have gone to Cromwell for help--indeed she did go once to Whitehall with
this object in view--but she was told that he was in his own apartments
silent and sad, and carrying a weight of responsibility that might have
appalled the stoutest heart. Indeed, the whole family were quiet and
preoccupied, and she came away without finding any fit opportunity to
say a word about Cluny and his unaccountable delay. There was no one
else to go to. Doctor Verity was visiting the Rev. Mr. Baxter at
Kidderminster, and Matilda hated Cluny. Jane could not bear to suggest
to Matilda a doubt as to Cluny's return. Certainly Mrs. Swaffham
listened to her daughter's fears and anxieties, but Jane felt that the
Parliament and its doings and misdoings, and the speculations concerning
Cromwell, were the great and vital interest filling every heart. No one
seemed to care about Lord Neville as she thought they ought to. So far,
then, she had borne her sorrow alone, and it had never left her a moment
for eighteen days and nights. Even in her sleep she wandered wretchedly
looking for him; her pillows were full of evil forebodings, and the
atmosphere of her room was heavy with the misery of her thoughts.
Fortunately the Cromwells had no idea that Jane was in trouble; they
were, as was right and natural, very much excited over the ceremony of
the day and the order in which it was to be carried out. His Excellency
was with a number of his officers in a separate apartment, but madame,
the General's mother, was in the large parlour of the Cockpit, and when
the Swaffhams entered, she rose with delight to meet her old neighbours
and friends. In spite of her great age she looked almost handsome in a
robe of black velvet and silver trimmings, with a shawl-like drapery of
rich white lace. In a short time her daughter-in-law and her
grandchildren entered, and Mrs. Swaffham looked curiously at her old
friend. Was this indeed the Elizabeth Cromwell she had gossiped with
and sometimes quarreled with? this stately woman in purple velvet, with
large pearls round her throat and falling in priceless beauty below her
waist? There could be no doubt of her identity, for as soon as Mrs.
Swaffham began to approach her, she came forward, saying in a tone of
real pleasure,
"Martha! Martha! How glad I am to see you!" and the two women broke
into smiles and exclamations, and then kissed each other.
There was no time to spare. The Lord General, dressed in a rich suit of
black velvet, appeared, and the procession was formed. The
Commissioners of the Great Seal, the Judges and Barons of the Exchequer
in all the splendour of their insignia, preceded it. Then came the
Council of State and the Lord Mayor and Aldermen in their scarlet robes.
Cromwell followed. He was alone in a magnificent coach with outriders,
but he was attended by the chief officers of the army, and by an
imposing military escort. His family and friends in conveyances of equal
splendour were behind, and were also attended by a military guard of
honour.
"Is it a dream, Jane?" said Mrs. Swaffham to her daughter. "Am I asleep
or awake? Are these the very Cromwells we used to know? Did you see
that little chit, Frank, whom I have birched and stood in the corner,
and scolded more times than I can remember?--did you see her? Did you
see her curtsying to her mother and calling her, 'Your Highness'? and
Mary Cromwell giving orders like a very Queen? and even Elizabeth
Claypole looking as if England belonged to them? After this, Jane,
nothing can astonish me."
Jane was as silent as her mother was garrulous; the crowds, the
excitement, the poignant crash and blare of martial music, the shining
and clashing of steel, the waving of flags, the shouts and huzzas of the
multitudes, the ringing of innumerable bells, the overpowering sense of
the brotherhood of humanity in a mass animated by the same feeling,
these things thrilled and filled souls until they were without words, or
else foolishly eloquent.
A place of honour had been reserved for the Cromwell party, and the
great General's mother found a throne-like chair placed for her in such
a position that she could see every movement and hear every word of that
august ceremony which was to acknowledge her son "the greatest man in
England." And as she sat there, watching him stand uncovered beside the
Chair of State, and listened to him taking the solemn oath to rule
England, Scotland and Ireland justly, she thought of this battle-scarred
man as a baby at her breast, fifty-four years before, pressing her bosom
with his tiny fingers, and smiling up in her face, happily unconscious
of the travail of body and soul he was to undergo for the sake of
England, and of all future free peoples. And she thought also of one
cold winter day, when, a lad of twelve, he had come in from his lessons
and his rough play at football and thrown himself upon his bed, weary
with the buffeting; and as he lay there, wide-awake in the broad
daylight, how he had seen his angel stand at his feet, and heard him
say, "_Thou shalt be the greatest man in England_." And there in her
sight and hearing, the prophecy was fulfilled that day, for she had
never doubted it. The boy had been scolded and flogged for persisting
in this story, but she had comforted him and always known that it was a
vision to be realised.
Her faith had its reward. She watched this boy of hers put on his hat,
after taking the oath, and with a kingly air ascend to what was
virtually the throne of England. She saw him unbuckle his sword and put
it off, to signify that military rule was ended; and then she heard,
amid the blare of trumpets, the Heralds proclaim him _Lord Protector of
England, Scotland and Ireland_. Her lips moved not, but she heard her
soul singing psalms of glory and thanksgiving; yes, she heard the music
within rising and swelling to great anthems of rejoicing. Her body was
impotent to express this wonderful joy; it was her soul that made her
boast in the Lord, that magnified the God of her salvation. And she
really heard its glad music with her natural body, and the melody of
that everlasting chime was in her heart to the last moment of her life.
And her children looked at her and were amazed, for her face was
changed; and when the people shouted, to "_God save the Lord Protector
of the Commonwealth!_" she stood up without her staff, and was the first
to render him obeisance.
Jane watched her with wonder and delight; she forgot her own grief in
this aged mother's surpassing happiness, and she partly understood that
hour the new doctrine of the men called Quakers. For she had watched
this Inner sight of Life transfuse the frail frame, and seen it
illuminate the withered face and strengthen the trembling limbs, and,
above all, fill the Inner woman with a joy unspeakable and beyond speech
or understanding.
The ride back to Whitehall was an intoxicating one. Londoners had at
last a ruler who was a supremely able man. They could go to their shops,
and buy and sell in security. Oliver Protector would see to their rights
and their welfare. His very appearance was satisfying; he was not a
young man headstrong and reckless, but a Protector who had been tried on
the battle-field and in the Council Chamber and never found wanting.
His personality also was the visible presentment of the qualities they
admired and desired. They looked at his sturdy British growth, and were
satisfied. His head and face, muscular and massive, were of lion-like
aspect; his stature nearly six feet, and so highly vitalised as to look
much higher. Dark brown hair, mingled with gray, fell below his
collar-band, and from under large brows his deep, loving eyes looked as
if in lifelong sorrow; and yet not thinking life sorrow, thinking it
only labour and endeavour. Valour, devout intelligence, great
simplicity, and a singular air of mysticism invested his rugged,
broad-hatted majesty with a character or impress transcendentally
mysterious. Even his enemies felt this vague shadow of the supernatural
over and around him, for Sir Richard Huddleston, in watching him on
Naseby's field, had cried out passionately, "Who will find King Charles
a leader like him? He is not a man; he is one of the ancient heroes
come out of Valhalla."
But be the day glad or sad, time runs through it, and the shadows of
evening found the whole city worn out with their own emotions. Mrs.
Swaffham and Jane were glad to return to the quiet of their home--"Not
but what we have had a great day, Jane," said the elder woman; "but,
dear me, child, what a waste of life it is! I feel ten years older. It
would not do to spend one's self this way very often."
"I am tired to death, mother. May I stay in my room this evening? I do
not want to hear any more about the Cromwells, and I dare say Doctor
Verity will come home with father, and they will talk of nothing else."
"You are fretting, Jane, and fretting is bad for you every way. Why
will you do it?"
"How can I help it, mother?"
Then Mrs. Swaffham looked at her daughter's white face, and said, "You
know, dear, where and how to find the comfort you need. God help you,
child."
And oh, how good it was to the heart-sick girl, to be at last alone, to
be able to weep unwatched and unchecked--to shut the door of her soul on
the world and open it to God, to tell Him all her doubt and fear and
lonely grief. This was her consolation, even though no sensible comfort
came from it--though the heavens seemed far off, and there was no ray of
light, no whisper from beyond to encourage her. Hoping against despair,
she rose up saying, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him;" and
these words she repeated over and over with increasing fervour, as she
neatly folded away her clothing and put her room in that exquisite order
which was necessary to her sleep, or even rest. For she kept still her
childish belief that her angel would not visit her, if her room was
untidy. And who will dare to say she was wrong? These primitive faiths
hold truths hid from the wise and prudent, but revealed to the simple
and pure of heart.
At nine o'clock her mother brought her a possett and toast, and she took
them gratefully. "Is father home?" she asked.
