Religious contention is the devil’s harvest.
_Old Proverb._
To every member of the family at Milverton House Cuthbert had said
farewell, when he retired to his chamber on the night before the
morning fixed for his departure. He had taken leave of Mistress
Katharine, in the presence of her aunt Alice and Jane Lambert, with a
grave self-command which had surprised himself; and, as he left her
room, he lifted his heart to Heaven in thanksgiving for the help of
that strength which he had so earnestly implored in the privacy of his
closet.
But when he was alone for the last wakeful vigil in the apartment in
which he had passed so many a sleepless night the image of Katharine
looked in upon his solitude, and, for a time, re-asserted all its
power over his heart.
He had just parted, and, probably for ever, with her who had been to
him, for many months, the angel of the scene. These months, though now
short as hours to look back upon, had gathered into their brief and
silvery revolutions much of that soft and essential happiness of his
affections which he knew could never return again. Nevertheless, it
was not in the power of separation or of hopelessness to destroy the
memory of that sweet season of his youth; and he was content to accept
that as all the bliss of its kind which the fortunes of his life and
the new aims of his being, would permit him to enjoy.
“Here, and for ever,” said Cuthbert, speaking to himself aloud, “I
forswear the weaknesses of love: life has rugged paths that are better
trod by single men;--such a path is now shaping for me and for many.
In the labour of establishing a people’s rights I shall find a sense
of peace; and when the call of duty is obeyed, contentment is the
golden fruit with which conscience herself presents us.”
There is no process of the mind more common than that by which a man,
while sore at heart by the thought of some desirable but unattainable
good, turns away from the painful consideration of his own sorrows,
and erects himself into the zealous friend of suffering humanity, and
the ardent reformer of social evils.
What curious springs in the world’s clockwork are sorrow and
disappointment! How many wheels are set in motion by their secret
action, and what different results from those at which men aim are
produced by their conduct! Here they strike for freedom, and elevate a
despot--there they trample for the oppressor, and, lo! a seed of armed
patriots is sown beneath their horse’s feet.
The idea of seeking the society of those among his friends whose minds
were full of the stirring themes now daily suggested by political
events was hailed as a relief and a consolation.
Absorbed in musings, Cuthbert watched away the night, and obtained
only a short and broken slumber towards the morning.
It has been before observed, that to the language of love from the
lips of Cuthbert Mistress Katharine never would have listened, and
could not have responded.
Katharine Heywood had only done what thousands have done before her,
and are continually doing in the intercourse of life. She had
manifested her own sweet nature in a ready and gentle appreciation of
those qualities in the shy and humble student, which, wherever they
are found, are worthy of regard.
Indeed, during the residence of Cuthbert at Milverton, as the tutor to
her cousin, she had largely shared the benefit of his instructions. He
had imparted new pleasures to her mind, had purified her taste,
enlarged her conceptions, and elevated her thoughts.
These services she had repaid, in the character of mistress of her
father’s mansion, by studiously throwing the grace of her protection
over the retiring scholar; but the smile of a queenly woman is a
perilous shelter, and does oftentimes blight the happiness of those
whom it was most innocently designed to cheer and to defend.
It had been arranged that Cuthbert should depart before eight in the
morning. By that hour his horse was already saddled in the stable,
and the boy Arthur was in the stable-yard watching minutely all the
preparations for the journey. The strapping on of the vallise, and of
the holsters especially moved him on the present occasion, although he
had seen the very same thing done a hundred times for others without
curiosity or disquiet. What from the liveliness of his fancy, and the
affectionateness of his disposition, the images of lonely ways and
evil robbers made him fetch his breath quicker than usual. The good
tempered groom, perceiving this by the youth’s questions, began to
allay his fears by saying, that “nobody would ever let or hinder a
poor scholar like Master Cuthbert, and, besides that, God took care of
all good persons; so there was no ill chance for such an one, but that
he would go and come as safe as the King’s own majesty;” which was the
simple groom’s notion of the most perfect security on earth.
Meanwhile Cuthbert himself was taking a last melancholy gaze at the
gallery, the hall, the summer and winter parlour, and the various
objects of interest which they contained. The pictures, the books, the
organ, the virginals, the lute, were all most intimately associated in
his mind with her, whom to have seen and known was of itself a
blessing.
In vain the grey-haired butler, Philip, pressed him to partake of
breakfast, and cautioned him against a weary way and an empty stomach.
He pecked like a sick bird at the substantial venison pasty, and
sipped at the warm tankard with a word the while now to the old
domestic, and now to young Arthur, who had come in, and sat opposite
him, in that vacant and natural sorrow which belongs to the broken
moments of such a parting.
At last Cuthbert descended the hall steps, which were full of the
warm-hearted servants; and, pressing the hand of his affectionate
pupil, mounted his horse and rode away.
The day was cold and wet: nothing could be more gloomy or comfortless
than his long and lonely ride. He met only one train of pack-horses,
and a few single travellers on horseback, throughout the day. He
baited his animal at a wayside alehouse, where he found nobody but a
cross old woman and a deaf hostler; and it was not till the dusk of
evening that he reached the town of Aylesbury, where he proposed
sleeping.
Within five miles of this place he was overtaken by a gentleman on
horseback, who fell into conversation with him; and who, being like
himself on a journey to town, offered to join company with him that
night at the inn.
Although it would have been far more agreeable to Cuthbert to have
proceeded alone, yet the appearance of the stranger was so
prepossessing, and his manners were so frank and courteous, that it
was not possible to shake off his company without rudeness. Moreover,
his speech had already shown him to be a man of gentle breeding, and
that Cambridge had once reckoned him among her students,--so they rode
forward together.
At the entrance of the town, hard by one of the first houses in the
street, sat a cobbler working and singing in his hutch. The companion
of Cuthbert here pulled his bridle; and, turning his beast’s nose
almost into it, called out, in a loud jolly tone, “Ho, Crispin! canst
tell me the way to the church?”
“No,” said the cobbler, throwing up an indifferent glance, and then
stooping again over his last.
“Art deaf, or hast lost thy wits, old surly?” said the traveller: “you
know what a church is, don’t you?”
“I know what it is not,” replied the old cobbler bluntly, without
looking off his work.
“What is it not, sirrah?”
“It is not a great stone building standing alone in the middle of a
town,” said the cobbler raising his head, and looking his interrogator
full in the face.
“Thou hast more wit than good humour, knave,” said our Cavalier.
“And thou words than good breeding,” retorted the sturdy artisan.
“I see the stocks of this place are little used, or you should try how
they fitted. You have not much fear, methinks, of the wooden collar.
Didst ever see a pillory?”
“I have, and a godly man in it; and I shall not soon forget the
sight. Are you answered, my court bird?”
“You are a prick-eared knave; and, if I were not tired and hungry, you
should smart for your saucy answers.”
By this time a neighbour or two stood forth from the adjoining houses;
and the horseman, turning to the nearest, said, “Prithee, friend,
canst thou tell me the way to the Boar’s Head, which is next to the
church, as I think?”
“It is so, true enough,” answered the man, “and well placed, to my
thought; for thou wilt be sure to find the parson on the bench of it,
or it may be in the skittle yard wrangling with cheating Bob, and
staggering at his own cast:--ride straight on--you can’t miss it.”
“A pretty nest of godly rogues I have got into,” said the traveller:
“there will be an iron gag for your foul mouths soon.” With this he
struck spurs into his steed: the beast broke into a smart
canter,--that of Cuthbert started in like manner; and they were
instantly carried beyond the jeers and the loud laughter of the
humorous old cobbler and his neighbours. Of this little scene
Cuthbert had been the silent spectator; indeed the dialogue was so
short, and so rapidly spoken, that there was no room for any question
or remark of his;--and his companion having observed a silver crest
upon the holsters of Cuthbert, did not doubt that he was a church and
king man,--especially as there had not dropped from him a single
expression which savoured of the Puritan.
Mine host of the Boar’s Head, a big and portly personage with bloated
cheeks, received our weary guests with a cheerful welcome; and led the
way to a large travellers’ parlour, where, in an ample fire-place,
huge logs were blazing on the hearth. The seats on either side were
already occupied by guests, before whom, on small three-legged tables,
their repasts were smoking.
At one of these sat two persons, whose appearance was that of military
men:--the younger of the two was very handsome, and of a commanding
figure. No sooner did the gentleman in Cuthbert’s company approach the
fire than this martial youth rose, and addressing him by the name of
Fleming, shook him cordially by the hand. The ear of Cuthbert did not
catch the name by which, promptly responding to the recognition,
Fleming replied, nor did he learn it throughout the evening. However,
another small table was immediately drawn near, and covered. Eggs,
sausages, and broiled bones were served up hastily; and, after
Cuthbert and his companion had satisfied the keen appetites which they
had gotten by a long journey in cold rain and on miry roads, a large
jug of burnt claret was placed before them; and the following
conversation between the two acquaintances was listened to by Cuthbert
in silent astonishment:--
“Well, Frank, you have not forgotten old times, I hope. I trust that
we shall teach the volunteer gentry how to handle a sword after the
fashion of the old Swedish troopers before long:--they made sorry work
of it in the north last year; and for my part I was half ashamed to
ride among such a rabble!”
“What made you go at all then?” said the youthful soldier.
“Why, to say truth, Frank, I found my life in the country very dull,
and my old father’s hunting companions as heavy as lead; and I
heartily wished myself back in Germany, where I might hear a trumpet
once more:--so when I heard that the King was going against the Scots
away I posted to court, and waited upon his Majesty, and got a
commission.”
“I hope, Fleming, you made yourself master of the quarrel before you
offered your services.”
“Look you, Frank, I remember you was always as grave as a judge about
war, and examined sides, and would know the rights of all that was
done. That was never my way. I left Cambridge at nineteen, and went to
the camp of Gustavus, as eager and as blind as a young colt; and so
again now:--wherever the King’s standard flies all must be right;
besides, I hate these pricked-eared Puritans, and yon Scotch psalm
singers that wo’n’t use the Prayer Book.”
“It seems, however, that they can use the broad sword, and with good
effect, if accounts speak true.”
“There you have me,” rejoined the cheerful and light-hearted
campaigner,--“there you have me. I never felt shame as a soldier till
this Scotch campaign. Our tall fellows always turned their backs
first, and retreated true runaway fashion:--you could never make them
fire their pistols, and wheel off orderly; and it was well for them
that they had raw Scots troopers at their tails instead of
Pappenheim’s cuirassiers.”
“It is clear enough that you must have run too,” said the young
soldier, laughing, “or you would not be here to tell the story.”
“To be sure I did,--but not without leaving the mark of my sword in
the cheek of a stout Scotsman that pressed me a little too close and
unmannerly. However, live and learn is a wise saying. When the King
fairly raises a proper army, instead of a set of footmen and servants,
commanded by courtiers and parsons, there will be warmer sport than we
had in the north.”
“It will be sorry and grave sport, methinks, comrade, when Englishmen
stand up against Englishmen, and little pleasure to see an old
fellow-soldier in the ranks opposite.”
“Odd’s life, I shall never see you enact rebel.”
“Rebel is a rough word:--suppose we change the subject.”
The conversation was now continued on various indifferent matters till
the hour for rest. Cuthbert himself made but few observations, and was
strangely exercised in his mind by contemplating the characters before
him. In addition to those already named, there was one other traveller
at a table by himself, who had partaken of no better fare than a bowl
of oatmeal porridge, and who sat intent over a small closely printed
book, without once opening his lips, and seldom even raising his eyes.
The companion of Cuthbert often looked contemptuously askance at him,
and indulged in many a fling against the Puritans; but the silent
stranger either did not or would not hear these rude jests, and, as
they met with no encouragement from any one present, they fell flat
and powerless. At length the time of going to bed came; and the host
appeared to conduct his guests to their chambers. Our host, having a
quick eye to the quality of the parties, placed the Cavalier captain
in his best chamber; the two military-looking men in the next; and the
pale stranger in a small cold garret with Cuthbert.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, and the foot of the
landlord was heard descending the stairs, the stranger approached
Cuthbert and invited him to join in prayer.
“To me,” said the stranger, with a face of the most earnest gravity,
“to me is committed that rare and precious gift, the discerning of
spirits: I see thou art a God-fearing youth:--as soon as thou didst
enter the parlour I smelled the perfume of the angelic nature; even as
also the sulphur and the brimstone of Tophet in the three sons of
Belial, who are gone to lie down under the power of Beelzebub, and to
sleep with evil spirits for company.”
“Friend,” said Cuthbert, “I do not understand you: it is not my custom
to join in prayer with an unknown stranger; there is thy bed, and
here is mine:--let us lie down upon them in peace, and commune with
our own hearts and be still.”
“Verily,” rejoined the stranger, “thou art afraid:--it is no
wonder:--thou art but a mere babe of grace, and thine eyes do see but
dimly the glories of my high calling;--but I tell thee thou art a
chosen vessel of the Lord,--and even now I feel my bowels moved
towards thee, and the spirit of prayer is upon me, and I must wrestle
with the powers of darkness to deliver thy poor soul from the snare of
the fowler. This is my command,--and even now I am appointed unto thee
for an angel of defence, and the fight is begun.”
The stranger now threw himself upon his knees, and poured forth a
long, rambling and blasphemous petition,--the words of which made
Cuthbert shudder.
However, as he had been already told that there was no other chamber
or bed vacant, and as he was greatly fatigued, he lay down to sleep,
silently commending himself to the care of God, and endeavouring to
substitute a feeling of pity for the deep disgust with which this
crazy chamber-fellow inspired him.
The last sounds of which he was conscious before his heavy eyes became
sealed in forgetfulness were groanings from the adjoining bed--nor did
he awake in the morning till it was broad daylight. He looked
around--the chamber was empty;--at this he felt thankful: and,
supposing that his last odd companion had travelled forward at an
earlier hour, he arose, and proceeded to dress himself; but he
instantly discovered that his purse was gone. He went forth on the
stairs, and called loudly for the landlord. It was some time before he
made his appearance; and when he did so, he listened to the tale with
hard indifference, and coarse incredulity.
“Ah! that’s an old story, my devil’s scholar, but it wo’n’t go down
with me:--you shan’t budge from the Boar’s Head till you pay your
shot, I can tell you; and your nag shall go to the market cross before
I let you ride off without paying for provender.”
Cuthbert’s fury was roused to the uttermost; but his hot words were
only laughed at by the rosy Boniface, who soon left him. He slipped on
his clothes with all haste, and came down into the guest parlour,
where the Cavalier and the two military men were already seated at
breakfast by a cheerful fire. He stated his case before them all with
the warm earnestness of truth. The Cavalier picked his teeth and
whistled; but the younger of the other two seemed very much to
sympathise in the embarrassment of Cuthbert, which in fact was more
serious than he himself apprehended; for mine host came presently into
the parlour to say, that his horse and his vallise were taken away by
his chamber-fellow before dawn.
“It was all a made up thing,” said the landlord in a storm of passion.
“I saw they were a couple of hypocritical rogues, and packed ’em
together for safety’s sake--’twould only be thief rob thief, I
knew:--but it’s my belief they take the horse turn by turn, and steal
in company; for yon old one has left half a bottle of strong waters
and the leg of a cold goose at his bed-foot:--come, young knave,” he
added, attempting to take Francis by the collar, “come with me afore
the justice. He’ll find thee a lodging in our cage.”
With a force to which indignation gave strength, Cuthbert threw back
the fat bully against the wall, and turning to the Cavalier, who had
rode with him part of his yesterday’s journey,--
“You may remember, sir,” he said, “that when you joined me, I told you
that I came from the neighbourhood of Warwick, and was on my journey
to London. I told you, moreover, that I was a member of the University
of Cambridge:--the silver crest on my holsters was the crest of Sir
Oliver Heywood of Milverton, in whose house I have resided for this
year past, as tutor to his nephew’s son. The animal, in fact, is Sir
Oliver’s property, and was kindly lent me for the journey:--if you
will answer for me to this landlord, and give me a crown piece to
travel on with, I will faithfully repay you when I reach town. My
name, sir, is Cuthbert Noble, son of Mr. Noble, rector of Cheddar, in
Somerset.”
“A pack of stuff, good master,” said the angry landlord to the
Cavalier,--“don’t you be made a fool of; don’t be bamboozled by a
smooth trumped up cock and a bull story like this: if the horse is Sir
Oliver Heywood’s, they have stolen it, and change riders on the road
to Smithfield, where they will turn it into a purse of nobles before
night. Marry, I’ll go for constables, and, as you are honest gentlemen
and true, hold the knave fast in your keeping till I come back again.”
Before, however, he could leave the room, as much to his astonishment
and shame as to the surprise and relief of Cuthbert, the younger of
the two travellers, whom his companion the Cavalier had last night
claimed acquaintance with, came forward in a very open and cordial
manner, and assured Cuthbert of his readiness to assist him.
“I am connected,” said the noble looking youth, “with the family at
Milverton, nor is the name of Master Cuthbert Noble unknown to me. My
purse is at your service; and I shall be glad of your company on the
road. Though I have no horse to offer you, post-horses can be easily
procured at every stage.”
Thus was Cuthbert at once released from a perplexity, and introduced
to the friendship of Francis Heywood.