have heard, I
ween, that good Father Southwell was arrested some time back at Mr.
Bellamy's house; it is reported by means of the poor unhappy soul his
daughter, whom I met one day at the door of the prison, attired in a
gaudy manner and carrying herself in a bold fashion; but when she met
mine eye hers fell. Alas! poor soul, God help her and bring her to
repentance. Well, now Father Southwell is in the Tower, my lord, by
Miss Hopton's melons, hath had once or twice speech with him, and doth
often inquire of the lieutenant about him, which when he did so the
other day he used the words 'blessed father' in speaking of him. The
lieutenant (she said) seemed to take exception thereat, saying, 'Term
you him blessed father, being as he is an enemy to his country?' My
lord answered: 'How can that be, seeing yourself hath told me
heretofore that no fault could be laid unto him but his religion?'
Then the lieutenant said: 'The last time I was in his cell your dog,
my lord, came in and licked his hand,' Then quoth my lord,
patting his dog fondly: 'I love him the better for it.' 'Perhaps,'
quoth the lieutenant in a scoffing manner, it might be he came thither
to have his blessing.' To which my lord replied, 'It is no new thing
for animals to seek a blessing at the hands of holy men, St. Jerome
writing how the lions which had digged St. Paul the hermit's grave
stood waiting with their eyes upon St. Anthony expecting his
blessing.'
'Is it not a strange trial, mine own Constance, and one which hath not
befallen many women, to have a fondly loved husband yet alive, and to
be sometimes so near unto him that it should take but a few moments to
cross the space which doth divide us, and yet never behold him; year
after year passing away, and the heart waxing sick with delays?
Howsoever, one sad firm hope I hold, which keepeth me somewhat careful
of my health, lest I should be disabled when that time cometh--one on
which I fix my mind with apprehension and desire to defer the approach
thereof, yet pray one day to see it--yea, to live long enough for this
and then to die, if it shall please God. When mine own Philip is on
his death-bed, when the slow consumptive disease which devoureth his
vitals obtaineth its end, then, I ween, no woman upon earth, none that
I ever heard of or could think of, can deny me to approach him and
receive his last embrace. Oh that this should be my best comfort, mine
only hope!"
I pass over many intervening letters from this afflicted lady which at
distant intervals I received, in one of which she expressed her sorrow
at the execution at Tyburn of her constant friend and guide, Father
Southwell, and likewise informed me of Mistress Wells's death in
Newgate, and transcribe this one, written about six months afterward,
in which she relates the closing scene of her husband's life:
"MINE OWN DEAR CONSTANCE--All is over now, and my overcharged heart
casteth about for some alleviation in its excessive grief, which may
be I shall find in imparting to one well acquainted with his virtues
and my love for him what I have learnt touching the closing scenes of
my dear lord's mortal life. For think not I have been so happy as to
behold him again, or that he should die in my arms. No; that which was
denied me for ten long years neither could his dying prayers obtain.
For many months notice had been given unto me by his servants and
others that his health was very fast declining. One gentleman
particularly told me he himself believed his end to be near. His
devout exercises were yet increased--the bent of his mind more and
more directed solely toward God and heaven. In those times which were
allotted to walking or other recreation, his discourse and
conversation either with his keeper or the lieutenant or his own
servant, was either tending to piety or some kind of profitable
discourse, most often of the happiness of those that suffer anything
for our Saviour's sake; to which purpose he had writ with his own hand
upon the wall of his chamber this Latin sentence, 'Quanto plus
afflictionis pro Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus gloriae cum
Christo in futuro;' the which he used to show to his servants,
inviting them, as well as himself, to suffer all with patience and
alacrity.
"In the month of August tidings were brought unto me that, sitting at
dinner, he had fallen so very ill immediately upon the eating of a
roasted teal, that some did suspect him to be poisoned. I sent him
some antidotes, and all the remedies I could procure; but all in vain.
The disease had so possessed him that it could not be removed, but by
little and little consumed his body, so that he became like an
anatomy, having nothing left but skin and bone. Much talk hath been
ministered anent his being poisoned. Alas! my thinking is, and ever
shall be, the slow poison he died of was lack of air, of sunshine, of
kindness, of loving aid, of careful sympathy. When I heard his
case was considered desperate, the old long hopes, sustained for ten
years, that out of the extremity of grief one hour of comfort should
arise, woke up; but now I was advised not to stir in this matter
myself, for it should only incense the queen, who had always hated me;
whereas my lord she once had liked, and it might be, when she heard he
was dying, she should relent. She had made a kind of promise to some
of his friends that before his death his wife and children should come
unto him; whereupon, conceiving that now his time in the world could
not be long, he writ a humble letter to her petitioning the
performance of her promise. The lieutenant of the Tower carried this
letter, and delivered it with his own hands to the queen, and brought
him her answer by word of mouth. What think you, mine own Constance,
was the answer she sent that dying man? God forgave her! Philip did;
yea, and so do I--not fully at the time, now most fully. His crown
should have been less glorious but for the heart-martyrdom she
invented.
