enforced during the greater part of James's reign, had been considerably
relaxed when he was negotiating with the Spaniards for the marriage of
his son, and again on King Charles's marriage with Henrietta Maria of
France. From that time greater and greater leniency was shown them, not
only by the exertion of Catholic influence at Court, but also through
Puritan jealousy; the juries refusing to punish Popish recusants,
because Puritan separatists were included in the lists. Spasmodic
exertions of severity were made from time to time by the King and the
Church party; but, on the whole, the Papists enjoyed more and more
liberty, especially between 1630 and 1640. Advantage was taken by the
party of this freedom to the fullest extent; money was amassed abroad,
an army of missionary priests poured into England, agents were sent from
the Pope, and every effort made in every part of England to gain
converts, and confirm uncertain members. Many Papists who had conformed
to the authority of the English Church beginning to entertain hopes of
the ultimate success of the old religion, fell away and became
recusants--that is, ceased to attend their Parish Church. Mr.
Inglesant, who--through all his life--had watched the progress of
affairs with a careful and far-reaching penetration, had, from the
first, been in communication with chiefs of the popish party; but he was
far too important a friend where he was to allow of any change in his
behaviour, and he still rigidly conformed to the Established Church.
The Roman Catholics were divided into two parties, holding two opinions,
which, under different aspects, actuate all religious parties at the
present day. The one viewed the English Church and its leader
Archbishop Laud with hatred, regarding him, and doubtless with great
truth, as their most formidable opponent, as occupying a place in the
country and in the allegiance of the majority of Englishmen which
otherwise could only have been filled by the older Church: the other
looking more at the resemblances between the two Churches, held the
opinion that little was needed to bring the Established Church into
communion and submission to the Papal See, and by that means, at once,
and without trouble, restore the papal authority in England. The
efforts of this party were of a more political nature than those of the
other; they endeavoured to win over Archbishop Laud to a conference, and
a Cardinal's hat was offered to him more than once. To this party Mr.
Inglesant belonged. Occupying a neutral position himself, and possessed
of the confidence of members of both Churches, he was peculiarly fitted
for such negotiations, and was in constant communication with those
Churchmen, very numerous at Court, and among the clergy and the country
gentry, who were favourably disposed to the Papists, though at the same
time sincere members of their own Church. The value of emissaries
possessing in this way the confidence of Church people and Papists alike
was so obvious, that Mr. Inglesant and his friends did all they could to
add to their number, especially as they were not very easy to procure,
great jealousy existing, among nearly all Church people, of any foreign
or armed interference in England on the part of the Romanists, who were
always suspected of such intentions. Mr. Inglesant, therefore, whom
nothing escaped, had marked out his younger son's temperament as one
peculiarly fitted to be trained for such a purpose, and had communicated
this idea to his intimate associate among the Papists, Father Sancta
Clara, as he was called, of an English family named St Clare, a Jesuit
missionary priest who travelled in England under the name of Mr. Hall.
The latter was a man of great influence, unbounded devotion to his
order, and unflinching courage; a profound scholar, and, according to
the knowledge of that day, a man of science, trained, indeed, in every
variety of human learning, and taking advantage of every scrap of
knowledge and information for the advancement of his purpose. Of
elegant and fascinating manners, and accustomed to courtly life abroad,
he was, perhaps, the most influential agent among the thousand mission
priests at that time scattered through England. His time, of course,
was fully taken up with his difficult embassy, but he was interested in
the account Inglesant gave of his son; and the idea of training him to
such usefulness in three or four years' time, when their plans might be
expected to be ripe, commended itself exceedingly to his peculiar genius
and habit of mind. He was at this time Superior over part of the
south-west of England, and was much engaged among the gentry in those
parts--a position of peculiar difficulty, as the people of the greater
part of that district were strongly Puritan, and the gentry hostile to
Rome. So secluded and convenient a position as Westacre Priory was
exactly adapted to aid him in his mission, and he resolved to take up
his quarters there, from whence he could, with great hopes of escaping
observation, continue his work in the adjoining country. Mr. Inglesant,
with an eye to such a contingency, had purposely omitted to appoint a
chaplain at the Priory for some time, and now nominated a Mr. ----, a
graduate of Oxford, a man who was "ex animo" a Papist, and who only
waited a suitable time to declare himself one. The number of such men
was very great, and they were kept in the English Church only by the
High Church doctrines and ceremonies introduced by Archbishop Laud;
affording one out of numberless parallels between that age and the
present. It is perhaps not necessary to say more in this place to
explain the presence of Mr. Hall (otherwise Father Sancta Clara) at
Westacre, nor the future that lay before Johnny Inglesant as he stood by
the gatehouse of the old Priory looking after his father and Eustace as
they rode up the hill.
