phase of it still more enthusiastically. She was not long in discovering
that it was in her power to be virtual mistress of the Jevery mansion.
Her youth, her beauty and her many sorrows inclined Sir Thomas Jevery's
heart to sympathy, and this prepossession grew rapidly to devoted
affection. What the Lady Matilda de Wick desired became a law in Jevery
House, and Matilda's desires were not remarkable for their moderation.
She had her own apartments, her own servants, and her own company at her
own hours, and Sir Thomas settled on her an income which he pretended
had been an agreement between Earl de Wick and himself--a statement
Matilda neither inquired about nor disputed.
No stipulations were made concerning her friends, and indeed Sir Thomas
was not averse to a distinct royalist party in his house, if it was
reasonably prudent. He himself entertained all parties, affecting to be
inclined to men through higher motives than political prejudices.
"Izaak Walton and John Milton, Mr. Evelyn and Sir Harry Vane, are all
equally welcome at my table," he would say; "we have a common ground to
meet on, which is beyond the reach of politics."
So Matilda quickly outgrew those griefs for which there was no remedy;
she regained her health and much of her radiant beauty, and she spent
many hours every day in adorning herself. For the first time in her
life she had money enough to indulge this passion, and Sir Thomas
declared she was in the right to do so. "A lovely woman in a shabby
gown," he said, "is a sin against nature; she is like a queen without
her crown and robes."
With such encouragement to fine attire, Matilda was not sparing in her
orders for silks and brocades, furs and laces, and India goods of all
descriptions. She had inherited her mother's jewels, and she was
considering one morning a string of Orient pearls, wondering if they
could be worn with her new damasse gown, when Jane entered her
dressing-room.
"Jane Swaffham," she cried with delight, "I'll swear I was just wishing
for you. But what is the matter? Are you for a funeral? Or--is there
another plot against Cromwell's life discovered? If so, I am not in it.
I do believe there are tears in your eyes."
"Indeed, all England weeps to-day. Have you not heard that General
Ireton is dead?"
"A just retribution. Indeed, I will rejoice at it. More than any one
else, more than Cromwell himself, he drove his late Majesty to the
scaffold. He had no pity for the poor Queen, he was glad to make her a
widow. I have no pity for the widow of Ireton. Let her drink of the
cup her husband filled for a better woman. Let her drink it to the
dregs."
"She lacks not any sympathy that can comfort so great a loss; a loss
public, as well as personal, for my father says Ireton was nearer to
Cromwell than any other man--the wisest, bravest soldier, the truest
patriot----"
"Jane, do be more sparing of your praises, or you will have none left
for your prime idol."
"I must tell you that I have new praises for Cromwell. I have seen him
this morning in a strange light--holding his weeping daughter to his
heart; weeping with her, praying with her; 'tis said, 'like as a father
pitieth his children,' but indeed Cromwell was more like a mother. When
I entered the room Mrs. Cromwell told Mrs. Ireton I was present, and she
cried out, 'Oh, Jane, he is dead! He is dead!' and then Cromwell with
streaming eyes answered her in a tone of triumph--'Nay, but he has
PREVAILED, Bridget. He has prevailed against the kingdom of death! Be
comforted, dear child.' I cannot tell you how good it was to be
there--in the house of mourning."
"I never found it good, and I was there for years. But with such a
brother as Stephen, I may be there again, and that soon enough. Stephen
keeps me on cracking ice night and day."
"But he is in safety now, Matilda?"
"He is never safe--and partly your fault, Jane."
"I will not credit that, and 'tis a piece of great unkindness to make me
accountable."
"He is always pining to see you, and always fearing that some one is
your servant in his absence; and so he is willing to take all risks if
he may but come to England." Then looking steadily at Jane, she added,
"He is here now. Will you see him?"
"I will not," answered Jane positively. "I will not come to question
about him if he is discovered. Do not ask me to put myself in such a
strait, Matilda. It is far better I should be able to say, 'I have not
seen him.'"
"You are a very proper, prudent young woman. I think you must have set
your heart on that young sprig of a Puritan noble I saw at Swaffham.
What was his name?"
"I am sure you have not forgotten it, but if so, it is little worth my
repeating."
"As you like it. I have heard this and that of him from Mr. Hartlib who
is a friend of that quarrelsome John Milton. Mr. Hartlib comes here
frequent. He is full of inventions; only last night he brought Uncle
Jevery one for taking a dozen copies of any writing at once, and this by
means of moist paper and an ink he has made. I heard of Lord Cluny
Neville, and of a hymn he has written which Mr. Milton has set to music.
He talked as if it was fit for the heavenly choir. Something also was
said about his marrying Mary Cromwell. Fancy these things! Marvels
never cease."
"The Lady Mary Cromwell may look much higher," answered Jane. "Lord
Neville told us that his sword was his fortune."
"The Lady Mary may see, if she looks at home, that a sword is a very
good fortune. In these unholy wars, the faithful saints have given
themselves the earth--that is the English earth--not to speak of
Scotland and Ireland, and such trifles. Look at it, Jane, if you have
any fancies the Neville way."
"If I had, the Lady Mary would not trouble me. I have seen them
together: and indeed I know that she has other dreams."
"Perhaps she dreams of marrying the King, though he is a wicked
malignant. 'Tis said she is the proudest minx of them all."
"She would not say 'tush!' to a queen."
"The great Oliver may lay his ten commandments on her."
"How you wrong him! His children have all been allowed to marry where
their love led them. And I am sure if the Lady Mary and Lord Neville
wished to marry, it would give his kind heart the greatest pleasure to
make them happy. Do you think he loves riches or rank or honours or
power? I declare to you that he cares not a fig for any of them."
"Pray, then, what does he love?"
"First and foremost, he loves England. He loves England with every
breath he draws. England is the word graven on the palms of his hands;
it was the word that made his sword invincible. He loves the Protestant
faith, which he holds one with all religious and civil freedom. These
two things run with his life blood. He loves his wife and children
better than himself; he loves all mankind--even Jews and Quakers--so
well that he would make them share alike in all that Freedom means."
"And he hates----"
"Every soul that hates England; every dealer in priestcraft or tyranny;
every false heart, whether it beat in prince or ploughman."
"I thank my Maker he loves not me."
"But he does love you."
"Let him keep his regard until I ask for it."
"That you may do at some time. 'Tis not wise to throw dirt into the
well from which you may have to drink."
"Thank you for good advices, Jane. Oh, 'tis ten thousand pities you are
not a preacher. If you could hold forth at St. Paul's Cross you might
work miracles with the ungodly. But all this is beyond our bargain to
let men in high places alone; and I was going to tell you of Stephen,
who is here and so well disguised I had like to have given him the
insult of calling a lackey to kick him off the premises. Indeed, he was
strangely like to Lord Neville. It was this strange likeness set me
thinking of Neville."
"Strange indeed," answered Jane, a little scornfully.
"You do not ask why Stephen is here?"
"It concerns me not."
"Jane, I will tell you a piteous tale. 'Tis of our late Queen. She is
so wretchedly poor, and since her son returned to their miserable little
court in the Louvre, so broken-hearted 'twould make you weep to hear of
her. Stephen came with Sir Hugh Belward to get some money on Belward,
for though the French government have settled an income on the poor
Queen, they pay it only when it seems good in their own eyes. She is
often in great need; she is need now, in sore need of every comfort."
"How does Sir Hugh Belward hope to get money on Belward? He is
proscribed."
"His younger brother joined the Parliament, and he left the estate in
his care. And his brother has turned traitor to him, and would give him
nothing but permission to ride away as secretly as he came. He has
returned here in a passion of grief and anger. Thus I carry so many
troubles that are not really mine. But oh, Jane! the poor, poor
Queen!"--and then Matilda went into some details of the piteous straits
and dependencies and insults the widowed woman had been obliged to bear.
Jane listened silently, but there were tears in her eyes; and when
Matilda said, "I have given her the jewel the gracious King sent me by
my beloved Prince Rupert, and also, what moneys I could get from my
Uncle Jevery," Jane added--
"I have ten pieces of gold that are altogether my own, I will give them
to her; not because she was once Queen of England, but because she is a
sorrowful woman, poor, oppressed, and a widow."
"Oh, Jane Swaffham! Who taught your charity to reach this height, and
then to limit and clip it with exceptions? Why not say boldly, 'I am
sorry for the poor Queen, and she is welcome to my gold.'"
"I have said so. Now I must go. I will send the gold by a sure
messenger to-day."
Matilda did not urge her to remain, and Jane was eager to get away. She
had had some intention--if circumstances favoured the confidence--of
telling Matilda of her betrothal, but the conversation had drifted into
a tone which had made this communication impossible. And she was glad
of her enforced reticence, and resolved to maintain it. She knew, now,
that to make Cluny a topic of conversation was to subject him to
Matilda's worst words and to all the disagreeable things she could say
in those moods, and she was sure that it would be almost impossible to
keep the peace if Cluny came between them. It was difficult enough to
endure her railing at Cromwell, but if Cluny became the target of her
satire, her annoyances and anxieties, Jane knew that a rupture must
certainly follow.
When she reached home, her father was walking about the parlour and
talking in an excited manner to his wife. He showed much discontent, and
as he walked and talked he rattled his sword ominously to his words.
"Cromwell wants only that Parliament should know its own mind, and
declare itself dissolved. God knows it is high time, but Vane, and more
with him, would sit while life lasts. He said to-day that 'the members
must have their time, and their rights _or_' and the Lord General took
him up at the word, and answered, 'the army can say "_or_" as loud as
you, Sir Harry, it may be louder,' and there was a murmur and a noise as
of moving steel. Later, I joined a party in the lobby, and I heard
Colonel Streater say boldly, that in his opinion, Cromwell designed to
set up for himself; and Major General Harrison said, 'You are far
astray, sir; Cromwell's only aim is to prepare the way for the kingdom
of Christ, and the reign of the Saints;' and Streater laughed, and
answered with some rudeness, 'Unless Christ come suddenly, He will come
too late.' Martha, my heart is troubled within me. Have we got rid of
one tyrant calling himself King, to give obedience to a hundred tyrants
calling themselves Parliament? It shall not be so. As the Lord liveth,
verily, it shall not!"
Israel Swaffham's temper on this matter was but a reflex of the sterner
dissatisfaction which Cromwell voiced for the people. The Parliament
then sitting was the one summoned by King Charles the First, eleven
years previously, and it had long outlived its usefulness. Pym was
dead, Hampden was dead, and it was so shrunken from honour, that in
popular speech it was known as "the Rump" of that great assembly which
had moulded the Commonwealth. It was now attacked by all parties; it was
urged to dissolve itself; yet its most serious occupation seemed to be a
determination to maintain and continue its power.
The leader of these despised legislators was Sir Harry Vane, the only
man living who in Parliamentary ability could claim to be a rival of
Cromwell. But Vane's great object was to diminish the army, and to
increase the fleet; and as chief Minister of Naval affairs he had
succeeded in passing the Navigation Act, which, by restricting the
importation of foreign goods to English ships, struck a fatal blow at
Dutch Commerce, hitherto controlling the carrying trade. This act was
felt to be a virtual declaration of war, and though negotiations for
peace were going on, English and Dutch sailors were flying red flags,
and fighting each other in the Downs.
Everything relating to the conduct of affairs both in Church and State
was provisional and chaotic; and the condition of religion, law, and all
social matters, filled Cromwell with pity and anger. He wanted the
Amnesty Act, to relieve the conquered royalists, passed at once.
Intensely conservative by nature, he was impatient for the settlement of
the nation, and of some stable form of government. And he had behind
him an army which was the flower of the people,--men who knew themselves
to be the natural leaders of their countrymen,--trained politicians,
unconquered soldiers; the passion, the courage, and the conscience of
England in arms. Their demands were few, but definite, and held with an
intense tenacity. They wanted, first of all, the widest religious
freedom for themselves and others; secondly, an orderly government and
the abolition of all the abuses for which Laud and Charles had died.
And though devoted to their great chief, they longed to return to their
homes and to civil life, therefore they echoed strenuously Cromwell's
cry for a "speedy settlement," a consummation which the sitting
Parliament was in no hurry to take in hand. On this state of affairs
Cromwell looked with a hot heart. Untiring in patience when things had
to be waited for, he was sudden and impatient when work ought to be
done, and his constant word then was--"without delay."
