interest in him, and she now sent Van Helmont to him with the
information that a large sum of money, which she had assigned to his
brother, would now be his. This sum, which amounted to several thousand
pounds, she was ready to pay over to Inglesant whenever he might desire
it. She hoped he would remain at Oulton till his health was more
established, but she hinted that she thought it was for his own interest
that neither his stay there, nor indeed in England, should be
unnecessarily prolonged. Meanwhile, she recommended him to Dr. More and
to the Quakers; the teaching which he would derive from both sources,
she assured him, would be much to his benefit. Inglesant returned a
courteous message expressive of his obligation for her extraordinary
generosity, and assuring her that he should endeavour to benefit by
whatever her inmates might communicate to him. He informed her that he
intended, as soon as his strength was sufficiently established, to go to
Paris, where the only friend he had left was, and that any sum of money
she was so generous as to afford him might be transmitted to the
merchants there. He had some thoughts, he said, of going to Gidding,
but had learnt that soon after the execution of the King, the house had
been attacked by a mob of soldiers and others, and that the family, who
had timely warning of their intention, had left the neighbourhood and
were dispersed. He concluded by hoping that before he left he might be
allowed to thank his benefactress in person.
Some weeks passed over at Oulton with great tranquillity, and Inglesant
regained his strength and calmness of mind. There was a large and
valuable library in the house, and the society of Dr. More was pleasant
to Inglesant, though in many ways they were far from congenial; indeed,
there was more in Van Helmont's character and tastes that suited his
tone of mind. During these weeks, however, Inglesant began to adapt
himself to a course of religious life from which he never altogether
departed, and which, after some doubts and many attempts on the part of
others to divert him from it, he followed to the end of his life. He
was no doubt strengthened at the beginning of this course by the
conversation of Dr. More and also of the Quakers. These latter, whom
Inglesant had been led to regard with aversion, he found harmless and
sober people, whose blameless lives, and the elevated mysticism of their
conversation, commended them to him.
The transient calm of this existence was, however, broken by one
absorbing idea--the desire of being revenged upon his brother's
murderer, of tracking the Italian's path, and bringing him to some
terrible justice. It was this that induced him to seek the Jesuit, whom
at one time he had been inclined to shun. No one, he considered, would
have it in his power, from the innumerable agents in every country with
whom he had connection, to assist him in his search so much as the
Jesuit; and he believed that he had deserved as much at his master's
hand. But it was not natural that, at any rate at once, he should
suppose that such a motive as this would be any hindrance to him in a
religious life, and for a long time he was unconscious of any such idea.
It will be as well here to endeavour to understand something of the
peculiar form which Christianity had assumed in Inglesant's mind--a form
which was not peculiar to himself, but which he possessed in common with
most in that day whose training had been more or less similar to his
own. It was similar in many respects to that which prevails in the
present day in most Roman Catholic countries, and may be described as
Christianity without the Bible. It is doubtful whether, except perhaps
once or twice in College Chapel, he had ever read a chapter of the Bible
himself in his life. Certainly he never possessed a Bible himself; of
its contents, excepting those portions which are read in Church and
those contained in the Prayer Book, he was profoundly ignorant. It was
not included in the course of studies set him by the Jesuit. Of the
Protestant doctrines of justification by faith and by the blood of
Christ, and of the Calvinistic ones of predestination and assurance, he
was only acquainted in a vague and general way, as he might have heard
mention of them in idle talk, mostly in contempt and dislike. It is
true the Laudian School in the Church, in which he had been brought up,
held doctrines which, in outward terms, might seem to bear some affinity
with some, if not all of these; but they were in reality very different.
