HOW I STOOD BEFORE THE PREFECT.
I have never succeeded in adequately describing to Betsy Jane my
feelings under escort to bonds and imprisonment, and perhaps worse;
and if I failed in making the wife of my bosom appreciate the
horrible anxiety under which I laboured during that walk, I must
necessarily fail with the public. Not of course that I was alarmed on
my own account, but I felt for my wife and family, and I was all of a
tremble for Grubbington parish. Mrs. Starch, I mean Betsy Jane, has,
since my return to the 19th century, insisted on my insuring my life.
Perhaps had I been at the period of my lapse well insured, I could
have faced the tribunal with greater equanimity. I put it plainly to
myself,—here I am about to be judged, and perhaps sentenced to suffer
excruciating agonies, in behalf of a Christianity which is not at
all of my sort, or according to my liking. I am to be, possibly,
gutted alive, or impaled, or fried like a herring, or flayed,
and rubbed over with pepper and salt,—my nerves being unusually
sensitive—all because I am supposed to be a member of a religious
community which prays for the dead, uses superstitious ceremonial
in the celebration of sacraments, and does not know anything of the
principles of the Reformation! Am I prepared to undergo frightful
tortures in witness to a faith which tolerates incense, lights, and
vestments! Am I to relinquish for ever the prospects of croquet,
archery, and other like clerical diversions, by submitting to the
rack on behalf of a lot of Christians whose allegiance to the State
is more than questionable? Suppose I am gutted, or impaled, or thrown
to lions, or roasted on a gridiron, or burned in a tar barrel, what
then?
My bones or ashes will be collected, and “deposited in peace” in
some vault of the catacombs; I shall be a saint, not the Rev. Edward
Starch, but S. Edward, P. and M. My remains will be venerated by
ignorant crowds of devotees. To these legs of mine will be given
idolatrous worship, and a future Pope will, probably, send the
severed joints of my backbone to be enshrined in gold in various
Roman Catholic Churches in Christendom. My collar-bone may be
encrusted in jewels at Toledo, my ganglions in Cracow. My little toes
may be borne about by coped ecclesiastics in Austrian processions,
and the exposition of my big toes may be the means of preventing a
plague in Algiers. Now I may fairly ask myself am I justified in thus
affording additional opportunities for the extension of superstition?
If I could be quite certain that my relics would be disposed of in an
Anglican manner, say, sent to the British Museum, why then the case
would be altered. Or again, if I could be tried upon the principles
of the Anglican Liturgy and the Thirty-nine Articles, cheerfully
would I die, but for a religion which must be abhorrent to all
readers of the _Times_, or the _Pall Mall_, or the _Guardian_, in as
much as it closely resembles that of the 19th century ritualistic
school:—
NEVER!
In arriving at this conclusion I suppose I lagged a bit, for one of
my escort with his lance from behind progged me in a fleshy part,
to make me walk a little quicker. I threatened him with law, but he
laughed. Laughed at being threatened with law! In what a benighted
condition Rome must be.
We reached the court, and I was at once brought before the prefect,
who happened to be then sitting. He had just disposed of a Roman
Christian or two. One he had ordered to be smeared with honey and
exposed to wasps and bees; another he had condemned to be hamstrung,
a third to be hugged to death by a bear. An ugly prospect for my poor
self—not that I considered self one moment, but I did feel keenly for
my poor wife, whose feelings would be harrowed should she read the
acts of my martyrdom in Ruinart.
“Sirrah!” exclaimed the prefect, darting at me a malignant glance.
“Who are you? Another Christian dog, eh?”
I pulled up my shirt collar, and after a premonitory cough, replied
with dignity and composure, “Illustrious Sir, allow me briefly and
lucidly to explain to you the peculiar circumstances which have
brought me into this predicament.”
“Are you a Roman?” asked the judge in a surly manner.
“No, my Lord, I am an Englishman, parson of Grubbington-in-the-Clay.”
“Humph! I suppose you are a Christian.”
“Christian is a broad term,” I replied, “and may mean anything. A
Protestant and consistent Anglican I am, but I utterly repudiate all
connexion with the Roman Church which I stoutly maintain, in the
language of our incomparable Thirty-nine Articles, to have erred, not
only in their living and manner of ceremonies, but also in matters
of faith. I regard too, the Romish doctrine concerning purgatory,
pardons, worshipping and adoration of images, as of reliques, and
also invocation of saints, to be a fond thing vainly invented, and
grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the
word of God. I do most stoutly maintain this, and show me the member
of this Church who can stand against me in argument.”
The prefect looked at me with a puzzled air, and then asked what I
did believe.
“I believe that Bishops, priests, and deacons, are not commanded
either to vow the estate of single life, or to abstain from marriage:
and therefore that it is lawful for them, as for all other men, to
marry at their own discretion. I may add, that my wife entirely
agrees with me on this point.”
The prefect uttered an insulting remark with regard to my
intellectual capabilities.