"This was her message: 'That if he would but once go to the Protestant
church his request should not only be granted, but he should moreover
be restored to his honor and estate with as much favor as she could
show.' Oh, what were estates and honors to that dying saint! what her
favor to that departing soul! One offering, one sacrifice, one final
withdrawing of affection's thirsty and parched lips from the chalice
of a supreme earthly consolation, and all was accomplished; the
bitterness of death overpast. He gave thanks to the lieutenant for his
pains; he said he could not accept her majesty's offers upon that
condition, and added withal that he was sorry he had but one life to
lose in that cause. A very worthy gentleman who was present at this
passage related it to me; and Lord Mountague I have also had it from,
which heard the same from his father-in-law, my Lord Dorset.
Constance, for a brief while a terrible tumult raged in my soul. Think
what it was to know one so long, so passionately loved, dying nigh
onto and yet apart from me, dying unaided by any priest--for though he
had a great desire to be assisted by Father Edmund, by whose means he
had been reconciled, it was by no means permitted that either he or
any other priest should come to him--dying without a kindred face to
smile on him, without a kinsman for to speak with him and list to his
last wishes. He desired to see his brother William or his uncle Lord
Henry; at least to take his last leave of them before his death; but
neither was that small request granted--no, not so much as to see his
brother Thomas, though both then and ever he had been a Protestant.
And all this misery was the fruit of one stem, cruel, unbending
hatred--of one proud human will; a will which was sundering what God
had joined together. Like a bird against the bars of an iron cage, my
poor heart dashed itself with wild throbbings against these human
obstacles. But not for very long, I thank God; brief was the storm
which convulsed my soul. I soon discerned his hand in this great
trial--his will above all human will; and while writhing under a
Father's merciful scourge, I could yet bless him who held it I pray
you, Constance, how should a woman have endured so great an anguish
which had not been helped by him? Methinks what must have sustained me
was that before-mentioned gentleman's report of my dear lord's great
piety and virtue, which made me ashamed of not striving to resemble
him in howsoever small a degree. Oh, what a work God wrought in that
chosen soul! What meekness, what humility, what nobleness of heart! He
grew so faint and weak by degrees that he was not able to leave his
bed. His physicians coming to visit him some days before his death, he
desired them not to trouble themselves now any more, his case
being beyond their skill. They thereupon departing, Sir Michael
Blount, then lieutenant of the Tower, who had been ever very hard and
harsh unto him, took occasion to come and visit him, and, kneeling
down by his bedside, in humble manner desired my dear Phil to forgive
him. Whereto mine own beloved husband answered in this manner, 'Do you
ask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? Why, then, I forgive you in the same
sort as I desire myself to be forgiven at the hands of God;' and then
kissed his hand, and offered it in most kind and charitable manner to
him, and holding his fast in his own said, 'I pray you also to forgive
me whatever I have said or done in anything offensive to you,' and he
melting into tears and answering 'that he forgave him with all his
heart;' my lord raised himself a little upon his pillow, and made a
brief, grave speech unto the lieutenant in this manner: 'Mr.
Lieutenant, you have showed both me and my men very hard measure.'
'Wherein, my lord?' quoth he. 'Nay,' said my lord, 'I will not make a
recapitulation of anything, for it is all freely forgiven. Only I am
to say unto you a few words of my last will, which being observed,
may, by the grace of God, turn much to your benefit and reputation. I
speak not for myself; for God of his goodness hath taken order that I
shall be delivered very shortly out of your charge; only for others I
speak who may be committed to this place. You must think, Mr.
Lieutenant, that when a prisoner comes hither to the Tower that he
bringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then do not add affliction to
affliction; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand
surest but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom
misfortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy God hath in
great detestation. Your commission is only to keep in safety, not to
kill with severity. Remember, good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who with
his finger turneth the unstable wheel of this variable world, can in
the revolution of a few days bring you to be a prisoner also, and to
be kept in the same place where now you keep others. There is no
calamity that men are subject unto but you may also taste as well as
any other man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant; for the time of my short
abode come to me whenever you please, and you shall be heartily
welcome as my friend.' My dear lord, when he uttered these words,
should seem to have had some kind of prophetic foresight touching this
poor man's fate; for I have just heard this day, seven weeks only
after my husband's death, that Sir Michael Blount hath fallen into
great disgrace, lost his office, and is indeed committed close
prisoner in that same Tower where he so long kept others.
"And now my faltering pen must needs transcribe the last letter I
received from my beloved husband, for your heart, dear friend, is one
with mine. You have known its sufferings through the many years evil
influences robbed it of that love which, for brief intervals of
happiness afterward and this long separation since, hath, by its
steady and constant return, made so rich amends for the past. In these
final words you shall find proofs of his excellent humility and
notable affection for my unworthy self, which I doubt not, my dear
instance, shall draw water from your eyes. Mine yield no moisture now.
Methinks these last griefs have exhausted in them the fountain of
tears.