The Laudian School held, indeed, that the sacrifice of Christ's blood
had removed the guilt of sin, and that by that, and that only, was
salvation secured of men; but they held that this had been accomplished
on the Cross, once for all, independently of anything that man could do
or leave undone. The very slightest recognition, on the part of man, of
this Divine sacrifice, the very least submission to the Church
ordinances, combined with freedom from outward sin, was sufficient to
secure salvation to the baptized; and indeed the Church regarded with
leniency and hope even the wild and reprobate. It is true that the
Laudian press teemed with holy works, setting the highest of pure
standards before its readers, and exhorting to the following of a holy
life; but this life was looked upon rather as a spiritual luxury and
privilege, to which high and refined natures might well endeavour to
attain, rather than as absolutely necessary to salvation. With this
view the Church regarded human error with tolerance, and amusements and
enjoyments with approbation, and as deserving the highest sanctions of
religion. Inglesant's Christianity, therefore, was ignorant of doctrine
and dogma of almost every kind, and concentrated itself altogether on
what may be called the Idea of Christ, that is, a lively conception of
and attraction to the person of the Saviour. This idea,--which comes to
men in different ways, and which came to Inglesant for the first time in
the sacrament at Gidding, being, I should suppose, a purely intellectual
one,--would no doubt be inefficient and transitory, were it not for the
unique and mysterious power of attraction which it undoubtedly
possesses. In the pursuit of this idea he received little assistance
either from Dr. More. The school to which the doctor belonged,--the
Christian Platonists,--had no tendency to that exclusive worship of the
person of Jesus, which, in some religious schools, has almost superseded
the worship of God. This he had received from the Jesuits and the
mystical books of Catholic devotion which had had so great an influence
over him. The Jesuits, with all their faults, held fast by the motive
of their founder, and the worship of Jesus was by them carried to its
fullest extent. Dr. More's theology was more that of a philosophical
Deism, into which the person and attributes of Christ entered as a part
of an universal scheme, in which the universe, mankind, the
all-pervading Spirit of God, and the objects of thought and sense,
played distinct and conspicuous parts.
One fine and warm day in the early spring, Inglesant and the doctor were
walking in the garden at the side of the house bordering on the chase
and park. The wide expanse of grassy upland stretched before them;
overhead, the arch of heaven, chequered by the white clouds, was full of
life and light and motion; across the water of the lakes the Church
bells, rung for amusement by the village lads, came to the ear softened
and yet enriched in tone; the spring air, fanned by a fresh breeze,
refreshed the spirits and the sense. The doctor began, as upon a
favourite theme, to speak of his great sense of the power and benefit of
the fresh air.
"I would always," he said, "be '_sub dio_', if it were possible. Is
there anything more delicious to the touch than the soft, cool air
playing on our heated temples, recruiting and refrigerating the spirits
and the blood? I can read, discourse, or think nowhere as well as in
some arbour, where the cool air rustles through the moving leaves; and
what a rapture of mind does such a scene as this always inspire within
me! To a free and divine spirit how lovely, how magnificent is this
state for the soul of man to be in, when, the life of God inactuating
her, she travels through heaven and earth, and unites with, and after a
sort feels herself the life and soul of this whole world, even as God?
This indeed is to become Deiform--not by imagination, but by union of
life. God doth not ride me whither I know not, but discourseth with me
as a friend, and speaks to me in such a dialect as I can understand
fully,--namely, the outward world of His creatures; so that I am in fact
'_Incola coeli in terra_,' an inhabitant of paradise and heaven upon
earth; and I may soberly confess that sometimes, walking abroad after my
studies, I have been almost mad with pleasure,--the effect of nature
upon my soul having been inexpressibly ravishing, and beyond what I can
convey to you."
Inglesant said that such a state of mind was most blessed, and much to
be desired; but that few could hope to attain to it, and to many it
would seem a fantastic enthusiasm.
"No," said the doctor, "I am not out of my wits, as some may fondly
interpret me, in this divine freedom; but the love of God compelleth me;
and though you yourself know the extent of fancy, when phantoms seem
real external objects, yet here the principle of my opponents, the
Quakers (who, it may be, are nearer to the purity of Christianity--for
the life and power of it--than many others), is the most safe and
reasonable,--to keep close to the Light within a man."
"You agree with the Quakers, then, in some points?" said Inglesant.