There was a meeting of the Council at the Speaker's house the night
after Israel Swaffham's indignant protest against the Parliament, and
Cromwell, sitting among those self-seeking men, was scornfully angry at
their deliberations. His passion for public and social justice burned
and in a thunderous speech, lit by flashes of blinding wrath, he spoke
out of a full and determined heart. Then he mounted his horse and rode
homeward. It was late, and the city's ways were dark and still; and as
he mused, he was uplifted by a mystical ecstasy, flowing from an intense
realisation of his personal communion with God.
Cluny Neville was in attendance, and as he silently followed that
dauntless, massive figure, he thought of Theseus and Hercules doing
wonders, because, being sons of Jove, they must of necessity relieve the
oppressed, and help the needy, and comfort the sorrowful; and then he
added to this force the sublime piety of a Hebrew prophet, and in his
heart called Cromwell the Maccabeus of the English Commonwealth. And in
those moments of inspiration, amid the shadows of the starlit night, he
again saw Cromwell grow vague and vast and mythical, and knew that his
gigantic soul would carry England on waves of triumph until she could
look over the great seas and find no rival left upon them.
Thought is transferable, and unconsciously Cluny's enthusiasm affected
the silent, prayerful man he loved and followed. And so hope came into
Cromwell's reveries, and many earthly plans and desires; and when he
alighted at Whitehall, he thought instantly of his wife, and longed for
her sympathy. For though he seldom took her counsel, he constantly
looked to her for that fellow-feeling which is as necessary as food.
Man lives not by bread alone, and there is untold strength for him in
womanly love which thinks as he thinks, feels as he feels, and which,
when he is weary and discouraged, restores him to confidence and to
self-appreciation.
He walked rapidly through the silent, darkened rooms, and opening the
door of his own chamber very softly, saw his wife sitting by the fire.
There was no light but its fitful blaze, and the room was large and
sombre with dark furniture and draperies, the only white spots in it
being the linen of the huge bedstead, and the lace coverings of Mrs.
Cromwell's head and bosom. Yet apart from these objects there was
light, living light, in the woman's calm, uplifted face, and even in her
hands which were lying stilly upon her black velvet gown. She stood up
as her husband advanced, and waited until he drew her to his heart and
kissed her face. "You are late, Oliver," she said with quiet assertion,
"and I have been a little anxious--your life is so precious, and there
are many that seek it."
"Why do you fret yourself so unwisely? Of a surety you know that I have
a work to do, and I shall not see death until it be finished. Yet I am
greatly troubled for England; I tell you plainly, Elizabeth, that we
are, for all good purposes, without a government."
"There is the Parliament, Oliver."
"I look for no good from it--a noisy, self-opinionated old Parliament.
We want a new one. Vane, and others, think wisdom was born with them;
yea, and that it will die with them. They fritter time away about
trifles, when an Act of Amnesty ought to be passed without delay. It is
the first necessity; they must pass it; they must turn to--or turn out."
"Therein you are right, as you always are."
"Truly, the whole country is like the prophets' roll, written within and
without with mourning and wrong and woe. As for the Royalists, they are
harried to death; they hold everything on sufferance. The time for this
strictness has gone by. England now wants peace, justice for all,
Amnesty, and above all, a new Parliament. If these things don't come to
pass, worse things will--I say this to you; it is the plain truth; I
profess it is!"
"Then tell them what to do, Oliver. And if they will not obey, make
them. Are they not as much at your disposal as the shoes on your feet?"
"The time is not fully ripe; a little longer they must trample upon law
and justice and mercy, and do such bare-faced things as will make men
wonder--a little longer we must suffer them, then----"
"Then, Oliver?"
"I will thunder at the door for inquisition, and it will be with no
runaway knock. I am sorry, and I could be sorry to death, for the
needs-be, but it will come, it will come. God knows I wish it otherwise.
I do, indeed!"
"What were they about to-night?"
"About nothing they should be. Have we not come to a pretty state when
Parliament looks to the private doings of its members? After some
testimonies, there came a motion to expel all profane and unsanctified
persons from the House, and I rose and said,--'I could wish also, that
all fools were expelled; then we might have a house so thin it would be
at our say-so.'"
"Pray, what said Sir Harry Vane to that? He is as touchy as tinder."