"'Mine own good wife, I must now in this world take my last farewell
of you; and as I know no person living whom I have so much offended as
yourself, so do I account this opportunity of asking your forgiveness
as a singular benefit of Almighty God. And I most humbly and heartily
beseech you, even for his sake and of your charity, to forgive me all
whereinsoever I have offended you; and the assurance I have of this
your forgiveness is my greatest contentment at this present, and
will be a greater, I doubt not, when my soul is ready to depart out of
my body. I call God to witness it is no small grief unto me that I
cannot make you recompense in this world for the wrongs I have done
you. Affliction gives understanding. God, who knows my heart, and has
seen my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I hope, of his infinite
mercy, remitted all, I doubt not, as you have done in your singular
charity, to mine infinite comfort.
"Now what remaineth but in a few brief sentences to relate how this
loved husband spent his last hours, and the manner of his death? Those
were for the most part spent in prayer; sometimes saying his beads,
sometimes such psalms and prayers as he knew by heart. Seeing his
servants (one of which hath been the narrator to me of these his final
moments) stand by his bedside in the morning weeping in a mournful
manner, he asked them 'what o'clock it was? they answering that it was
eight or thereabout, 'Why, then,' said he, 'I have almost run out my
course, and come to the end of this miserable mortal life,' desiring
them not to weep for him, since he did not doubt, by the grace of God,
but all would go well with him; which being said he returned to his
prayers upon his beads again, though then with a very slow, hollow,
and fainting voice; and so continued as long as he was able to draw so
much breath as was sufficient to sound out the names of Jesus and
Mary, which were the last words he was ever heard to speak. The last
minute of his last hour being come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly
fixed toward heaven, his long, lean, consumed arms out of the bed, his
hands upon his breast, laid in cross one upon the other, about twelve
o'clock at noon, in a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or
groan, only turning his head a little aside as one falling into a
pleasing sleep, he surrendered his soul into the hands of God who to
his own glory had created it. And she who writeth this letter, she who
loved him since her most early years--who when he was estranged from
her waited his return--who gloried in his virtues, doated on his
perfections, endured his afflictions, and now lamenteth his death,
hath nothing left but to live a widow; indeed with no other glory than
that which she doth borrow from his merits, until such time as it
shall please God to take her from this earth to a world where he hath
found, she doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul."
The Countess of Arundel is now aged. The virtues which have crowned
her mature years are such, as her youth did foreshadow. My pen would
run on too fast if it took up that theme. This only will I add, and so
conclude this too long piece of writing--she hath kept her constant
resolve to live and die a widow. I have seen many times letters from
both Protestants and Catholics which made unfeigned protestations that
they were never so edified by any as by her. As the Holy Scriptures do
say of that noble widow Judith, "Not one spoke an ill word of her,"
albeit these times are extremely malicious. For mine own part I never
read those words of Holy Writ, "Who shall find a valiant woman?" and
what doth follow, but I must needs think of Ann Dacre, the wife of
Philip Howard, earl of Arundel and Surrey.
After the lapse of some years, it hath been my hap to have a sight of
this manuscript, the reading of which, even as the writing of it in
former days, doth cause me to live over again my past life. This lapse
of time hath added nothing notable except the dreadful death of
Hubert, my dear Basil's only brother, who suffered last year for the
share he had, or leastways was judged to have, in the Gunpowder Plot
and treason. Alas! he which once, to improve his fortunes, denied his
faith, when fortune turned her back upon him grew into a
virulent hatred of those in power, once his friends and tempters, and
consorted with desperate men; whether he was privy to their counsels,
or only familiar with them previous to their crimes, and so fell into
suspicion of their guilt, God knoweth. It doth appear from some good
reports that he died a true penitent. There is a better hope methinks
for such as meet in this world with open shame and suffering than for
secret sinners who go to their pompous graves unchastised and
unabsolved.
By his brother's death Basil recovered his lands; for his present
majesty hath some time since recalled the sentence of his banishment.
And many of his friends have moved him to return to England; but for
more reasons than one he refused so much as to think of it, and has
compounded his estate for £700, 8s. 6d.
Our children have now grown unto ripe years. Muriel (who would have
been a nun if she had followed her godmother's example) is now
married, to her own liking and our no small contentment, to a very
commendable young gentleman, the son of Mr. Yates, and hath gone to
reside with him at his seat in Worcestershire; and Ann, Lady Arundel's
god-daughter, nothing will serve but to be a "holy Mary," as the
French people do style those dames which that great and good prelate,
M. de Genève, hath assembled in a small hive at Annecy, like bees to
gather honey of devotion in the garden of religion. This should seem a
strange fancy, this order being so new in the Church, and the place so
distant; but time will show if this should be God's will; and if so,
then it must needs be ours also.
What liketh me most is that my son Roger doth prove the very image of
his father, and the counterpart of him in his goodness. I am of
opinion that nothing better can be desired for him than that he never
lose so good a likeness.
And now farewell, pen and ink, mine old companions, for a brief moment
resumed, but with a less steady hand than heretofore; now not to be
again used except for such ordinary purposes as housewifery and
friendship shall require.
[THE END]
End of Project Gutenberg's Constance Sherwood, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton