a study of the room and the guests. The former presents a strange
mixture of primitiveness and pretension: the build is clumsy, the
window-shutters cover only the glass panes, the fittings are rude, the
floor is bare. But the walls have been painted in
(millions-of-miles-off) imitation of Raphael's much-sinned-against
Loggie! And over the mantelpiece hangs a landscape, into which a piece
of looking-glass is inserted to represent a lake. The principal piece
of furniture is a large glass cupboard, in which is stowed away--we
know not for what grand occasion, for it is not even brought into use
to-day--a set of common English willow-pattern earthenware! We cannot
but smile to see our humble friend in such grand plight; and we
moralize to ourselves on the subjectivity of the human mind, to which
its changed estimation testifies. The angularity of the fall of the
table-cloth "accuses" a table composed of a literal "board," supported
on tressels; and though there are a few chairs, the majority of the
guests have to be content with backless benches. At one end of our
board an English artist, not unknown to fame, and his party are going
through the regular routine of an Italian hotel dinner with
praiseworthy patience. At another board sits a large family of
natives, and we forget all note of time as we watch with astonished
eyes the masses of _pasta_ they contrive to stow away, half-cooked as
it is sure to be. The sight is not new to us, but every time we see it
it has the same attraction, derived from the reminiscence of a
delicious early surprise such as the performance of Punch and Judy
always exercises on any number of Londoners. A vacant space near them
is soon filled by another native, a young exquisite, who appears quite
oppressed by the mild heat we northerners had been enjoying. Throwing
himself at full length on the bench, he commences a violent fanning
with his handkerchief; but after a minute or two his hand requires a
cooler instrument, and he changes it for his hat, which in turn is
exchanged for his dinner-napkin, and, finally, he completes the
operation with his plate! At last the one-sentence-of-French waiter
directs his steps toward our party, but, to the indignation of every
individual of it, he bears the _minestra_ we forbade him to name. This
has been our universal experience. The Italian mind cannot take in the
idea of the possibility of dining without broth; it is useless to
countermand it, it is sure to be sent to table. We explode,
nevertheless, and desire the dishes we ordered to be brought without
further delay. "_Aspetti oon petti momenti_," says Nicolò; {611} and
better than, his word this time, it is really only _un petit moment_
before we are duly served.
Dinner despatched, we have still time to stroll over the neighborhood
before we are wanted at Genzano. A walk of less than a mile, starting
over the magnificent new viaduct, takes us to the straggling _paese_
(we cannot bring ourselves to call it a town) of Albano. A
good-natured old fellow, always recognizable by the extreme whiteness
of his stockings, hails us as we pass, in memory of old acquaintance,
and is sure we must want donkeys; we cannot refuse him, and hoping
Master Pietro won't see us out of his stable window, we suffer the
sure-footed but ignoble substitutes to take us down the difficult
descent which the viaduct was built to spare us--so wayward is woman!
But the viaduct itself has created a reason for making the descent, as
the sight of its noble proportions amply repays the journey.
It was completed during the reign of the present Pope, from the
designs of a local engineer--one of the Jacobini family. It is formed
of "arches on arches" in three ranges, six on the lowest tier, twelve
in the next, and eighteen in the highest; they are each forty-nine
feet wide between the piers, and sixty feet in height; the whole
length of roadway, including the approaches, is nearly a quarter of a
mile, and the height to top of parapet just two hundred feet. It is
built of massive blocks of peperino, cut to fit each other without
mortar, and the appearance is solid and grand, worthy of the models of
ancient masonry by which it is surrounded. There is no attempt at
ornament. The entire cost was 140,000 scudi (£33,000), [Footnote 93]
and the halfpenny toll has already gone far toward repaying it.
[Footnote 93: We drove, the other day, under the viaduct of the
Brighton Railway for the sake of comparing it with our memory of
l^Ariccia, and were disappointed to find it a slender brick affair,
for which the meaningless display of stone at the top had not
prepared us. It consists of thirty-seven arches, sixty feet high,
and is a little over a quarter of a mile in length. We were informed
its cost was £58,000.]
Close under it lies the old ruined tomb commonly called of the Horatii
and Curiatii but now determined to be that of Aruns, son of Porsenna.
It has all the appearance of being of Etruscan work, and the remains
are very peculiar. It is a square structure, forty-six feet every way
and twenty feet high; at the four corners are the remains of four
small cones, one being nearly perfect; in the centre is a cylinder,
twenty-three feet across, made to contain the urn.
Our donkeys carried us bravely up the rugged hill, and then we found,
to our regret, we must leave the Chigi palace, Duke Sforza's infant
schools, and other objects of interest for another visit; we had only
time to get back to Genzano. A great deal of business had been done at
the fair, and many hearts won by the fair. The booth-keepers, having
sold off their stock, had shut up shop and gone away, and the merry
couples were circulating freely. The rosemaried pork and Genzano wine
had given them strength and vigor and gaiety--let it not be understood
that we see any trace of excess; all is mirth and good humor and
picturesqueness. At last six o'clock strikes, and, like an army
marshalled by the word of command, the spontaneous and unanimous will
of the thousands of sightseers brings them in serried procession up
the broad street, where the Infiorata lies sparkling and rendering up
its varied and gorgeous reflections to the sun's rays which bathe it.
Beautiful and delicate tribute of a poetical people! The occasion is
the festival of the Blessed Sacrament; and as it is carried among them
in solemn procession the custom of all Catholic countries is to strew
flowers along the way; but here the idea has taken a development of a
surpassing order, if not unique--as if no care could be too great: not
only are the most brilliant flowers planted months before, and
collected from distant contributors, but when the day arrives all
these are made to form the most exquisite {612} mosaics. What is a
Gobelins carpet to this weft of nature's own materials! A cord is
drawn up both sides of the road to keep the flowered centre clear, and
no one thinks of infringing the slight barrier. The rising ground is
most favorable for displaying in two lines, ascending and descending,
the endless variety of elaborate devices of tesselation. Costly
marbles of different hues fitly pave the basilica; the glazed
_axulejos_ cooled the Moslem's feet at the same time that they pleased
his eye; the velvet-pile tapestries of British looms carpet the bleak
floors of our northern homes; and the stiff geometrical tiles, angular
and uncomfortable as everything Gothic is, suit very well to our
Gothic churches. Each and all have their fitness; and what is the
Infiorata? It is the tribute of a simple and poor, but imaginative and
loving, people "preparing to meet their God."
"O earth, grow flowers beneath his feet,
And thou, O sun, shine bright this day!
He comes, he comes,--O heaven on earth!
Our Jesus comes upon his way,"
sings one of their hymns for the occasion. And, poor tillers of the
earth, the only offering they _can_ make is of the flowers which "her
children are." We looked on with an artist's and humanitarian's
enjoyment. And delicious enjoyment it was! It was the fresh enjoyment
of our childhood over again to trace the rich mosaic designs spread
before us; and we pity him who does not know the enjoyment of the
sensation of color. There were the arms of the Stato Pontificio, and
of the _paese_, and of the Cesarini and Jacobini, with all their
bearings and all their tinctures and then, as it were, the arms of the
blessed sacrament--the symbols under which it is figured. The herald
must find a new nomenclature; already he has a separate one for
commonalty, nobility, and royalty, but now, for a "greater than
Solomon," he must devise another. To his "sol, topaz, or," he must add
the marigold; and to his "luna, pearl, argent," the lily. Then came
arabesques in perplexing mazes of tracery; every line true, and every
harmony or contrast of tint faultless. By a refinement least of all to
be expected, in the centre of some of the compartments a tiny fountain
had been introduced, "flinging delicious coolness round the air, and
verdure o'er the ground." Nothing that poets have fabled of fairyland
or paradise ever exceeded it in imaginative luxuriance.
"O what a wilderness of flowers!
It seemed as though from all the bowers
And fairest fields of all the year
The mingled spoils were scattered here.
The pathway like a garden breathes
With the rich buds that o'er it lie,
As if a shower of fairy wreaths
Had fallen upon it from the sky."
A crowd of Romans is not surrounded by a savory atmosphere. We are
never in one without finding that the thing Cleopatra exceedingly
feared had fallen upon us--
"In their thick breath.
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded.
And forced to drink their vapor."
Their baths are things of the past; their picturesque costume looks as
if it were never renewed during a whole life; their houses are dingy,
and bare, and comfortless; yet we have before us the proof that they
possess a delicacy of both feeling and taste which it would be
impossible to find surpassed anywhere.