"He said, 'General, no man in England knows better than you do, the
usefulness of piety;' and I answered him prompt, 'Sir Harry Vane, I know
something better than the usefulness of piety, it is the piety of
usefulness. Take heed,' I said, 'of being too sharp, or of being too
easily sharpened by others. If Parliament is to sit that it may count
the number of glasses a man drinks, or the style of his coat and his
headgear, England is in her dotage. I would rather see death than such
intolerable things, I would truly.' And I said these words in great
wrath, and I could wish I had been in still greater anger."
"Why don't they do what you desire? Will they come to disputing with
you?"
"I look for it, but I understand the men. This state of affairs will
grow to somewhat. I know what I feel. My dearest, I need pity; I do,
indeed. I am set here for England's defense, and there is _One_ who
will sift me as wheat concerning my charge. Elizabeth, there are at
this very hour twenty-three thousand unheard cases in Chancery. I see
the law constantly abused. If I say a word that mercy may now be shown,
I am accused of pandering to the malignants for some end of my own.
Hundreds of Englishmen are in prison on matters of conscience;--they
ought to be free. There are tithes and exactions intolerable, and this
fragment and figment and finger-end of an old Parliament busies itself
with its members' moralities; with raising money for a Dutch war, or
with selling the stonework, leads and bells of our Cathedrals. If my
God will give me a word, I will better such work; I will indeed!"
"Sir Harry Vane has already reduced the army. He thought thus to
curtail your power, Oliver; I saw through the man from the first."
"My authority came not through Sir Harry Vane, nor can Sir Harry Vane
take it from me. My comfort is that God called me to be captain of
Israel's host. Truly, I never sought the place. I did not. But while
my head is above the mold, my heart will burn against oppression. I
will not suffer it; before God and angels and men I will not suffer it!
'Tis the time now for showing mercy and for settling the Kingdom, and
these things shall be done. I know the sort of men I have to deal with,
I will carry justice through their teeth, even if they be a Parliament.
And let God be my judge."
"But what will you do? There are strong men that hate you."
"I will do nothing just yet--unless I get the commission. Who are these
men? Only cedars of Lebanon that God has not yet broken. 'They shall
be able to do nothing against me. His Hands shall cover me.' That word
came to me by little Jane Swaffham. I have thanked her many times for
it."
"I know your patience and your goodness, Oliver."
"Yes, but patience works to anger. I shall stand no nonsense from any
one much longer. When Opportunity comes, I shall make Importunity fit
Opportunity--I will that."
He had been unbuttoning his doublet as he spoke these words, and he
flung it from him with an extraordinary force and passion; then suddenly
calming himself he sat down, and said with a sadness equal to his anger,
"Let me have your prayers, dear wife, let me have them. For come what
will, we must work God's good pleasure and serve our generation--our
rest we expect elsewhere. I live in Meshec (prolonging) and in Kedar
(blackness), yet as John Verity said to me last Sabbath--'Brother
Oliver, you have daily bread, and you shall have it, despite your
enemies. In your Father's house there is enough and to spare of every
good thing; and He dispenseth it.' Those three words go to my heart
like heavenly wine--_He dispenseth it_, Elizabeth;" and he took her
hand, and she leaned her face full of light and trust against his
shoulder, and as he stooped to it, his countenance grew sweet and tender
as a little child's. For a few moments they sat silent, then the
God-full man burst into rapturous thanksgiving, because all his hopes
were grounded on the Truth of God, on the immutability of His Counsel,
and on the faithfulness of His promises. "Promises," he cried out,
"having this double guarantee, that they have not only been spoken, they
have been sworn to."
An inward, instant sense of God's presence came to both of them. They
had a joy past utterance. Troubles of all kinds grew lighter than a
grasshopper. They partook of those spiritual favours which none know,
save those who receive them; and urged by a spiritual pressure within,
Cromwell sighed into the very ear of God, "Whom have I in heaven but
Thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee."
For the Eternal God was the firmament of this man's life; whether on the
battle-field or in the Council Chamber, amid his family or alone in his
closet, God was the Majestic Overhead and Background of all his
thoughts, affections, purposes and desires.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*UPON THE THRESHOLD*
"Predestinated ills are never lost."
* * * * *
"The Power that ministers to God's decrees,
And executes on earth what He foresees,
Called Providence,--
Comes with resistless force; and finds, or makes a way."