"Yes, Jane. He came in an hour ago with Doctor Verity."
"Have they any word of----"
"I fear not. They would have told me at once. I haven't seen much of
them. There were lots of things undone, and badly done, to look after.
The wenches and the men have been on the streets all day, and the
kitchen is upside down. You never saw the like. I am tired of this
Cromwell business, I am that. Phoebe was abusing him roundly as she
jugged the hare for supper, and I felt kindly to her for it. 'You are a
pack of time-serving turncoats,' she was saying as I went into the
kitchen; 'you would drink as much ale to-morrow to King Charles as you
have drunk to-day to old Noll Cromwell.' And as she was stirring the
pot, she did not know I was there, until I answered, 'You speak God's
truth, Phoebe!' Then she turned and said, 'I do, ma'am. And for that
matter, they would drink to the devil, an he asked them with old
October!' Then I stopped her saucy tongue. But I don't wonder at her
temper--not a clean saucepan in the closets, and men and maids off their
heads with ale and Cromwell together."
"If Doctor Verity gives you any opportunity will you speak about Cluny,
mother?"
"You know I will. He and others will, maybe, have time for a word of
kindness now. I'm sure the last few weeks have been past bearing--a
nice mess the saints made of everything--London out of its seven senses,
and the whole country screaming behind it; and the men who had a little
sense, not knowing which road to turn. Now Cromwell has got his way,
there will be only Cromwell to please, and surely a whole city full can
manage that."
"I don't suppose he has ever thought of Cluny being so long over time."
"Not he! He has had things far closer to him to look after."
"But now?"
"Now he will inquire after the lad. Doctor Verity must speak to him.
Dear Jane, do you suppose I don't see how you are suffering? I do, my
girl, and I suffer with you. But even your father thinks we are
worrying ourselves for nothing. He says Cluny will walk in some day and
tell his own story--nothing worse than a fit of ague or fever, or even a
wound from some street pad; perhaps a heavy snowstorm, or the swampy
Netherlands under water. Men can't fight the elements, or even outwit
them, dear. Mother is with you, Jane, don't you doubt that," and she
stepped forward and clasped the girl to her breast, and kissed the tears
off her cheeks. "Now drink your possett and go to sleep; something may
happen while you are dreaming of it; the net of the sleeping fisherman
takes just as well--better maybe--than if he kept awake to watch it."
So Jane laid herself down and slept, and if her angel came with a
comforting thought or a happy vision, she found herself in a spotless
room, white as a bride chamber, holding the scent of rosemary and roses
from the pots on the window-sills, and prophesying strength and comfort
in the Bible lying open at the forty-second and forty-third Psalms--"Why
art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted in me? Hope
thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His
countenance."
Jane's supposition that Doctor Verity would be with her father and that
their talk would be only of Cromwell, was correct. Mrs. Swaffham found
the two men smoking at the fireside, and their conversation was of the
Man and the Hour. She sat down weary and sleepy, so much so, that she
did not take the trouble to contradict Doctor Verity, though he was
making, in her opinion, a very foolish statement.
"If you only assert a thing strong enough and long enough, Israel, you
will convince the multitude. To-day, as I was passing Northumberland
House, a party of musketeers stopped there, and cried, '_God save the
Lord Protector!_' and the crowd asserted in the most positive manner
that the big lion on the house wagged its tail at the shout. Every one
believed it, and looked at the beast admiringly; and I found it hard to
keep my senses in the face of such strong assertion. Vain babble, but
it took and pleased."
"I am sorry for Oliver Cromwell. Such a load as he has shouldered! Can
he bear it?" said Israel.
"Through God's help, yes; and ten times over, yes! He is a great man,"
answered the Doctor.
"I think more of measures than of men," continued Israel.
"Very good. But something depends on the men, just as in a fire
something depends on the grate," said the Doctor.
"Who would have thought the man we knew at Huntingdon and St. Ives had
this man in him? And what a strange place for God to bring England's
Deliverer out of. No captain from the battle-field, no doctor out of the
colleges, but a gentleman farmer out of the corn market and the sheep
meadows of Sedgy Ouse. 'Tis wonderful enough, Doctor."
"Great men, Israel, have always come from the most unlikely places. The
desert and the wilderness, the sheepfolds and threshing floors bred the
judges and prophets of Israel. From the despised village of Nazareth
came the Christ. From the hot, barren deserts of Arabia, came Mahomet.