Meantime the procession from the church approaches, and a hush
succeeds the merry din which has stunned us so long; the last
pertinacious "_Ecco! zigari!_" and "_Acqua fresca_!" is sung out. And
in their harsh nasal intonation the appropriated hymns are begun by
the priests and taken up by the whole population, very much after the
fashion of a horse running away; without any regard for time and very
little for tune, but with a heartiness and earnestness which we try to
persuade ourselves ought to compensate for the "skinning" of our ears.
The untidy choristers precede and follow in due numbers, and the
quaint confraternities, in various dresses, bearing unwieldy,
misshapen {613} banners, waddle and hobble behind. Slovenly men with
unwashed hands carry great yellow tapers, and a ragged urchin runs by
the side of each catching the droppings into a piece of stiff paper.
The whole thing is disenchanting and disedifying; but we see so
plainly the impression that they think they are doing their best
reflected from so many hundred beaming countenances, that we end by
exhausting our squeamishness, and learn to look on the Genzanese modes
of devotion from their own standing-point. By the time it has taken to
effect this, however, the procession has regained the church, where we
find it impossible to penetrate, and so we turn to take a last look at
the Infiorata. Alas! it has all vanished, as completely as if it had
been the emanation of fairyland it appeared to be. As soon as the
procession had passed the people broke in, eager to possess themselves
of the flowers as a sort of relic. From what we saw of the process of
undoing, it appeared that the mosaics were not composed of whole
flowers, except in some instances where their form adapted them to
form special designs, but the generality were made with shred petals,
by which means masses of color were obtained in the most manageable
quantities. There was, in most cases, a board or oil-cloth for a
foundation, with the patterns marked out in chalk; but the blending of
colors seemed to have been left to the individual taste of the
workers.
We get back to our narrow rooms at l'Ariccia in time to escape the
firing of the _mortaletti_ and _botti_ (small guns and crackers)
without which an Italian _festa_ is seldom considered complete.
Nicolò is much disappointed that we will not again trust to the
resources of his cuisine, and exclaims "_Aspetti con petti momenti_,"
as he goes in quest of our bed-lamps. While we wait, we hear our
Italian fellow-diners angrily complaining that mine host had taken
advantage of the throng of visitors to cheat them of their due
proportion of _pasta!_ The quantity sent up for four was only the due
mess of one, _selon_ them. What a spectacle we should have had if it
had been dealt out to them according to their own measure!
------
From Chamber's Journal.
BROADCAST THY SEED.
Broadcast thy seed!
Although some portion may be found
To fall on uncongenial ground,
Where sand, or shard, or stone may stay
Its coming into light of day;
Or when it comes, some pestilent air
May make it droop or wither there--
Be not discouraged; some will find
Congenial soil and gentle wind,
Refreshing dew and ripening shower,
To bring it into beauteous flower,
From flower to fruit, to glad thine eyes,
And fill thy soul with sweet surprise.
Do good, and God will bless thy deed--
Broadcast thy seed!
------
{614}
From The Month.
CONSTANCE SHERWOOD:
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.
CHAPTER XXII.
"Ah, ladies," exclaimed Mr. Cobham--pleased, I ween, to see how
eagerly we looked for his news--"I promise you the eastern counties do
exhibit their loyalty in a very commendable fashion, and so report
saith her majesty doth think. The gallant appearance and brave array
of the Suffolk esquires hath drawn from her highness sundry marks of
her approval. What think you, my Lady Tregony, of two hundred
bachelors, all gaily clad in white-velvet coats, and those of graver
years in black-velvet coats and fair gold chains, with fifteen hundred
men all mounted on horseback, and Sir William le Spring of Lavenham at
their head. I warrant you a more comely troop and a nobler sight
should not often be seen. Then, in Norfolk, what great sums of money
have been spent! Notably at Kenninghall, where for divers days not
only the queen herself was lodged and feasted, with all her household,
council, courtiers, and all their company, but all the gentlemen also,
and people of the country who came thither upon the occasion, in such
plentiful, bountiful, and splendid manner, as the like had never been
seen before in these counties. Every night she hath slept at some
gentleman's seat. At Holdstead Hall I had the honor to be presented to
her highness, and to see her dance a minuet. But an unlucky accident
did occur that evening."
"No lives were lost, I hope?" Lady Tregony said.
"No lives," Master Cobham answered; "but a very precious fan which her
majesty let drop into the moat--one of white and red feathers, which
Sir Francis Drake had gifted her with on New Year's day. It was
enamelled with a half-moon of mother-o'-pearl and had her majesty's
picture within it."
"And at Norwich, sir?" I asked. "Methinks, by some reports we heard,
the pageants there must have proved exceeding grand."
"Rare indeed," he replied. "On the 16th she did enter the town at
Harford Bridge. The mayor received her with a long Latin oration, very
tedious; and, moreover, presented her with a fair cup of silver,
saying, 'Here is one hundred pounds pure gold.' To my thinking, the
cup was to her liking more than the speech, and the gold most of all;
for when one of her footmen advanced for to take the cup, she said
sharply, 'Look to it: there is one hundred pounds.' Lord! what a
number of pageants were enacted that day and those which followed!
Deborah, Judith, Esther at one gate; Queen Martia at another; on the
heights near Blanche-flower Castle, King Gurgunt and his men. Then all
the heathen deities in turn: Mercury driving full speed through the
city in a fantastic car; Jupiter presenting her with a riding-rod, and
Venus with a white dove. {615} But the rarest of all had been designed
by Master Churchyard. Where her majesty was to take her barge, at the
back-door of my Lord Arundel's town-house, he had prepared a goodly
masque of water-nymphs concealed in a deep hole, and covered with
green canvas, which suddenly opening as if the ground gaped, first one
nymph was intended to pop up and make a speech to the queen, and then
another; and a very complete concert to sound secretly and strangely
out of the earth. But when the queen passed in her coach, a
thunder-shower came down like a water-spout, and great claps of
thunder silenced the concert; which some did presage to be an evil
omen of the young lord's fortunes."
"I' faith," cried Basil, "I be sorry for the young nobleman, and yet
more for the poor artificer of this ingenious pageant, to whom his
nymphs turned into drowned rats must needs have been a distressing
sight."
"He was heard to lament over it," Master Cobham said, "in very
pathetic terms: 'What shall I say' (were his words) 'of the loss of
velvets, silks, and cloths of gold? Well, nothing but the old
adage--Man doth purpose, but God dispose.' Well, the mayor hath been
knighted; and her majesty said she should never forget his city. On
her journey she looked back, and, with water in her eyes, shaked her
riding whip, and cried, 'Farewell Norwich!' Yesterday she was to sleep
at Sir Henry Jerningham's at Cottessy, and hunt in his park to-day."
"Oh, poor Sir Henry!" I said laughing. "Then he hath not escaped this
dear honor?"
"Notice of it was sent to him but two days before, from Norwich,"
Master Cobham rejoined; "and I ween he should have been glad for to be
excused."
Lady Tregony then reminded us that supper was ready, and we removed to
the dining-hall; but neither did this good gentleman weary of relating
nor we of listening to the various haps of the royal progress, which
he continued to describe whilst we sat at meat.
He was yet talking when the sound of a horse gallopping under the
windows surprised us, and we had scarce time to turn our heads before
Basil's steward came tumbling into the room head foremost, like one
demented.
"Sir, sir!" he cried, almost beside himself; "in God's name, what do
you here, and the queen coming for to sleep at your house to-morrow?"
Methinks a thunder-clap in the midst of the stilly clear evening
should not have startled us so much. Basil's face flushed very deeply;
Lady Tregony looked ready to faint; my heart beat as if it should
burst; Master Cobham threw his hat into the air, and cried, "Long live
Queen Elizabeth, and the old house of Rookwood!"
"Who hath brought these tidings?" Basil asked of the steward.
"Marry," replied the man, "one of her majesty's gentlemen and two
footmen have arrived from Cottessy, and brought this letter from Lord
Burleigh for your honor."
Basil broke the seal, read the missive, and then quietly looking up,
said, "It is true; and I must lose no time to prepare my poor house
for her majesty's abode in it."
He looked not now red, but somewhat pale. Methinks he was thinking of
the chapel, and what it held; and the queen's servants now in the
house. I would not stay him; but, taking my hand whilst he spoke, he
said to Lady Tregony,
"Dear lady, I shall lack yours and Constance's aid to-morrow. Will you
do me so much good as to come with her to Euston as early before
dinner as you can?"
"Yea, we will be with you, my good Basil," she answered, "before ten
of the clock."
"'Tis not," he said, "that I intend to cast about for fine silks and
cloths of gold, or contrive pageants--God {616} defend it!--or ransack
the country for rare and costly meats; but such honorable cheer and so
much of comfort as a plain gentleman's house can afford, I be bound to
provide for my sovereign when she deigneth to use mine house."