*CHAPTER III.*
Father Sancta Clara was obliged to remain quiet at Westacre for some
time, and devoted himself entirely to gaining an influence over Johnny.
Of course in this he was entirely successful. There was a good library,
for that day, at the Priory; the Prior's old books were still on the
shelves, and Richard Inglesant, who we have seen was a scholar, added
largely to them, bringing all his books into the country when he came to
live at Westacre. The difference between Johnny's former master and
this present one was that between a theorist and dreamer and a statesman
and man of the world and critical student of human nature. The Father
made Johnny read with him every day, and by his wealth of learning and
acquaintance with men and foreign countries, made the reading
interesting in the highest degree. In this way he read the classics,
making them not dead school books, but the most human utterances that
living men ever spoke; and while from these he drew illustrations of
human life when reading Plato--which he did every day--he led his pupil
to perceive, as he did more fully when he grew older, that wonderful
insight into the spiritual life and spiritual distinctions which even
Christianity has failed to surpass. He led him, step by step, through
that noble resolve by which Socrates--at frightful odds, and with all
ordinary experience against him--maintains the advantage to be derived
from truth; he pointed out to him the three different elements to be
found in Plato: the Socratic or negative argument, simply overthrowing
received opinion; the pseudo-scientific, to which Plato was liable from
the condition of knowledge in his day; and, finally, the exalted flight
of the transcendental reason, which, leaving alike the scepticism of the
negative argument and the dreams of false science, flies aloft into the
pure ether of the heavenly life. He read to him Aristophanes, pointing
out in him the opposing powers which were at work in the Hellenic life
as in the life of every civilised age. He did not conceal from him the
amount of right there is on the popular side of plain common sense, nor
the soundness of that fear which hesitates to overthrow the popular
forms of truth, time-honoured and revealed, which have become in the
eyes of the majority, however imperfect they may really be, the truth
itself. Nor did he fail to show him the unsuitability of the Socratic
argument to the masses of the people, who will stop at the negative
part, and fail of the ethereal flight beyond; and he showed him how it
might be possible, and even the best thing for mankind, that Socrates
should die, though Socrates at that moment was the noblest of mankind:
as, afterwards, though for a different reason, it was expedient that a
nobler than Socrates should die for the people,--nobler, that is, in
that he did what Socrates failed in doing, and carried the lowest of the
people with him to the ethereal gates. And in this entering into
sympathy with the struggle of humanity, he prepared his pupil to receive
in after years (for it is a lesson that cannot be fully learned until
middle life is approached) that kindly love of humanity; that sympathy
with its smallest interests; that toleration of its errors, and of its
conflicting opinions; that interest in local and familiar affairs, in
which the highest culture is at one with the unlearned rustic mind.
The boy drank in all this with the greatest aptitude, and would have
listened all day, but his tutor insisted on his taking his full amount
of exercise, and himself commanded his admiration as much by skill in
the sports of the field as by learning. He made no effort to draw his
mind away from the English Church, farther than by giving him a crucifix
and rosary, and teaching him the use of them, and pointing out the
beauties of the Roman use; he even took pains to prevent his becoming
attached to Popery, telling him that his father would not wish him to
leave the Church of England; and though that Church was at present in
schism, it would probably soon be reunited, and that meanwhile the
difference was unimportant and slight. He knew, indeed, that from the
excitable and enthusiastic nature of his pupil, if he once became
attached strongly to Roman theology, all his use as a mediator between
the two parties would at once be lost; and he therefore contented
himself with securing his own influence over Johnny; which he
accomplished to the most unlimited extent.
After certain preparations had been made, and some needful precautions
taken, a great change took place in the life at Westacre Priory.
Strangers were constantly arriving, stayed a few hours, and departed,
mostly coming in the night, and leaving, also, after sunset. Several,
however, remained a longer time, and took great pains to conceal
themselves. They all had long interviews with the Father. Services
were also performed in the Chapel, frequently in Latin. It was death to
say mass in England, except in the Queen's Chapels at St. James's, at
Somerset House, and at Woodstock, nevertheless mass was said in all
parts of England, and it was said at Westacre. One night, after Johnny
had been asleep for some hours, he was awakened by Father St. Clare, who
told him to dress himself and come with him, and, at the same time,
charged him never to tell any one what he might be about to see--an
injunction which the boy would have died rather than disobey. The long
streaks of the summer dawn stretched across the sky before them as they
crossed the courtyard towards the Chapel, and the roofs stood out sharp
and distinct in the dim, chill air. The Chapel was lighted, and on the
white cloth of the altar were tapers and flowers. Half awake in the
sweet fresh morning air, Johnny knelt on the cold flag stones of the
Chapel and saw the mass. Strangers who had come to the Priory on
purpose were present, and some gentlemen of the neighbourhood whom
Johnny knew. It is strange that the Jesuit should have placed so much
trust in the prudence and fidelity of a boy; but he probably knew his
pupil, and certainly had no cause to repent. This was not the only time
mass was said; for one winter night--or rather morning--an old peasant
known in the neighbourhood as Father Wade had been to Marlborough wake,
and being benighted, bethought himself of asking a lodging at the
Priory, and approached it by a pathway from the east, which, crossing
the meadows beyond the Chapel, came round to the gatehouse at the front.
He, however, never reached the gate, and being found at home the next
day, and questioned as to where he passed the night, he was at first
evasive in his replies, but on being pressed, told a mysterious story of
strange lights and shapes of men he had seen about the Priory; and
approaching--he said--fearfully along the path, there, sure enough! were
the old monks passing up in procession from the graveyard through the
wall into the Chapel, as through a door; and he heard the
long-remembered chanting of the mass, and saw the tapers shining through
the east window, as he had seen them when a little boy.
This manner of life went on for about a year, at the end of which time
Father St. Clare's absences became more frequent, and Johnny was left
much alone. The Father's mission in the west of England was not
prospering, for the very simple reason that he was too good for the
work. As far as the duties of a Superior went, everything was
satisfactory. The country was mapped out in districts, and emissaries
were appointed to each; but for the peculiar mission of Father St.