From the arid plains of Picardy, came Calvin. From the misty, bare
mountains of Scotland, came John Knox, and from the fogs and swamps of
the Fen country, comes Oliver Cromwell. So it is, and should be. God
chooses for great men, not only the time, but the place of their birth.
The strength of Cromwell's character is in its mysticism, and this
quality has been fed from its youth up by the monotony of his rural
life, by the sombre skies above him, by his very house, which was like a
deserted cloister buried in big trees. All those years Cromwell was
being forged and welded by spiritual influences into the man of Naseby
and Dunbar and Worcester--into the man who stepped grandly to the throne
we saw him mount to-day."
"One thing is sure: he will set free all godly men in prison for
conscience' sake--unless it be papists and prelatists. Yet 'tis hard to
imprison men because they can't agree about caps and surplices."
"Such talk does not go to the root of the matter, Israel. Oliver, and
men like him, look on papists and prelatists as Amorites and Amalekites
to be rooted out, and as disloyal citizens to be coerced into
obedience."
"I know papists that believe the Mass to be a holy obligation. They are
sincere, Doctor; I know it."
"What of that, Israel? A good Puritan cares no more for their sincere
opinions than the Jewish prophets cared about the scruples of a
conscientious believer in Baal. Why should he?"
"Well, then, as to Episcopacy--a great number of Englishmen love it; and
you can't preach nor teach Episcopacy out of them."
"Don't I know it? Popery without the Pope, that is what Englishmen
want. They love ceremonies dearly; they love Episcopacy as they love
Monarchy. Queen Elizabeth made an ordinance that at the name of Christ
every woman should curtsy and every man bare his head. It went straight
to the heart of England. Men and women loved Elizabeth for it, and bent
their knees all the more willingly to herself. As for Cromwell, his
zeal for the Protestant religion will be the key to every act of his
reign. Take my word for it."
"Reign?"
"Yes, reign. He is King, call him what you like."
"As ruler--King or Protector--over papists, will it be right to hate
them as bitterly as he does?"
"Right? Yes, a thousand times right. You must remember what his
education and experience have been. From some who lived in Mary's reign
he must have heard how Ridley and Latimer and Cranmer were burned in the
streets of Oxford for their Protestantism. The whole awful history of
Mary's reign was part of his education. He may have heard from
eye-witnesses of the scene in the great square of Brussels when Horn and
Egmont, champions of the Protestant faith, were beheaded by Alva's
bloody Council. The Armada sent to conquer England and force on us by
fire and sword the Catholic religion, was wrecked on our shores by God
Almighty, only eleven years before Cromwell was born. The Popish
Gunpowder Plot to blow up the King and the Parliament was discovered
when he was six years old. Both of these last events were the staple of
fireside conversations, and would be told him in wonderfully effective
words by his grand-hearted mother, and you may be sure they were burned
into the heart of the boy Oliver. He was old enough to understand the
cruel murder of Henry by the Jesuits in Paris; he grew into his manhood
during the thirty years' war of Catholic Europe against the Protestants.
When he first entered Parliament, he was one of the Committee that
investigated the brutal treatment of Prynne, Doctor Bastwick and the
Rev. Mr. Burton. I think, indeed, that he witnessed these noble
confessors pilloried and burned with hot irons and deprived of their
ears, because they would none of Laud's surplices and mummeries. And
both you and I witnessed his agonies of grief and anger at the frightful
massacre by Phelim O'Neil of one hundred thousand Protestants in
Ireland. How can Cromwell help hating popery and prelacy? How can any
of us help it? Let us judge, not according to outward appearance, but
with righteous judgment. Oliver will do his work, and he will do it
well, and then go to Him who sent him. Verily, I believe he will hear
the 'Well done' of his Master."
"And then?"
"The Commonwealth will be over. The soul of it will have departed--can
it live afterwards?"
"Think you that our labour and lives have been wasted? No, no! We will
be free of kings forever; we have written that compact with our blood."
"Not wasted, Israel, not wasted. The Puritan government may perish, the
Puritan spirit will never die. Before these wars, England was like an
animal that knew not its own strength; she is now better acquainted with
herself. The people will never give up their Parliament and the rights
the Commonwealth has given them, and if kings come back, they can be
governed, as Davie Lindsey said, by 'garring them ken, they have a lith
in their necks----'"
"If I survive the Puritan government," said Israel, "I will join the
pilgrims who have gone over the great seas."