"Master Cobham, I do crave the honor of your company also," he added,
turning to that gentleman, who, with many acknowledgments of his
courtesy, excused himself on the plea that he must needs be at his own
seat the next day.
Then Basil, mounting his horse which the steward had brought with him,
rode away so fast that the old man could scarce keep up with him.
Not once that night did mine eyes close themselves. Either I sat bolt
upright in my bed counting each time the clock struck the number of
chimes, or else, unable to lie still, paced up and down my chamber.
The hours seemed to pass so slowly, more than in times of deep grief.
It seemed so strange a hap that the queen should come to Euston, I
almost fancied at moments the whole thing to be a dream, so fantastic
did it appear. Then a fear would seize me lest the chapel should have
been discovered before Basil could arrive. Minor cares likewise
troubled me; such as the scantiness and bad state of the furniture,
the lack of household conveniences, the difficulty that might arise to
procure sufficient food at a brief notice for so great a number of
persons. Oh, how my head did work all night with these various
thinkings! and it seemed as if the morning would never come, and when
it did that Lady Tregony would never ring her bell. Then I bethought
myself of the want of proper dresses for her and myself to appear in
before her majesty, if so be we were admitted to her presence.
Howsoever, I found she was indifferently well provided in that
respect, for her old good gowns stood in a closet where dust could not
reach them, and she bethought herself I could wear my wedding-dress,
which had come from the seamstress a few days before; and so we should
not be ashamed to be seen. I must needs confess that, though many
doubts and apprehensions filled me touching this day, I did feel some
contentment in the thought of the honor conferred on Basil. If there
was pride in this, I do cry God mercy for it. As we rode to Euston,
the fresh air, the eager looks of the people on the road--for now the
report had spread of the queen's coming--the stir which it caused, the
puttings up of flags, and buildings of green arches, strengthened this
gladness. Basil was awaiting us with much impatience, and immediately
drew me aside.
"I have locked," he said, "all the books and church furniture, and our
Blessed Lady's image, in Owen's hiding place; so methinks we be quite
secure. Beds and food I have sent for, and they keep coming in.
Prithee, dear love, look well thyself to her majesty's chamber, for to
make it as handsome and befitting as is possible with such poor means
thereunto. I pray God the lodging may be to her contentation for one
night."
So I hasted to the state-chamber--for so it was called, albeit except
for size it had but small signs of state about it. Howsoever, with the
maids' help, I gathered into it whatsoever furniture in the house was
most handsome, and the wenches made wreaths of ivy and laurel, which
we hung round the bare walls. Thence I went to the kitchen, and found
her majesty's cook was arrived, with as many scullions as should have
served a whole army; so, except speaking to him civilly, and inquiring
what provisions he wanted, I had not much to do there. Then we went
round the house with Mr. Bowyer, the gentleman-usher, for to assign
the chambers to the queen's ladies, and the lords and gentlemen and
the waiting-women. There was no lack of room, but much of proper
furniture; albeit chairs and tables were borrowed on all sides from
the neighboring cottages, and Lady {617} Tregony sent for a store from
her house. Mr. Bowyer held in his hand a list of the persons of the
court now journeying with the queen; Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis
Walsingham, Sir Christopher Hatton, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many other
famous courtiers were foremost in it. When their lodgings were fixed,
he glanced down the paper, and, mine eyes following his, I perceived
among the minor gentlemen there set down Hubert's name, which moved me
very much; for we did not of a surety know at that time he did belong
to the court, and I would fain he had not been present on this
occasion, and new uneasy thoughts touching what had passed at Sir
Francis Walsingham's house, and the words the queen had let fall
concerning him and me, crossed my mind in consequence. But in that
same list I soon saw another name which caused me so vehement an
emotion that Basil, noticing it, pulled me by the hand into another
room for to ask me the cause of that sudden passion.
"Basil," I whispered, "mine heart will break if that murthering
Richard Topcliffe must sleep under your roof."
"God defend it!" he exclaimed. But pausing in his speech leant his arm
against the chimney and his head on it for a brief space. Then raising
it, said, in an altered tone, "Mine own love, be patient. We must
needs drink this chalice to the dregs" (which showed me his thoughts
touching this visit had been from the first less hopeful than mine).
Taking my pencil out of mine hand, he walked straight to the door
before which Mr. Bowyer was standing, awaiting us, and wrote thereon
Master Topcliffe's name. Methought his hand shook a little in the
doing of it. I then whispered again in his ear:
"Know you that Hubert is in the queen's retinue?"
"No, indeed!" he exclaimed; and then with his bright winning smile,
"Prithee now, show him kindness for my sake. He had best sleep in my
chamber to-night. It will make room, and mind us of our boyish days."
The day was waning and long shadows falling on the grass when tidings
came that her majesty had been hunting that morning, and would not
arrive till late. About dusk warning was given of her approach. She
rode up on horseback to the house amidst the loud cheering of the
crowd, with all her train very richly attired. But it had waxed so
dark their countenances could not be seen. Her master of the horse
lifted her from the saddle, and she went straight to her own
apartments, being exceeding tired, it was said, with her day's sport
and long riding. Notice was given that her highness would admit none
to her presence that evening. Howsoever, she sent for Basil, and,
giving him her hand to kiss, thanked him in the customary manner for
the use of his house. It had not been intended that Lady Tregony and I
should sleep at Euston, where the room did scarcely suffice for the
queen's suite. So when it was signified her majesty should not leave
her chamber that night, but, after a slight refection, immediately
retire to rest, and her ladies likewise, who were almost dead with
fatigue, she ordered our horses to be brought to the back-door. Basil
stole away from the hall where the lords and gentlemen were assembled
for to bid us good-night. After he had lifted me on the saddle, he
threw his arm round the horse's neck as if for to detain him, and
addressing me very fondly, called me his own love, his sole comfort,
his best treasure, with many other endearing expressions.
Then I, loth to leave him alone amidst false friends and secret
enemies, felt tenderness overcome me, and I gave him in return some
very tender and passionate assurances of affection; upon which he
kissed mine hands over and over again, and our hearts, overcharged
with various emotions, found relief in this interchange of loving
looks and words. But, alas! this brief interview had an unthought
{618} of witness more than good Lady Tregony, who said once or twice,
"Come, children, bestir yourselves," or "Tut, tut, we should be off;'"
but still lingered herself for to pleasure us. I chanced to look up,
whilst Basil was fastening my horse's bit, and by the light of a lamp
projecting from the wall, I saw Hubert at an open window right over
above our heads. I doubt not but that he had seen the manner of our
parting, and heard the significant expressions therein used; for a
livid hue, and the old terrible look which I had noticed in him
before, disfigured his countenance. I am of opinion that until that
time he had not believed with certainty that my natural, unbiassed
inclination did prompt me to marry Basil, or that I loved him with
other than a convenient and moderate regard, which, if circumstances
reversed their positions, should not be a hindrance to his own suit.
Basil having finished his management with my bridle stepped back with
a smile and last good-night, all unconscious of that menacing visage
which my terrified eyes were now averted from, but which I still
seemed pursued by. It made me weep to think that these two brothers
should lie in the same chamber that coming night; the one so confiding
and guileless of heart, the other so full of envy and enmity.
I was so tired when I reached home that I fell heavily asleep for some
hours. But, awaking between five and six of the clock, and not able to
rest in my chamber, dressed myself and went into the garden. Not far
from the house there was an arbor, with a seat in it. Passing
alongside of it, I perceived, with no small terror, a man lying asleep
on this bench. And then, with increased affright, but not believing
mine own eyes, but rather thinking it to be a vision, saw Basil, as it
seemed to me, in the same dress he wore the day before, but with his
face much paler. A cry burst from me, for methought perhaps he should
be dead. But he awoke at my scream, looked somewhat wildly about him
for a minute, rubbed his eyes, and then with a kind of smile, albeit
an exceeding sad one, said,
"Is it you, my good angel?"
"O Basil," I cried, sitting down by his side, and taking hold of his
chilled hand, "what hath happened? Why are you here?"
He covered his face with his hands. Methinks he was praying. Then he
raised his pale, noble visage and said:
"About one hour after your departure, supper being just ended, I was
talking with Sir Walter Raleigh and some other gentlemen, when a
message was brought unto me from Lord Burleigh, who had retired to his
chamber, desiring for to speak with me. I thought it should be
somewhat anent the queen's pleasure for the ordering of the next day,
and waited at once on his lordship. When I came in, he looked at me
with a very severe and harsh countenance. 'Sir,' he said in an abrupt
manner, 'I am informed that you are excommunicated for papistry. How
durst you then attempt the royal presence, and to kiss her majesty's
hand? You--unfit to company with any Christian person--you are fitter
for a pair of stocks, and are forthwith commanded not to appear again
in her sight, but to hold yourself ready to attend her council's
pleasure.' Constance, God only knoweth what I felt; and oh, may he
forgive me that for one moment I did yield to a burning resentment,
and forgot the prayers I have so often put up, that when persecution
fell on me I might meet it, as the early Christians did, with
blessings, not with curses. But look you, love, a judicial sentence,
torture, death methinks, should be easier to bear than this insulting,
crushing, brutal tone, which is now used toward Catholics. Yet if
Christ was for us struck by a slave and bore it, we should also be
able for to endure their insolent scorn. Bitter words escaped me, I
think, albeit I know not very well what I said; but {619} his lordship
turned his back on the man he had insulted, and left the room without
listening to me. I be glad of it now. What doth it avail to
remonstrate against injuries done under pretence of law, or bandy
words with a judge which can compel you to silence?"
"Basil," I cried, "you may forgive that man; I cannot'.'
"Yea, but if you love me, you shall forgive him," he cried. "God
defend mine injuries should work in thee an unchristian resentment!
Nay, nay, love, weep not; think for what cause I am ill-used, and thou
wilt presently rejoice thereat rather than grieve."
"But what happened when that lord had left you?" I asked, not yet able
to speak composedly.
Then he: "I stood stock-still for a while in a kind of bewilderment,
hearing loud laughter in the hall below, and seeing, as it did happen,
a man the worse for liquor staggering about the court. To my heated
brain it did seem as if hell had been turned loose in my house, where
some hours before--" Then he stopped, and again sinking his head on
his hands, paused a little, and then continued without looking up:
"Well, I came down the stairs and walked straight out at the front
door. As I passed the hall I heard some one ask, 'Which is the master
of this huge house?' and another, whom by his voice I knew to be
Topcliffe, answered, 'Rookwood, a papist, newly crept out of his
wardship. As to his house, 'tis most fit for the blackguard, but not
for her gracious majesty to lodge in. But I hope she will serve God
with great and comfortable examples, and have all such notorious
papists presently committed to prison.' This man's speech seemed to
restore me to myself, and a firmer spirit came over me. I resolved not
to sleep under mine own roof, where, in the queen's name, such
ignominious treatment had been awarded me,' and went out of my house,
reciting those verses of the Psalms, 'O God, save me in thy name, and
in thy strength judge me. Because strangers have risen up against me,
and the strong have sought my soul.' I came here almost unwittingly,
and not choosing to disturb any one in the midst of the night, lay
down in this place, and, I thank God, soon fell asleep."
"You did not see Hubert?" I timidly inquired.
"No," he said, "neither before nor after my interview with Lord
Burleigh. I hope no one hath accused him of papistry, and so this time
he may escape."
"And who did accuse you?" I asked.
"I know not," he answered; "we are never safe for one hour. A
discontented groom or covetous neighbor may ruin us when they list."
"But are you not in danger of being called before the council?" I
said.
"Yea, more than in danger," he answered. "But I should hope a heavy
fine shall this time satisfy the judges; which, albeit we can ill
afford it, may yet be endured."
Then I drew him into the house, and we continued to converse till good
Lady Tregony joined us. When I briefly related to her what Basil had
told me, the color rose in her pale, aged cheek; but she only clasped
her hands and said,
"God's holy will be done."
"Constance," Basil exclaimed, whilst he was eating some breakfast we
had set before him, "prithee get me paper and ink for to write to
Hubert."
I looked at him inquiringly as I gave him what he asked for.
"I am banished from mine own house," he said; "but as long as it is
mine the queen should not lack anything I can supply for her comfort.
She is my guest, albeit I am deemed unworthy to come into her
presence; I must needs charge Hubert to act the host in my place, and
see to all hospitable duties."
My heart swelled at this speech. Methought, though I dared not utter
{620} my thinking for more reasons than one, that Hubert had most like
not waited for his brother's licence to assume the mastership of his
house. The messenger was despatched, and then a long silence ensued,
Basil walking to and fro before the house, and I embroidering, with
mine eyes often raised from my work to look toward him. When nine
o'clock struck I joined him, and we strolled outside the gate, and
without forecasting to do so walked along the well-known path leading
to Euston. When we reached a turn of the road whence the house is to
be seen, we stopped and sat down on a bank under a sycamore tree. We
could discern from thence persons going in and out of the doors, and
the country-folk crowding about the windows for to catch a glimpse of
the queen, the guard ever and anon pushing them back with their
halberds. The numbers of them continually increased, and deputations
began to arrive with processions and flags. It was passing strange for
to be sitting there gazing as strangers on this turmoil, and folks
crowding about that house the master of which was banished from it. At
last we noticed an increased agitation amongst the people which seemed
to presage the queen's coming out. Sounds of shouting proceeded from
inside the building, and then a number of men issued from the front
door, and pushing back the crowd advanced to the centre of the green
plot in front and made a circle there with ropes.
"What sport are they making ready for?" I said, turning to Basil.
"God knoweth," he answered in a despondent tone. Then came others
carrying a great armed-chair, which they placed on one side of the
circle and other chairs beside it, and some country people brought in
their arms loads of fagots, which they piled up in the midst of the
green space. A painful suspicion crossed my mind, and I stole a glance
at Basil for to see if the same thought had come to him. He was
looking another way. I cast about if it should be possible on some
pretence to draw him off from that spot, whence it misgave me a
sorrowful sight should meet his eyes. But at that moment both of us
were aroused by loud cries of "God save the queen!" "Long live Queen
Elizabeth!" and we beheld her issue from the house bowing to the
crowd, which filled the air with their cries and vociferous cheering.
She seated herself in the armed-chair, her ladies and the chief
persons of her train on each side of her. On the edge of this
half-circle I discerned Hubert. The straining of mine eyes was very
painful; they seemed to burn in their sockets. Basil had been watching
the forth-coming of the queen, but his sight was not so quick as mine,
and as yet no fear such as I entertained had struck him.
"What be they about?" he said to me with a good-natured smile. Before
I could answer--"Good God!" he exclaimed in an altered voice; "what
sound is that?" for suddenly yells and hooting noises arose, such as a
mob do salute criminals with, and a kind of procession issued from the
front door. "What, what is it?" cried Basil, seizing my hand with a
convulsive grasp; "what do they carry?--not Blessed Mary's image?"
"Yea," I said, "I see Topcliffe walking in front of them. They will
burn it. There, there--they do lift it in the air in mockery. Oh, some
people do avoid and turn away; now they lay it down and light the
fagots." Then I put my hand over his eyes for that he should not see a
sort of dance which was performed around the fire, mixed with yells
and insulting gestures, and the queen sitting and looking on. He
forced my hand away; and when I said, "Oh, prithee, Basil, stay not
here--come with me," he exclaimed.
"Let me go, Constance! let me go! Shall I stand aloof when at mine own
door the Blessed Mother of God is outraged? Am I a Jew or a heretic
that I should endure this sight and not smite this queen of earth,
which dareth {621} to insult the Queen of Saints? Yea, if I should be
torn to pieces, I will not suffer them to proceed."
I clung to him affrighted, and cried out, "Basil, you shall not go.
Our Blessed Lady forbids it; your passion doth blind you. You will
offend God and lose your soul if you do. Basil, dearest Basil, 'tis
human anger, not godly sorrow only, moves you now." Then he cast
himself down with his face on the ground and wept bitterly; which did
comfort me, for his inflamed countenance had been terrible, and these
tears came as a relief.
Meantime this disgusting scene ended, and the queen withdrew; after
which the crowd slowly dispersed, smouldering ashes alone remaining in
the midst of the burnt-up grass. Then Basil rose, folded his arms, and
gazed on the scene in silence. At last he said:
"Constance, this house shall no longer be mine. God knoweth I have
loved it well since my infancy. More dearly still since we forecasted
together to serve God in it. But this scene would never pass away from
my mind. This outrage hath stained the home of my fathers. This
people, whose yells do yet ring in mine ears, can no longer be to me
neighbors as heretofore, or this queen my queen. God forgive me if I
do m in this. I do not curse her. No, God defend it! I pray that on
her sad deathbed--for surely a sad one it must be--she shall cry for
mercy and obtain it; but her subject I will not remain. I will
compound my estate for a sum of money, and will go beyond seas, where
God is served in a Catholic manner and his Holy Mother not dishonored.
Wilt thou follow me there, Constance?"
I leant my head on his shoulder, weeping. "O, Basil," I cried, "I can
answer only in the words of Ruth: 'Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will
go; and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be
my people, and thy God my God.'"