"They have indeed many excellent points, and very nobly Christian, which
I wish they would disencumber from such things as make them seem so
uncouth and ridiculous; but the reason our lady has taken so to them as
to change some of her servants for Quakers, and to design to change
more, is that they prove lovers of quiet and retirement, and they fit
the circumstances that she is in, that cannot endure any noise, better
than others; for the weight of her affliction lies so heavy upon her,
that it is incredible how very seldom she can endure any one in her
chamber, and she finds them so still, quiet, and serious, that their
company is very acceptable to her; and she is refreshed by the accounts
of their trials and consolations, and their patience and support under
great distress. Baron Van Helmont frequents their meetings."
"What do you think of the Baron?"
"I think he knows as little of himself, truly and really, as one who had
never seen him in his life."
Inglesant did not try to penetrate into this oracular response; but
said,--
"Have you seen Mr. Fox, the famous Quaker?"
"Yes; I saw him once," replied the doctor; "and in conversation with him
I felt myself as it were turned into brass, so much did his spirit and
perversity oppress mine."
"There are some men," the doctor went on, after a pause--but Inglesant
did not know of whom he was thinking--"that by a divine sort of fate are
virtuous and good, and this to a very great and heroical degree; and
come into the world rather for the good of others, and by a divine
force, than through their own proper fault, or any immediate or
necessary congruity of their natures. All which is agreeable to that
opinion of Plato, that some descend hither to declare the being and
nature of the gods, and for the greater health, purity, and perfection
of this lower world. I would fain believe, Mr. Inglesant," he
continued, to the other's great surprise, "that you are one of those.
Ever since I first saw you I have had some thought of this; and the more
I see of you the more I hope and believe that some such work as this is
reserved for you. You have, what is very happy for you, what I call an
ethereal sort of body--to use the Pythagoric phrase--even in this life,
a mighty purity and plenty of the animal spirits, which you may keep
lucid by that conduct and piety by which you may govern yourself. And
this makes it all the more incumbent on you to have a great care to keep
in order this luciform vehicle of the soul, as the Platonists call it;
for there is a sanctity of body which the sensually minded do not so
much as dream of. And this divine body should be cultivated as well as
the divine life; for by how much any person partakes more of
righteousness and virtue, he hath also a greater measure of this divine
body or celestial matter within himself; he throws off the baser
affections of the earthly body, and replenishes his inner man with so
much larger draughts of ethereal or celestial matter; and to incite you
still more to this effort, you have only to consider that the oracle of
God is not to be heard but in His holy temple, that is to say, in a good
and holy man, thoroughly sanctified in spirit, soul, and body."
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
Shortly after the conversation recorded in the previous chapter,
Inglesant, who appeared completely restored to health,--thanks to the
Baron Van Helmont and to rest of body,--left Oulton, and, without going
to London, went to Rye, and sailed thence to France, where he arrived
about the middle of May 1651. He had taken a passage in a vessel
sailing to Dieppe, and from thence he posted to Paris, this route being
thought much safer than the one through Calais, which was much infested
by robbers.
He found Paris full of the fugitive Royalists in a state of distress and
destitution, which was so great, that on the Queen of England's going to
St. Germain's on one occasion, her creditors threatened to arrest her
coach. The young King Charles was in Scotland, previous to his march
into England, which terminated in the battle of Worcester. Inglesant
was well received by the Royalists to whom he made himself known on his
arrival. The Glamorgan negotiations were by this time pretty well
understood among the Royalists, and Inglesant's conduct fairly well
appreciated. He had the reputation of being a useful and trustworthy
agent, and as such was well received by the heads of the party. He
presented himself at the Louvre, where the Queen was, who received him
graciously, and expressed a wish that he would remain in Paris, as she
had been speaking not many days ago with Father St. Clare concerning
him. Inglesant inquired where the Jesuit was, and was told, at St.
Germain's with the French Court, and that he would be in Paris again
shortly. After leaving the Queen, Inglesant applied to the merchants
with whom his money was to have been lodged; but found that by some
misunderstanding a much smaller sum had arrived than he had expected.