"I will go with you, Israel, but we will not call ourselves 'pilgrims.'
No, indeed! No men are less like pilgrims than they who go, not to
wander about, but to build homes and cities and found republics in the
land they have been led to. They are citizens, not pilgrims."
At these words Mrs. Swaffham, who had listened between sleeping and
waking, roused herself thoroughly. "Israel," she said, "I will not go
across seas. It is not likely. Swaffham is our very own, and we will
stay in Swaffham. And I do not think it is fair, or even loyal, in you
and Doctor Verity, on the very day you have made a Protector for the
Commonwealth to be prophesying its end. It is not right."
"It is very wrong, Martha, and you do well to reprove us," said Doctor
Verity.
"And talking of going across seas," she continued, "reminds me of Cluny;
neither of you seem to care about him, yet our Jane is fretting herself
sick, and you might both of you see it."
"Tell Jane to be patient," said Doctor Verity. "If Cluny is not back by
the New Year, I will go myself and bring him back. There is no need to
fret; tell her that."
"Yet we must speak to Cromwell about the young man," said Jane's father;
"there has likely been some letter or message from him, which in the
hurry and trouble of the last month has been forgotten. You will see
the Protector to-morrow, speak to him."
"If it is possible, Israel. But remember all is to arrange and
rearrange, order and reorder, men to put out of office, and men to put
into office. The work before the Protector is stupendous."
This opinion proved to be correct. Day after day passed, and no word
concerning Cluny was possible; but about the New Year a moment was found
in which to name the young man and wonder at his delay. Cromwell
appeared to be startled. "Surely there must have been some word from
him," he said. "I think there has. A letter must have come; it has
been laid aside; if so, there could have been nothing of importance in
it--no trouble, or I would have been told. Mr. Milton is fond of Lord
Neville; so am I, indeed I am, and I will have inquiry made without
delay."
"Without delay" in government inquiries may mean much time. The
accumulated papers and letters of a month or more had to be examined,
and when this was accomplished, nothing had been found that threw any
light on Neville's detention. Yet no anxiety was expressed. Every one
had such confidence in the young man; he was accustomed to the
exigencies of travel, ready in resort, and brave and wise in
emergencies. Cromwell made light of any supposition affecting his
safety, and there was nothing then for Jane to do, but bear, and try to
believe with those supposed to know better than herself, that the
difficulties of winter travel in strange countries would easily account
for her lover's non-appearance.
Thus, sad with the slow sense of time, and with grief void and dark,
Jane passed the weary days. The world went on, her heart stood still.
Yet it was in these sorrowful days, haunted by uncertain presentiments,
that she first felt the Infinite around her. It was then that she began
to look for comfort from within the veil, and to listen for some
answering voice from the other life, because in this life there was
none. Outside of these consolations she had only a bewildering fear,
and she would have wept and worried her beauty away, had there not dwelt
in her pure soul the perennial youth of silent worship. But this
constantly renovating power was that fine flame of spiritual light in
which physical beauty refines itself to the burning point. The greatest
change was in her manner; a slight cold austerity had taken the place of
her natural cheerfulness--this partly because she thought there was a
want of sympathy in all around her, and partly because only by this
guarded composure could she maintain that tearless reticence she felt
necessary to her self-respect. Nevertheless, through her faith, her
innocence, her high thought and her laborious peace, she set her feet
upon a rock.
One crisp, sunny morning in January she suddenly resolved to make some
inquiries herself. It was not an easy thing to do; all her education
and all conventional feeling were against a girl taking such a step.
But the misery of a grief not sure is very great, and Jane believed that
her direct inquiries might be of some avail. She went first to Jevery
House. Sir Thomas had a financial interest in Lord Neville's return,
and it was likely he had made investigations, if no one else had. She
expected to find him in his garden, and she was not disappointed;
wrapped in furs, he was walking up and down the flagged pathway leading
from the gates to the main door of the mansion. He was finding a great
deal of pleasure in the green box borders and the fresh brown earth
which, he said to Jane, was "nourishing and cherishing his lilies and
daffodils. You must come again in three weeks, Jane," he added; "and
perhaps you will see them putting out their little green fingers." Jane
answered, "Yes, sir;" but immediately plunged into the subject so near
her.
"Have you heard anything about Lord Neville, Sir Thomas?" she asked. "I
must tell you that he is my lover; we were betrothed with my parents'
consent, and I am very, very unhappy at his long delay."