He drew my arm in his, and we walked slowly away toward Fakenham.
Wishing to prepare his mind for a possible misfortune, I said: "We be
a thousand times happier than those which shall possess thy lands."
"What say you?" he quickly answered; "who shall possess them?"
"God knoweth," I replied, afraid to speak further.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed: "a dreadful thought cometh to me; where
was Hubert this morning?"
I remained silent.
"Speak, speak! O Constance, God defend he was there!"
His grief and horror were so great I durst not reveal the truth, but
made some kind of evasive answer. To this day methinks he is ignorant
on that point.
The queen and the court departed from Euston soon after two of the
clock; not before, as I since heard, the church furniture and books
had been all destroyed, and a malicious report set about that a piece
of her majesty's plate was missing, as an excuse for to misuse the
poor servants which had showed grief at the destruction carried on
before their eyes. When notice of their departure reached Banham Hall,
whither we had returned, Basil immediately went back to Euston. I much
lamented he should be alone that evening, in the midst of so many sad
sights and thoughts as his house now should afford him, little
forecasting the event which, by a greater mishap, surmounted minor
subjects of grief.
About six of the clock, Sir Francis Walsingham, attended by an esquire
and two grooms, arrived at Lady Tregony's seat, and was received by
her with the courtesy she was wont to observe with every one. After
some brief discoursing with her on indifferent matters, he said his
business was with young Mistress Sherwood, and he desired to see her
alone. Thereupon I was fetched to him, and straightway he began to
speak of the queen's good opinion of me, and that her highness had
been well contented {622} with my behavior when I had been admitted
into her presence at his house; and that it should well please her
majesty I should marry a faithful subject of her majesty's, whom she
had taken into her favor, and then she would do us both good.
I looked in a doubtful manner at Sir Francis, feigning to misapprehend
his meaning, albeit too clear did it appear to me. Seeing I did not
speak, he went on:
"It is her majesty's gracious desire, Mistress Sherwood, that you
should marry young Rookwood, her newly appointed servant, and from
this time possessor of Euston House, and all lands appertaining unto
it, which have devolved upon him in virtue of his brother's recusancy
and his own recent conformity."
"Sir," I answered, "my troth is plighted to his brother, a good man
and an honorable gentleman, up to this time master of Euston and its
lands; and whatever shall betide him or his possessions, none but him
shall be my husband, if ten thousand queens as great as this one
should proffer me another."
"Madam," said Sir Francis, "be not too rash in your pledges. I should
be loth to think one so well trained in virtue and loyalty should
persist in maintaining a troth-plight with a convicted recusant, an
exceeding malignant papist, who is at this moment in the hands of the
pursuivants, and by order of her majesty's council committed to
Norwich gaol. If he should (which is doubtful) escape such a sentence
as should ordain him to a lasting imprisonment or perpetual banishment
from this realm, his poverty must needs constrain him to relinquish
all pretensions to your hand: for his brother, a most learned,
well-disposed, commendable young gentleman, with such good parts as
fit him to aspire to some high advancement in the state and at court,
having conformed some days ago to the established religion and given
many proofs of his zeal and sincerity therein, his brother's estates,
as is most just, have devolved on him, and a more worthy and, I may
add, from long and constant devotion and fervent humble passion long
since entertained for yourself, more desirable candidate for your hand
could not easily be found."
I looked fixedly at Sir Francis, and then said, subduing my voice as
much as possible, and restraining all gestures:
"Sir, you have, I ween, a more deep knowledge of men's hearts and a
more piercing insight into their thoughts than any other person in the
world. You are wiser than any other statesman, and your wit and
sagacity are spoken of all over Christendom. But methinketh, sir,
there are two things which, wise and learned as you are, you are yet
ignorant of, and these are a woman's heart and a Catholic's faith. I
would as soon wed the meanest clown which yelled this day at Blessed
Mary's image, as the future possessor of Euston, the apostate Hubert
Rookwood. Now, sir, I pray you, send for the pursuivants, and let me
be committed to gaol for the same crime as my betrothed husband, God
knoweth I will bless you for it."
"Madam," Sir Francis coldly answered, "the law taketh no heed of
persons out of their senses. A frantic passion and an immoderate
fanaticism have distracted your reason. Time and reflection will, I
doubt not, recall you to better and more comfortable sentiments; in
which case I pray you to have recourse to my good offices, which shall
ever be at your service."
Then bowing, he left me; and when he was gone, and the tumult of my
soul had subsided, I lamented my vehemency, for methought if I had
been more cunning in my speech, I could have done Basil some good; but
now it was too late, and verily, if again exposed to the same
temptation, I doubt if I could have dissembled the indignant feelings
which Sir Francis's advocacy of Hubert's suit worked in me.
Lady Tregony, pitying my unhappy plight, proposed to travel with me to
{623} London, where I was now desirous to return, for there I thought
some steps might be taken to procure Basil's release, with more hope
of success than if I tarried in the scene of our late happiness. She
did me also the good to go with me in the first place to Norwich,
where, by means of that same governor to whom Sir Hammond l'Estrange
had once written in my father's behalf, we obtained for to see Basil
for a few minutes. His brother's apostasy, and the painful suspicion
that it was by his means the secret of Owen's cell at Euston had been
betrayed, gave him infinite concern; but his own imprisonment and
losses he bore with very great cheerfulness; and we entertained
ourselves with the thought of a small cottage beyond seas, which
henceforward became the theme of such imaginings as lovers must needs
cherish to keep alive the flame of hope. Two days afterward I reached
London, having travelled very fast, and only slept one night on the
road.
It sometimes happens that certain misfortunes do overtake us which,
had we foreseen, we should well-nigh have despaired, and misdoubted
with what strength we should meet them; but God is very merciful, and
fitteth the back to the burthen. If at the time that Basil left me at
four of the clock to return to Euston, without any doubt on our minds
to meet the next day, I should have known how long a parting was at
hand, methinks all courage would have failed me. But hope worketh
patience, and patience in return breedeth hope, and the while the soul
is learning lessons of resignation, which at first would have seemed
too hard. At the outset of this trouble, I expected he should have
soon been set at liberty on the payment of a fine; but I had forgot he
was now a poor man, well-nigh beggared by the loss of his inheritance.
Mr. Swithin Wells, one of the best friends he and myself had--for,
alas! good Mr. Roper had died during my absence--told me that, when
Hubert heard of his brother's arrest, he fell into a great anguish of
mind, and dealt earnestly with his new patrons to procure his release,
but with no effect. Then, in a letter which he sent him, he offered to
remit unto him whatever moneys he desired out of his estates; but
Basil steadfastly refused to receive from him so much as one penny,
and to this day has persisted in this resolve. I have since seen the
letter which he wrote to him on this occasion, in which this
resolution was expressed, but in no angry or contumelious terms,
freely yielding him his entire forgiveness for his offence against
him, if indeed any did exist, but such as was next to nothing in
comparison of the offence toward God committed in the abandonment of
his faith; and with all earnestness beseeching him to think seriously
upon his present state, and to consider if the course he had taken,
contrary to the breeding and education he had received, should tend to
his true honor, reputation, contentment of mind, and eternal
salvation. This he said he did plainly, for the discharge of his own
conscience, and the declaration of an abiding love for him.
For the space of a year and two months he remained in prison at
Norwich, Mr. Wells and Mr. Lacy furnishing him with assistance,
without which he should have lacked the necessaries of life; leastways
such conveniences as made his sufferings tolerable. At the end of that
time, it may be by Hubert's or some other friend's efforts, a sentence
of banishment was passed upon him, and he went beyond seas. I would
fain have then joined him, but it pleased not God it should be at that
time possible. Some moneys which were owing to him by a well-disposed
debtor he looked for to recover, but till that happened he had not
means for his own subsistence, much less wherewith to support a wife
in howsoever humble a fashion. Dr. Allen (now cardinal) invited him to
Rheims, and received him there with open arms. My father, during the
last years of his life, found in him a most dutiful and affectionate
son, {624} who closed his eyes with a true filial reverence. Our love
waxed not for this long separation less ardent or less tender; only
more patient, more exalted, more inwardly binding, now so much the
more outwardly impeded. The greatest excellency I found in myself was
the power of apprehending and the virtue of loving his. If his name
appear not so frequently in this my writing as it hath hitherto done,
even as his visible presence was lacking in that portion of my life
which followed his departure, the thought of him never leaves me. If I
speak of virtue in any one else, my mind turns to him, the most
perfect exemplar I have met with of self-forgetting goodness; if of
love, my heart recalls the perfect exchange of affection which doth
link his soul with mine; if of joy, the memory of that pure happiness
I found in his society; if of sorrow, of the perpetual grief his
absence did cause me; if of hope, the abiding anchor whereon I rested
mine during the weary years of separation. Yea, when I do write the
words faith, honor, nobility, firmness, tenderness, then I think I am
writing my dear Basil's name.
CHAPTER XXIII.
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. {625} 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 {626} 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, {627}
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:
{628}
"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."
{629}
"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 {630} 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 {631} 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 {632} 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 {633} 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; {634} 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.
CHAPTER XXIV.
During the whole year of Lady Arundel's imprisonment, neither her
husband, nor her sister, nor her most close friends, such as my poor
unworthy self, had tidings from her, in the shape of any letter or
even message, so sharply was she watched and hindered from
communicating with any one. Only Sir Thomas Shirley wrote to the earl
her husband to inform him of his lady's safe delivery, and the birth
of a daughter, which, much against her will, was baptized according to
the Protestant manner. My Lord Arundel, mindful of her words in the
last interview he had with her before her arrest, began to haunt Mr.
Wells's house in a private way, and there I did often meet with him,
who being resolved, I ween, to follow his lady's example in all
things, began to honor me with so much of his confidence that I had
occasion to discern how true had been Sir Henry Jerningham's
forecasting, that this young nobleman, when once turned to the ways of
virtue and piety, should prove himself by so much the more eminent in
goodness as he had heretofore been distinguished for his reckless
conduct. One day that he came to Holborn, none others being present
but Mr. and Mrs. Wells and myself, he told us that he and his brother
Lord William, having determined to become Catholics, and apprehending
great danger in declaring themselves as such within the kingdom, had
resolved secretly to leave the land, to pass into Flanders, and there
to remain till more quiet times.
"What steps," Mr. Wells asked, "hath your lordship disposed for to
effect this departure?"
"In all my present doings," quoth the earl, "the mind of my dear wife
doth seem to guide me. The last time I was with her she informed me
that my secretary, John Mumford, is a Catholic, and I have since
greatly benefited by this knowledge. He is gone to Hull, in Yorkshire,
for to take {635} order for our passage to Flanders, and I do wait
tidings from him before I leave London."
Then, turning to me, he inquired in a very earnest manner if my
thinking agreed with his, that his sweet lady should be contented he
should forsake the realm, for the sake of the religious interests
which moved him thereunto, joined with the hope that when he should be
abroad and his lands confiscated, which he doubted not would follow,
she would be presently set at liberty, and with her little wench join
him in Flanders. I assented thereunto, and made a promise to him that
as soon as her ladyship should be released I would hasten to her, and
feast her ears with the many assurances of tender affection he had
uttered in her regard, and aid her departure; which did also Mr.
Wells. Then, drawing me aside, he spoke for some time, with tears in
his eyes, of his own good wife, as he called her.
"Mistress Sherwood," he said, "I do trust in God that she shall find
me henceforward as good a husband, to my poor ability, by his grace,
as she has found me bad heretofore. No sin grieves me anything so much
as my offences against her. What is past is a nail in my conscience.
My will is to make satisfaction; but though I should live never so
long, I can never do so further than by a good desire to do it, which,
while I have any spark of breath, shall never be wanting."
And many words like these, which he uttered in so heartfelt a manner
that I could scarce refrain from weeping at the hearing of them. And
so we parted that day; he with a confident hope soon to leave the
realm; I with some misgivings thereon, which were soon justified by
the event. For a few days afterward Mr. Lacy brought us tidings he had
met Mr. Mumford in the street, who had told him--when he expressed
surprise at his return--that before he could reach Hull he had been
apprehended and carried before the Earl of Huntingdon, president of
York, and examined by him, without any evil result at that time,
having no papers or auspicious things about him; but being now
watched, he ventured not to proceed to the coast, but straightway came
to London, greatly fearing Lord Arundel should have left it.
"He hath not done so?" I anxiously inquired.
"Nay," answered Mr. Lacy, "so far from it, that I pray you to guess
how the noble earl--much against his will, I ween--is presently
employed."
"He is not in prison?" I cried.
"God defend it!" he replied. "No; he is preparing for to receive the
queen at Arundel House; upon notice given him that her majesty doth
intend on Thursday next to come hither for her recreation."
"Alack!" I cried, "her visits to such as be of his way of thinking
bode no good to them. She visited him and his wife at the Charterhouse
at the time when his father was doomed to death, and now when she is a
prisoner her highness doth come to Arundel House. When she set her
foot in Euston, the whole fabric of my happiness fell to the ground.
Heaven shield the like doth not happen in this instance; but I do
greatly apprehend the issue of this sudden honor conferred on him."
On the day fixed for the great and sumptuous banquet which was
prepared for the queen at Arundel House, I went thither, having been
invited by Mrs. Fawcett to spend the day with her on this occasion,
which minded me of the time when I went with my cousins and mine own
good Mistress Ward for to see her majesty's entertainment at the
Charterhouse, wherein had been sowed the seeds of a bitter harvest,
since reaped by his sweet lady and himself. Then pageants had charms
in mine eyes; now, none--but rather the contrary. Howsoever, I was
glad to be near at hand on that day, so as to hear such reports as
reached us from time to time of her majesty's behavior to the earl.
From all I could find, she seemed very well {636} contented; and Mr.
Mumford, with whom I was acquainted, came to Mrs. Fawcett's chamber,
hearing I was there, and reported that her highness had given his
lordship many thanks for her entertainment, and showed herself
exceeding merry all the time she was at table, asking him many
questions, and relating anecdotes which she had learnt from Sir Fulke
Greville, whom the maids-of-honor were wont to say brought her all the
tales she heard; at which Mrs. Fawcett said that gentleman had once
declared that he was like Robin Goodfellow; for that when the
dairy-maids upset the milk-pans, or made a romping and racket, they
laid it all on Robin, and so, whatever gossip-tales the queen's ladies
told her, they laid it all upon him, if he was ever so innocent of it.
"Sir," I said to Mr. Mumford, "think you her majesty hath said aught
to my lord touching his lady or his lately-born little daughter?"
"Once," he answered, "when she told of the noble trick she hath played
Sir John Spencer touching his grandson, whom he would not see because
his daughter did decamp from his house in a baker's basket for to
marry Sir Henry Compton, and her majesty invited him to be her gossip
at the christening of a fair boy to whom she did intend to stand
godmother, for that he was the first-born child of a young couple who
had married for love and lived happily; and so the old knight said, as
he had no heir, he should adopt this boy, for he had disinherited his
daughter. So then, at the font, the queen names him Spencer, and when
she leaves the church, straightway reveals to Sir John that his godson
is his grandson, and deals so cunningly with him that a reconciliation
doth ensue. Well, when she related this event, my lord said in a low
voice, 'Oh madame, would it might please your majesty for to place
another child, now at its mother's breast, a first-born one also, in
its father's arms! and as by your gracious dealing your highness
wrought a reconciliation between a father and a daughter, so likewise
now to reunite a parted husband from a wife which hath too long
languished under your royal displeasure.'"
"What answered her grace?" I asked.
"A few words, the sense of which I could not catch," Mr. Mumford
answered; "being placed so as to hear my lord's speaking more
conveniently than her replies. He said again, 'The displeasure of a
prince is a heavy burden to bear.' And then, methinks, some other talk
was ministered of a lighter sort. But be of good heart. Mistress
Sherwood; I cannot but think our dear lady shall soon be set at
liberty."
Mr. Mumford's words were justified in a few days; for, to my
unspeakable joy, I heard Lady Arundel had been released by order of
the queen, and had returned to Arundel Castle. It was her lord himself
who brought me the good tidings, and said he should travel thither in
three days, when his absence from court should be less noted, as then
her majesty would be at Richmond. He showed me a letter he had
received from his lady, the first she had been able to write to him
for a whole year. She did therein express her contentment, greater,
she said, than her pen could describe, at the sight of the gray ivied
walls, the noble keep, her own chamber and its familiar furniture, and
mostly at the thought of his soon coming; and that little Bess had so
much sense already, that when she heard his name, nothing would serve
her but to be carried to the window, "whence, methinks," the sweet
lady said, "she doth see me always looking toward the entrance-gate,
through which all my joy will speedily come to me. When, for to cheat
myself and her, I cry, 'Hark to my lord's horse crossing the bridge,'
she coos, so much as to say she is glad also, and stretcheth her arms
out, the pretty fool, as if to welcome her unseen father, who,
methinks, {637} when he doth come, will be no stranger to her, so
often doth she kiss the picture which hangeth about her mother's
neck."