Such as it was, however, he was able from it to make advances to the
Royalist gentlemen, many of whom of the highest rank were in absolute
distress; and he even advanced a considerable sum indirectly to the
Queen, and, through the Duke of Ormond, to the young Duke of Gloucester.
It is not necessary to enter into any details with regard to the state
of France or the French Court at that time. The Court had been obliged
to leave Paris some time before, owing to the violence of the populace,
and was at present much embarrassed from the same cause. It was
therefore quite unable to afford any help to the distressed fugitives
from England, had it wished to do so, and even the Queen Henrietta,--a
daughter of France,--could scarcely obtain assistance, and was reduced
to the greatest pecuniary distress. The Duke of Ormond parted with his
last jewel to procure money for the use of the Duke of Gloucester, whose
guardian he was, and the inferior Royalists were reduced to still
greater necessities. No sooner, therefore, was it known that Inglesant
had means at his disposal, than he became once more a person of the
greatest consequence, and every one sought him out, or, if not before
acquainted with him, desired an introduction. He frequented the Chapel
of Sir Richard Browne, who had been ambassador from Charles the First,
and still retained his privileges, his chapel, and his household, being
accredited from the young fugitive King to the French Court. This was
the only Anglican place of worship in Paris, or indeed at that time,
perhaps, in the world. Ordinations were performed there, and it was
frequented by the King and the two young Princes, the Duke of York and
the Duke of Gloucester, and by all the Royalist fugitives then in Paris.
Inglesant was the more welcome, as many of the Royalist gentlemen who
had any money at all, refused to stay in Paris, where there were so many
claims upon them, but went on to other countries, especially Italy. He
found many of these gentlemen in a very excited state, owing to the
efforts of the Queen Mother to discourage the English Church, and to win
over perverts to Romanism. The King and the Duke, it is true, received
the sacrament in the Ambassador's Chapel, partaking of it together
before the other communicants, Lord Biron, Inglesant's old friend, and
Lord Wilmot, holding a white cloth before the two Princes; but the Queen
Mother was making every effort to pervert the young Duke of Gloucester,
and throwing all the weight of her influence and patronage on the side
of the Papists. Several of the maids of honour had been discharged
shortly before Inglesant's arrival in Paris, for refusing to conform to
the Romish Mass. Dr. Cosin, the Dean of Peterborough, a profound
Ritualist, but at the same time devoted to the Anglican Church, had
preached a sermon in the Chapel comforting and supporting these ladies.
Inglesant being with the Queen at the Palais Royal, one morning, as she
was going to her private mass, was commanded to accompany her; and upon
his readily complying, the Queen afterwards spoke to him on the subject
of religion, inquiring why he, who had so long been so closely connected
with the Catholic Church, did not become one of its members. Inglesant
pleaded that the Jesuit, Father St. Clare, had discouraged him from
joining the Papists, as not convenient in the position in which he had
been placed. The Queen said that the reasons which actuated the Father
did not any longer exist, but that she would wait till she could take
his advice; in the meantime requesting Inglesant to attend the Romish
services as much as possible, which he promised to do. As a matter of
choice, he preferred the English communion to the mass, but he regarded
both as means of sacramental grace, and endeavoured at low mass to bring
his mind into the same devout stillness and condition of adoration as at
a communion. It would appear that about this time he must have been
formally received into the Romish Church, for he confessed and received
the sacrament at low mass; but no mention of the ceremony occurs, and it
is possible that the priests received instructions respecting him, while
there is clear proof that he attended the services at the Ambassador's
Chapel, and once at any rate partook of the sacrament there.
Here he met with Mr. Hobbes, who expressed himself pleased to see him,
and entered into long discourses with him respecting the Glamorgan
negotiations and the late King's policy generally,--discourses which
were very instructive to Inglesant, though he felt a greater repugnance
to the man than when he formerly met him in London. The religious
thoughts which had filled Inglesant's mind at Oulton were far from
forgotten, and when he arrived in Paris, his first feeling had been one
of dissatisfaction at finding himself at once involved again in
political intrigue; but his affection for the Jesuit, apart from his
desire to discover the Italian by his means, made him desire to meet
him; and he continued in Paris, waiting with this intention, when an
event occurred which altogether diverted his thoughts.