“Are you a Christian?” he asked.
I allowed that I was, “but”——. He cut me short as I was about to
qualify the remark on the apostolic principle of being all things to
all men, and not causing my brother to offend, and asked whether I
would swear by the genius of the Emperor.
“By all means,” I replied, “the powers that be—you know the rest;
well, in Grubbington I have got a lion and unicorn over the chancel
arch. I have the utmost reverence for secular authority, and the
blindest devotion to the Crown.”
“Have you any of the sacred writings in your possession?”
I felt in my numerous pockets; I had failed before in my endeavour to
discover a certain publication of the Anglo-Continental Society, in
my breast pocket, I now explored one of the receptacles in the tail
of my coat. Yes! I came on a packet of the tracts of that society,
in Latin. I handed them at once to the prefect, who ordered his
secretary to take them.
“And,” continued he, addressing the executioner, “look out your
apparatus of torture, Maximus. Here is a man who seems to be neither
fish, nor flesh, nor fowl: he should have some special cooking.”
“My Lord, shall I roast him?”
“No, good Maximus, roasting is out of fashion.”
“Shall I boil him?”
“That is common-place.”
“Fry him, my Lord?”
“No, let us have some novelty; monotony is tedious.”
“The little horse, the red hot pincers, the thumb screws, the leaded
whips, are all stale,” mused the executioner, biting his thumb-nails
and looking dumped. Presently, however, a ray of light illumined his
face: “My Lord!” he said, looking up cheerfully, “it is an ancient
tradition in the family of my mother, who came from a remote island
of the northern seas, called Hibernia, that two cats were once shut
up in a chamber at Kilkennœa, and they fought and fought till they
had eaten each other all but the tails. My Lord, the prisoner seems
to regard the Roman Christians with an antipathy similar to that
recorded of the Kilkennœan cats, and this antipathy I presume is
reciprocated. Will it please your worship to order the confinement,
in an iron cage, of the deacon Laurence with this Britannic mongrel
Christian. I confidently anticipate great entertainment to your
Lordship, and I am satisfied that if you will condescend to inspect
the cage to-morrow morning, nothing of the several parties will be
discovered except the _os sacrum_ of each, which your Lordship is
well aware, takes that place in man which, in the inferior order of
mammals, is occupied by the tail.”
“Capital!” exclaimed the judge, “and whilst Maximus is looking up the
cage, and whilst the soldiers go in search of the deacon Laurence,
Servius, do you read the pernicious writings which the prisoner has
delivered over to us, and which the Christians regard with reverence.”
The secretary began to read; my eyes wandered about the court,
lighting on this and then on that instrument of torture. I saw a fire
of charcoal with pincers in it quite red hot, and my flesh quivered.
I saw a press under which Christians were sometimes flattened like
pancakes. I saw barbed hooks for inserting into the muscles, wooden
saws discoloured with blood, which had cut men in two. Indeed, I saw
more than I dare describe. When I attempted to go into the details
of what I beheld to my wife, she said “Now, don’t dear,” and I will
refrain from doing so here, relying upon her superior judgment.
Whilst I was examining all these horrible implements, the scribe
read on in a monotonous voice the stirring words of one of the most
pugnacious of the Anglo-Continental tracts. I now turned my gaze
upon the audience, who had taken a cruel interest in the scenes of
the court, and who were quite prepared to witness with relish the
anticipated fight between Laurence and myself. My eyes lingered first
on one and then on another. I soon observed their eyelids drooping,
and a blank expression stealing over their faces. Still the scribe
Servius read the bold statement of Anglican principles.
In the corner I observed the bear which had hugged one Christian to
death that morning, chained to a post. During the greater part of my
trial, the brute had extended its arms in an endearing manner towards
myself, and had been wagging its stump of a tail in the anticipation
of giving me a warm embrace. The bear now coiled itself up on the
floor, and went fast asleep. I now looked at the prefect. His eyes
were closed. Evidently the publication of the Anglo-Continental
Society had made a profound impression upon him. Yes! but of a kind
I had not anticipated. He, too, was asleep. I heard him snore. The
scribe’s voice began to falter, the sentences became broken. He went
to sleep also. I glanced round the court. Every one was enjoying the
repose which is brought on upon so many by a dose of laudanum, or a
perusal of the leading articles of the _Guardian_.
I seized the opportunity and stepped lightly out of the court. The
guards at the door were vigorously trumpeting through their noses; on
them too had the Anglo-Continental tract produced this happy effect.
In another moment I was in the street—I was free: I gave a whoop of
exultation, and—
WOKE UP IN MY STUDY.
Transcriber’s Notes
Created Table of Contents
pg 13 Changed am I presumptuous is to: in
pg 20 Added the word who after: there’s Betsy Jane (my wife)
pg 21 Added comma after: said aside
pg 24 Changed period after: is more than questionable to:
a question mark
pg 29 Changed an antipathy similiar to: similar
pg 29 Removed repeated word: in the the inferior