But, alas! before the queen went to Richmond, she sent a command that
my Lord Arundel should not go anywhither out of his house (so Mr.
Mumford informed me), but remain there a prisoner; and my Lord
Hunsdon, who had been in former times his father's page, and now was
his great enemy, was given commission to examine him about his
religion, and also touching Dr. Allen and the Queen of Scots. Now was
all the joy of Lady Arundel's release at an end. Now the sweet cooings
of her babe moved her to bitter tears. "In vain," she wrote to me
then, "do we now look for him to come! in vain listen for the sound of
his horse's tread, or watch the gateway which shall not open to admit
him! I sigh for to be once more a prisoner, and he, my sweet life, at
liberty. Alas! what kind of a destiny does this prove, if one is free
only when the other is shut up, and the word 'parting' is written on
each page of our lives?"
About a month afterward, Mr. Mumford was sent for by Sir Christopher
Hatton, who asked him divers dangerous questions concerning the earl,
the countess, and Lord William Howard, and also himself--such as, if
he was a priest or no; which indeed I did not wonder at, so staid and
reverend was his appearance. But he answered he never knew or ever
heard any harm of these honorable persons, and that he himself was not
a priest, nor worthy of so great a dignity. He hath since told me that
on the third day of his examination the queen, the Earl of Leicester,
and divers others of the council came into the house for to understand
what he had confessed. Sir Christopher told them what answers he had
made; but they, not resting satisfied therewith, caused him, after
many threats of racking and other tortures, to be sent prisoner to the
Gate-house, where he was kept for some months so close that none might
speak or come to him. But by the steadfastness of his answers he at
last so cleared himself, and declared the innocency of the earl, and
his wife and brother, that they were set at liberty.
Soon after her lord's release, I received this brief letter from Lady
Arundel:
"MINE OWN GOOD CONSTANCE,--I have seen my lord, who came here the day
after he was set free. He very earnestly desires to put into execution
his reconciliation to the Church now that his troubles are a little
overpast. I have bethought myself that, since Father Campion hath left
London, diligence might be used for to procure him a meeting with
Father Edmonds, whom I have heard commended for a very virtuous and
religious priest, much esteemed both in this and other countries.
Prithee, ask Mr. Wells if in his thinking this should be possible, and
let my lord know of the means and opportunities thereunto. I shall
never be so much indebted, nor he either, to any one in this world, my
dear Constance, as to thee and thy good friends, if this interview
shall be brought to pass, and the desired effect ensue.
"My Bess doth begin to walk alone, and hath learned to make the sign
of the cross; but I warrant thee I am sometimes frightened that I did
teach her to bless herself, until such time as she can understand not
to display her piety so openly as she now doeth. For when many lords
and gentlemen were here last week for to consider the course her
majesty's progress should take through Kent and Sussex, and she,
sitting on my knee, was noticed by some of them for her pretty ways,
the clock did strike twelve; upon which, what doth she do but
straightway makes the sign of the cross before I could catch her
little hand? Lord Cobham frowned, and my Lord Burleigh shook his head;
but the Bishop of Chichester stroked {638} her head, and said, with a
smile, _'Honi soit qui mal y pense;'_ for which I pray God to bless
him. Oh, but what fears we do daily live in! I would sometimes we were
beyond seas. But if my lord is once reconciled, methinks I can endure
all that may befal us. Thy true and loving friend,
"ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY."
I straightway repaired to Mr. Wells, and found him to be privy to
Father Edmonds's abode. At my request, he acquainted Lord Arundel with
this secret, who speedily availed himself thereof, and after a few
visits to this good man's garret, wherein he was concealed, was by him
reconciled, as I soon learnt by a letter from his lady. She wrote in
such perfect contentment and joy thereunto, that nothing could exceed
it. She said her dear lord had received so much comfort in his soul as
he had never felt before in all his life, and such directions from
Father Edmonds for the amending and ordering of it as did greatly help
and further him therein. Ever after that time, from mine own hearing
and observation, his lady's letters, and the report of such as haunted
him, I learnt that he lived in such a manner that he seemed to be
changed into another man, having great care and vigilance over all his
actions, and addicting himself much to piety and devotion. He procured
to have a priest ever with him in his own house, by whom he might
frequently receive the holy sacrament, and daily have the comfort to
be present at the holy sacrifice, whereto, with great humility and
reverence, he himself in person many times would serve. His visits to
his wife were, during the next years, as frequent as he could make
them and as his duties at the court and the queen's emergencies would
allow of; who, albeit she looked not on him with favor as heretofore,
did nevertheless exact an unremitting attendance on his part on all
public occasions, and jealously noted every absence he made from
London. Each interview between this now loving husband and wife was a
brief space of perfect contentment to both, and a respite from the
many cares and troubles which did continually increase upon him; for
the great change in his manner of life had bred suspicion in the minds
of some courtiers and potent men, who therefore began to think him
what he was indeed, but of which no proof could be alleged.
During the year which followed these haps mine aunt died, and Mr.
Congleton sold his house in Ely Place, and took a small one in Gray's
Inn Lane, near to Mr. Wells's and Mr. Lacy's. It had no garden, nor
the many conveniences the other did afford; but neither Muriel nor
myself did lament the change, for the vicinity of these good friends
did supply the place of other advantages; and it also liked me more,
whilst Basil lived in poverty abroad, to inhabit a less sumptuous
abode than heretofore, and dispense with accustomed luxuries. Of
Hubert I could hear but scanty tidings at that time--only that he had
either lost or resigned his place at court? Mr. Hodgson was told by
one who had been his servant that he had been reconciled; others said
he did lead a very disordered life, and haunted bad persons. The truth
or falsity of these statements I could not then discern; but methinks,
from what I have since learnt, both might be partly true; for he
became subject to fits of gloom, and so discomfortable a remorse as
almost unsettled his reason; and then, at other times, plunged into
worldly excesses for to drown thoughts of the past. He was frightened,
I ween, or leastways distrustful of the society of good men, but
consorted with Catholics of somewhat desperate character and fortunes,
and such as dealt in plots and treasonable schemes.
Father Campion's arrest for a very different cause--albeit his enemies
did seek to attach to him the name traitor--occurred this year at
Mrs. Yates's house in Worcestershire, and {639} consternated the
hearts of all recusants; but when he came to London, and speech was
had of him by many amongst them which gained access to him in prison,
and reported to others his great courage and joyfulness in the midst
of suffering, then, methinks, a contagious spirit spread amongst
Catholics, and conversions followed which changed despondency into
rejoicing. But I will not here set down the manner of his trial, nor
the wonderful marks of patience and constancy which he showed under
torments and rackings, nor his interview with her majesty at my lord
Leicester's house, nor the heroic patience of his death; for others
with better knowledge thereof, and pens more able for to do it, have
written this martyr's life and glorious end. But I will rather relate
such events as took place, as it were, under mine own eye, and which
are not, I ween, so extensively known. And first, I will speak of a
conversation I held at that time with a person then a stranger, and
therefore of no great significancy when it occurred, but which later
did assume a sudden importance, when it became linked with succeeding
events.
One day that I was visiting at Lady Ingoldsby's, where Polly and her
husband had come for to spend a few weeks, and much company was going
in and out, the faces and names of which were new to me, some
gentlemen came there whose dress attracted notice from the French
fashion thereof. One of them was a young man of very comely appearance
and pleasant manners, albeit critical persons might have judged
somewhat of' the bravado belonged to his attitudes and speeches, but
withal tempered with so much gentleness and courtesy, that no sooner
had the eye and mind taken note of the defect than the judgment was
repented of. What in one of less attractive face and behavior should
have displeased, in this youth did not offend. It was my hap to sit
beside him at supper, which lasted a long time; and as his behavior
was very polite, I freely conversed with him, and found him to be
English, though from long residence abroad his tongue had acquired a
foreign trick. When I told him I had thought he was a Frenchman, he
laughed, and said if the French did ever try to land in England, they
should find him to be a very Englishman for to fight against them; but
in the matter of dinners and beds, and the liking of a dear sunny sky
over above a dim cloudy one, he did confess himself to be so much of a
traitor as to prefer France to England, and he could not abide the
smoke of coal fires which are used in this country.
"And what say you, sir," I answered, "to the new form of smoke which
Sir Walter Raleigh hath introduced since his return from the late
discovered land of Virginia?"
He said he had learnt the use of it in France, and must needs confess
he found it to be very pleasant. Monsieur Nicot had brought some seeds
of tobacco into France, and so much liking did her majesty Queen
Catharine conceive for this practice of smoking, that the new plant
went by the name of the queen's herb. "It is not gentlemen alone who
do use a pipe in France," he said, "but ladies also. What doth the
fair sex in England think on it?"