Clare--that of personal influence--there was no scope. It was the habit
of the Jesuits, by the charms of their conversation and learning, by
their philosophical theories, and in some cases by their original
systems of science, to gain the confidence and intimacy of the highest
both in station and intellect. And for this seed to spring up, there
must be first a suitable soil for it to be sown in, and this soil was
particularly scarce in Wiltshire. All the refinement and learning of
Father St. Clare was thrown away upon the country squires; any boon
companion would have influenced them quite as well. Becoming conscious
of this, the Jesuit rode frequently to London, where work which required
the highest skill and talent was going on; and in his absence Johnny was
left very much to his own devices. During one of these absences a
priest who had remained concealed several days at the Priory, and who
had taken a fancy to the boy, gave him at parting, a little book,
telling him to read it carefully, and it would be of use to him through
life. It was entitled, "The Flaming Heart, or the Life of St. Theresa,"
of which a later edition, printed in 1642, was dedicated to Henrietta
Maria. It opened a new world of thought to Johnny, who was now sixteen
years of age, and he read it many times from beginning to end. A great
deal of it was so strange to Inglesant, that he was repelled by it. The
exaggeration of the duty of self-denial, the grotesque humility, the
self-denunciation for the most trifling faults,--most of the details
indeed appeared to him either absurd or untrue; but, running through all
the book, the great doctrine of Divine Illumination fascinated him. The
sublime but mysterious way of devotion pointed out in it, while quite
different from anything he had previously heard of, was still
sufficiently in accordance with the romantic habit of his mind, and with
the mystic philosophy in which his old master had trained him, to cause
him to follow it with an eager sympathy. The natural and inspired
writings of the great mystics, indeed, breathe a celestial purity,
entirely distinct from those of their inferior disciples, who brought
down their spiritual system to earth and earthly purposes. The rest from
individual effort, the calm after long striving, the secret joy in God,
the acquiescing in His will, in which the true elevation of devotion
lies, and which is not the effect of lively imaginations or of fruitful
inventions--of these, all men are not capable, but all may reach the
silent and humble adoration of God which arises out of a pure and quiet
mind, just as when a man enters into an entire friendship with another;
then the single thought of his friend affects him more tenderly than all
that variety of reflections which may arise in his mind where this union
is not felt. This inward calm and quiet in which men may in silence
form acts of faith and feel those inward motions and directions which,
as this book taught, follow all those who rise up to this elevation, and
which lead them onward through the devious paths of this life,--what
must this be but the Divine Light of which his old master had so often
told him he was ignorant, but whose certain coming he had led him
constantly to expect? Enticed by such thoughts as these, he passed the
days, hardly knowing what he did; and wandered in this perplexed
labyrinth without a guide. Without a guide! but this book of his told
him of a guide--a spiritual guide!--nay, even recommended obedience and
entire submission to this director; and dissuaded from self-confidence.
Where, then, was this guide, to whom, in the midst of such spiritual
light and life, and after such ecstatic visions, he should turn? The
book said it was the priest--any priest would do--but still it was the
priest. This seemed to John Inglesant, whose perceptions the Jesuit had
sharpened, but whose unrestrained romance he had not crushed, to be very
different from that Divine Light of which his master spoke, from that
transcendental voice of the Platonic Reason speaking in the silence of
the soul; nay, it seemed to him to be a fall even from the teaching of
the book itself. Meditating on these things, Johnny thought he would
visit his old master, to see what he had to say about this new doctrine.
It was a fine summer morning when he made the visit; he had a horse of
his own now, and a servant if he chose, but he preferred to-day to go
alone. He found Mr. ---- had discontinued his school, and was entirely
buried in his books; only reading morning and evening prayers, and a
homily, or one of his old sermons in the Church on Sundays. He never
left his study on other days, except for a turn in his little garden.
His house was by the wayside, with a small paved court before the hall;
and by the side of this court, the garden, into which the window of the
study, in a gabled wing adjoining the hall, looked towards the road. He
was pleased to see Inglesant, though he very dimly remembered him, and
questioned him of his studies. Johnny read him some Plato with the
Jesuit's comments, of which the old gentleman took notes eagerly, and
afterwards incorporated them in his book. The book he was writing was
upon Talismanic figures, but he was not particular what he put into it;
anything of an occult and romantic character being welcome, and
introduced with not a little ingenuity. He had no sense nor
understanding of anything else in the world but such subjects and his
books; and being exceedingly infirm, he could scarcely lift some of the
larger folios which lay heaped about him within reach. He blessed God
that his eyesight was so good, and that he could still read Greek--the
contracted Greek type of that day. After some conversation, Inglesant
opened his mind to him, told him what he had been reading, and asked his
opinion. The old scholar pricked up his ears, and set to work with
great delight, taking notes all the time; and Johnny found, years
afterwards, when he happened to read his book in London, that all he
told him was introduced into it.