He spent his time in many ways,--partly in acts of religion, partly in
studies, frequenting several lectures, both in letters and in science,
such as Mons. Febus's course of chemistry. He also frequented the tennis
court in the Rue Verdelet, where the King of England, and the princes
and nobles, both of that country and of France, amused themselves. He
had been at this latter place one morning, and something having happened
to prevent the gentleman who had arranged to play the match from
appearing, Inglesant, who was a good tennis player, had been requested
to take his place against Mons. Saumeurs, the great French player.
There was a large and brilliant attendance to watch the play, and
Inglesant exerted himself to the utmost, so much so, that he earned the
applause and thanks of the company for the brilliant match played before
them. Having at last been beaten, which occurred probably when the
great player considered he had afforded sufficient amusement to the
spectators, Inglesant turned to leave the court, having resumed his
dress and sword, when he was accosted by an English nobleman whom he
very slightly knew; who, no doubt, influenced by the applause and
attention which Inglesant had excited, asked him to dine with him at a
neighbouring place of entertainment. After dinner the gentleman told
Inglesant that he was in the habit, together with many other English who
wished to perfect their knowledge of French, of resorting to one or
other of the convents of Paris, to talk with the ancient sisters, whose
business it was to receive strangers, and had several such acquaintances
with whom he might "chat at the grates, for the nuns speak a quaint
dialect, and have besides most commonly all the news that passes, which
they are ready to discourse upon as long as you choose to listen,
whereby you gain a greater knowledge of the most correct and refined
manner of speaking of all manner of common and trifling events than you
could otherwise gain." He said that he had received a parcel of English
gloves and knives from England the day before, some of which he intended
that afternoon taking to one of his "Devota" (as they call a friend in a
convent, he said, in Spain), and would take Inglesant with him if the
latter wished to come. Inglesant willingly consented, and they went to
a convent of the ---- in the Rue des Terres Fortes. They found the
ancient nun--a little courtly old lady--as amusing and pleasant as they
expected; and she was on her part apparently equally pleased with Lord
Cheney's presents, and with Inglesant's courteous discourse and good
French. She invited Inglesant to visit her again, but the next day he
received a message which was brought by a servant of the convent, who
had found his lodgings with some difficulty through Lord Cheney,
requesting him to come to the convent at once. It lay in a retired and
rather remote part of the city, and but for his friend's introduction he
would never have visited it. Thinking the message somewhat strange, he
complied with the request, and in the afternoon found himself again in
the convent parlour. The nun came immediately to the grate.
"Ah, monsieur," she said, "I am glad that you are come. You think it
strange, doubtless, that I should send for you so soon; but I spoke of
you last night to an inmate of this house, who is a compatriot of yours,
and who, I am sorry to say, is very ill,--nay, I fear at the point of
death,--and she told me she had known you very well--ah, very well
indeed--in times past; and she entreated me to send to you if I could
find out your residence. I only knew of you through Milord Chene, but I
sent to him."
"What is this lady's name, madame?" said Inglesant, who, even then, did
not guess who it was.
"Ah, her name," said the nun; "her name is Collette--Mademoiselle Marie
Collette."
She had the door in the grate opened for Inglesant, and took him through
the house, and past a court planted with trees, to a small and quiet
room overlooking the distant woodlands. There, upon a little bed--her
face white, her hands and form wasted to a shadow, only her wonderful
eyes the same as ever--lay Mary Collet, her face lighting up and her
weak hands trembling as he came in. On his knees by the bedside, his
face buried in his hands, her white fingers playing over his hair,
Inglesant could not speak, dare not even look up. The old nun looked on
kindly for some few minutes, and then left them.
Mary was the first to speak, and as she spoke, Inglesant raised his head
and fixed his eyes on hers, keeping down the torrent of grief that all
but mastered him as he might.