"I have heard," I answered, "that her majesty herself did try for to
smoke, but presently gave it up, for that it made her sick. Her
highness is also reported to have lost a wager concerning that same
smoking of tobacco."
"What did her grace bet?" the gentleman asked.
"Why, she was one day," I replied, "inquiring very exactly of the
various virtues of this herb, and Sir Walter did assure her that no
one understood them better than himself, for he was so well acquainted
with all its qualities, that he could even tell her majesty the weight
of the smoke of every pipeful he consumed. Her highness upon this
said, 'Monsieur {640} Traveller, you do go too far in putting on me
the license which is allowed to such as return from foreign parts;'
and she laid a wager of many pieces of gold he should not be able to
prove his words. So he weighed in her presence the tobacco before he
put it into his pipe, and the ashes after he had consumed it, and
convinced her majesty that the deficiency did proceed from the
evaporation thereof. So then she paid the bet, and merrily told him
'that she knew of many persons who had turned their gold into smoke,
but he was the first who had turned smoke into gold.'"
The young gentleman being amused at this story, I likewise told him of
Sir Walter's hap when he first returned to England, and was staying in
a friend's house: how a servant coming into his chamber with a tankard
of ale and nutmeg toast, and seeing him for the first time with a
lighted pipe in his mouth puffing forth clouds of smoke, flung the ale
in his face for to extinguish the internal conflagration, and then
running down the stairs alarmed the family with dismal cries that the
good knight was on fire, and would be burnt into ashes before they
could come to his aid.
My unknown companion laughed, and said he had once on his travels been
taken for a sorcerer, so readily doth ignorance imagine wonders. "Near
unto Metz, in France," quoth he, "I fell among thieves. My money I had
quilted within my doublet, which they took from me, howsoever leaving
me the rest of my apparel, wherein I do acknowledge their courtesy,
since thieves give all they take not; but twenty-five French crowns,
for the worst event, I had lapped in cloth, and whereupon did wind
divers-colored threads, wherein I sticked needles, as if I had been so
good a husband as to mend mine own clothes. Messieurs the thieves were
not so frugal to take my ball to mend their hose, but did tread it
under their feet. I picked it up with some spark of joy, and I and my
guide (he very sad, because he despaired of my ability to pay him his
hire) went forward to Chalons, where he brought me to a poor
ale-house, and when I expostulated, he replied that stately inns were
not for men who had never a penny in their purses; but I told him that
I looked for comfort in that case more from gentlemen than clowns;
whereupon he, sighing, obeyed me, and with a dejected and fearful
countenance brought me to the chief inn, where he ceased not to bewail
my misery as if it had been the burning of Troy; till the host,
despairing of my ability to pay him, began to look disdainfully on me.
The next morning, when, he being to return home, I paid him his hire,
which he neither asked nor expected, and likewise mine host for
lodgings and supper, he began to talk like one mad for joy, and
professed I could not have had one penny except I were an alchemist or
had a familiar spirit."
I thanked the young gentleman for this entertaining anecdote, and
asked him if France was not a very disquieted country, and nothing in
it but wars and fighting.
"Yea," he answered; "but men fight there so merrily, that it appears
more a pastime than aught else. Not always so, howsoever. When
Frenchman meets Frenchman in the fair fields of Provence, and those of
the League and those of the Religion--God confound the first and bless
the last!--engage in battle, such encounters ensue as have not their
match for fierceness in the world. By my troth, the sight of dead
bodies doth not ordinarily move me; but the valley of Allemagne on the
day of the great Huguenot victory was a sight the like of which I
would not choose to look on again, an I could help it."
"Were you, then, present at that combat, sir?" I asked.
"Yea," he replied; "I was at that time with Lesdiguières, the
Protestant general, whom I had known at La Rochelle, and beshrew me if
a more valiant soldier doth live, or a worthier {641} soul in a
stalwart frame. I was standing by his side when Tourves the butcher
came for to urge him, with his three hundred men, to ride over the
field and slay the wounded papists. 'No, sir,' quoth the general, 'I
fight men, but hunt them not down.' The dead were heaped many feet
thick on the plain, and the horses of the Huguenots waded to their
haunches in blood. Those of the Religion were mad at the death of the
Baron of Allemagne, the general of their southern churches, brave
castellane, who, when the fight was done, took off his helmet for to
cool his burning forehead; and lo, a shot sent him straight into
eternity."
"The Catholics were then wholly routed?" I asked.
"Yea," he answered; "mowed down like grass in the hay-harvest. De
Vins, however, escaped. He thought to have had a cheap victory over
those of the Religion; but the saints in heaven, to whom he trusted,
never told him that Lesdiguières on the one side and d'Allemagne on
the other were hastening to the rescue, nor that his Italian horsemen
should fail him in his need. So, albeit the papists fought like
devils, as they are, his pride got a fall, which well-nigh killed him.
He was riding frantically back into the fray for to get himself slain,
when St. Cannat seized his bridle, and called him a coward, so I have
heard, to dare for to die when his scattered troops had need of him;
and so carried him off the field. D'Oraison, Janson, Pontmez, hotly
pursued them, but in vain; and all the Protestant leaders, except
Lesdiguières, returned that night to the castle of Allemagne for to
bury the baron."
A sort of shiver passed through the young gentleman's frame as he
uttered these last words.
"A sad burial you then witnessed?" I said.
"I pray God," he answered, "never to witness another such."
"What was the horror of it?" I asked.
"Would you hear it?" he inquired.
"Yea," I said, "most willingly; for methinks I see what you describe."
Then he: "If it be so, peradventure you may not thank me for this
describing; for I warrant you it was a fearful sight. I had lost mine
horse, and so was forced to spend the night at the castle. When it
grew dark I followed the officers, which, with a great store of the
men, also descended into the vault, which was garnished all round with
white and warlike sculptured forms on tombstones, most grim in their
aspect; and amidst those stone imager, grim and motionless, the
soldiers ranged themselves, still covered with blood and dust, and
leaning on their halberds. In the midst was the uncovered coffin of
the baron, his livid visage exposed to view--menacing even in death.
Torches threw a fitful, red-colored light over the scene. A minister
which accompanied the army stood and preached at the coffin's head,
and when he had ended his sermon, sang in a loud voice, in French
verse, the psalm which doth begin,
'Du fond de ma pensée,
Du fond de tous enuuis,
A tol s'est adressé
Ma clamear jour et nult.'
When this singing began two soldiers led up to the tomb a man with
bound hands and ghastly pale face, and, when the verse ended, shot him
through the head. The corpse fell upon the ground, and the singing
began anew. Twelve times this did happen, till my head waxed giddy and
I became faint. I was led out of that vault with the horrible singing
pursuing me, as if I should never cease to hear it."
"Oh, 'tis fearful," I exclaimed, "that men can do such deeds, and the
while have God's name on their lips."
"The massacre of St. Bartholomew," he answered, "hath driven those of
the Religion mad against the papists."
"But, sir," I asked, "is it not true that six thousand Catholics in
Languedoc had been murthered in cold blood, {642} and a store of them
in other places, before that massacre?"
"May I be so," he answered in a careless tone. "The shedding of blood,
except in a battle or lawful duel, I abhor; but verily I do hate
papists with as great a hate as any Huguenot in France, and most of
all those in this country--a set of knavish traitors, which would
dethrone the queen and sell the realm to the Spaniards."
I could not but sigh at these words, for in this young man's
countenance a quality of goodness did appear which made me grieve that
he should utter these unkind words touching Catholics. But I dared not
for to utter my thinking or disprove his accusations, for, being
ignorant of his name, I had a reasonable fear of being ensnared into
some talk which should show me to be a papist, and he should prove to
be a spy. But patience failed me when, after speaking of the clear
light of the gospel which England enjoyed, and to lament that in
Ireland none are found of the natives to have cast off the Roman
religion, he said:
"I ween this doth not proceed from their constancy in religion, but
rather from the lenity of Protestants, which think that the conscience
must not be forced, and seek rather to touch and persuade than to
oblige by fire and sword, like those of the south, who persecute their
own subjects differing from them in religion."
"Sir," I exclaimed, "this is a strange thing indeed, that Protestants
do lay a claim to so great mildness in their dealings with recusants,
and yet such strenuous laws against such are framed that they do live
in fear of their lives, and are daily fined and tormented for their
profession."
"How so?" he said, quickly. "No papist hath been burnt in this
country."
"No, sir," I answered; "but a store of them have been hanged and cut
to pieces whilst yet alive."
"Nay, nay," he cried, "not for their religion, but for their many
treason."