"I find nothing, my dear pupil," he said, "in the Christian Church, very
old, concerning this doctrine--for that author who goes by the name of
Dionysius the Areopagite is of far later date--but I will discover to
you some mysteries concerning it, which, so far as I know, have never
been brought to light by any man. I find the germ of this doctrine in
those fragments of metaphysics which go under Theophrastus, his name;
who was a disciple of Aristotle, and succeeded him in his school; and
was an excellent philosopher, certainly, by the works by him which
remain to this day. Here he says that the understanding joined to the
body, can do nothing without the senses, which help it as far as they
can to distinguish sensible things from their first causes, but that all
knowledge and contemplation of the first causes must be by very touching
and feeling of the mind and soul; which knowledge, thus gained, is not
liable to error. Synesius, a man well known amongst scholars, being
vexed that this new divinity began in his day to be in request amongst
Christians; and some illiterate monks and others taking advantage of it
to magnify ignorance, to bring themselves into repute--Synesius, I say,
wrote that exquisite treatise, which he inscribed 'Dio,' to prove the
necessity of human learning and philosophy to all who will contemplate
high things with sobriety and good success. 'God forbid,' he says,
'that we should think that if God dwell in us, He should dwell in any
other part of us than that which is rational, which is His own proper
temple.'
"Now whether the writings of some ancient and later Platonists, Greeks
and Arabs, Heathens and Mahometans be a sufficient ground and warrant
for them that profess to ascribe more to the Scriptures, by which
sobriety of sense is so much commended unto us, than to the opinions of
heathen philosophers, I leave you to consider."
Then Inglesant left him, for he seemed more desirous to put ideas into
his book than to impart them, and rode home across the downs. As he
went, he overtook a gentleman riding an easy-going palfrey, whom he
found to be one whom he knew; one, indeed, of those who had attended the
early morning mass in the Chapel. This gentleman, who was one of those
called Church Papists, that is, Papists who saved themselves from the
charge of recusancy by sometimes attending their Parish Church, knowing
Johnny, and placing faith in him, began at once to relate his troubles.
He dwelt sadly on the fines he had to pay, and his difficulties in
avoiding the communion at Easter; but his greatest troubles were caused
by his wife, who was much more zealous than he was, and refused to go to
Church once a month to keep off the Church-wardens. Her religion,
indeed, was so costly to him, that he had rather have had a city lady
with her extravagant dress. He was very particular in inquiring after
Father St. Clare, and whether Inglesant knew of anything he was engaged
in; but John could give him no information, not knowing anything of the
Jesuit's plans. They were hard times, he said, for a good quiet subject
who wished to live at peace with his King and with his clergyman; but
what with the fear of the apparitor on one hand, and of his wife and her
advisers among the Catholics on the other--he had a hard time of it. He
was a cheerful man naturally, however, and leaving this discourse, which
he thought would tire his companion, he entertained him for some time
with the news of the country, of which he gathered great abundance in
his rides. Among other things, he told him of a clergyman at a parish
not far off, who, he said, must be a Catholic in his heart, for his
piety was so great and his punctuality in reading common prayer, morning
and evening in the Church alone in his surplice so regular, that--so the
common report ran--he had brought down an angel from heaven, who
appeared to him in the Church one evening, in the glow of the setting
sun, and told him many wonderful and heavenly things. When the gentleman
had related this, they came to the point where their roads parted, and
he invited Johnny--for he was very courteous--to come on to his house,
and sup with him. To this Inglesant consented, visits being a rare
pleasure to him, and they rode together to the gentleman's house, which
stood on the edge of the downs, with a courtyard and gatehouse before
it, and at the back a fair hall and parlour, having a wide prospect over
the valley and the distant view. Johnny was courteously received by the
popish lady and her sister, who was devout and very pretty. The supper
would have been very plain--the day being a fast--but the gentleman
insisted on waiting while a rabbit was cooked for his friend; and when
it came, he partook of it himself, in spite of his wife's
remonstrances--out of courtesy to his guest, he said, and also to enable
him to get over his next fine, which, he said, it ought to do. The
ladies asked John Inglesant many questions about the Father, and what
took place at the Priory; also about his brother the Page. This made
him leave early, for though he knew nothing of any plots or treason, he
was constantly afraid of saying something he ought not to do; nothing
was said, however, about the morning mass, which was too serious a
matter to be lightly spoken of.
As he rode away through the soft evening light, he thought so much of
the story the gentleman had told him, that he made up his mind to ride
to the village and see the clergyman whose goodness was so manifest and
so rewarded. He, surely--if no one else could--would show him the true
path of Devotion.
Two or three days afterwards he took the ride, and arrived at the small
old Church at a very opportune moment, for the clergyman in his surplice
was just going into it to read the evening prayers. Inglesant attended
devoutly, being the only person present; for the sexton's wife, who rang
the bell, did not consider that her duty extended farther. Prayers
being over, the parson invited Johnny to supper--a much better one than
he had had at the Papist's--and Inglesant stated his difficulties to
him, and asked his advice. The Parson showed him several small books
which he had written; one on bowing and taking off the hat at the name
of Jesus; another on the cross in baptism, and kneeling at the
communion; a third on turning to the east, which last appeared to be
mostly quotations and enlargements from Dr. Donne; a fourth on the use
of the surplice. He repudiated being popishly inclined; having
disproved, he said, that any of these practices were popish, in all his
books, all of which, as far as Johnny could see, displayed considerable
ingenuity; and while he inserted many trivial and weak passages, he
seemed to have been well read in the Fathers and other old authors, and
to have been a loyal, honest, and zealous advocate, according to his
capacity, of the Church of England. He evidently looked on forms and
ceremonies with the greatest reverence, and was totally incapable of
telling his visitor anything of that mystical life he was so anxious to
realise. Johnny inquired about the angel, but his host, while not
appearing displeased at the reports being spread abroad, professed to
deny all knowledge of it, but in such a way as to make Inglesant think
he would like to have acknowledged it, had he dared. He rode away
disappointed, and began to think he must consult Father St. Clare;
which, for some reason or other he had felt a disinclination to do.
While he was in this perplexity, he bethought himself of his first
schoolmaster, the man who taught in the Church where Camden visited him.
He had forgotten all about this man, except that he was of a mild and
kind nature; but he was so anxious for direction that he went to him at
once. This man had been very poor, and brought up a large family, all
of whom, however, he had put forward in life, some at the University and
the Church, and some among the clothiers and glove-makers at Malmsbury
and the other towns of Wiltshire. Johnny found him living alone--for
his wife was dead--in a small cottage no better than a countryman's,
with a few books, which with his garden were all the wealth he
possessed. He was a great herbalist, and famous in the country for his
cures and for his sermons, though no two people could agree why they
admired the latter; all uniting in considering him a simple and rather
poor preacher. This Inglesant learnt from a countryman who walked at
his horse's side as he came near the village; but when he found the old
gentleman sitting on a bench before his study window, and he rose and
met his look, Inglesant saw at once--thanks to the cultivation of his
perception by the Jesuit's teaching--what it was that gained him the
people's love. He had large and melting eyes that looked straight into
the hearts of those who met him, as though eager to help them and do
them good. He received Johnny with great kindness, though he had quite
forgotten him, and did not even remember when he told him who he was.
But when Inglesant, who found it very easy to speak to him of what had
brought him there, told him of his difficulties, he listened with the
greatest interest and sympathy. When he had finished speaking, he
remained some minutes silent, looking across the garden where the hot
mid-day air was playing above the flowers.