And some for safety took the dreadful leap;
Some for the voice of Heaven seem’d calling on them;
Some for advancement, or for lucre’s sake--
I leap’d in frolic.
--THE DREAM.
After a private conversation with Bridgenorth, Christian hastened to the
Duke of Buckingham’s hotel, taking at the same time such a route as to
avoid meeting with any acquaintance. He was ushered into the apartment
of the Duke, whom he found cracking and eating filberts, with a flask
of excellent white wine at his elbow. “Christian,” said his Grace,
“come help me to laugh--I have bit Sir Charles Sedley--flung him for a
thousand, by the gods!”
“I am glad at your luck, my Lord Duke,” replied Christian; “but I am
come here on serious business.”
“Serious?--why, I shall hardly be serious in my life again--ha, ha,
ha!--and for luck, it was no such thing--sheer wit, and excellent
contrivance; and but that I don’t care to affront Fortune, like the
old Greek general, I might tell her to her face--In this thou hadst no
share. You have heard, Ned Christian, that Mother Cresswell is dead?”
“Yes, I did hear that the devil hath got his due,” answered Christian.
“Well,” said the Duke, “you are ungrateful; for I know you have been
obliged to her, as well as others. Before George, a most benevolent and
helpful old lady; and that she might not sleep in an unblest grave,
I betted--do you mark me--with Sedley, that I would write her funeral
sermon; that it should be every word in praise of her life and
conversation, that it should be all true, and yet that the diocesan
should be unable to lay his thumb on Quodling, my little chaplain, who
should preach it.”
“I perfectly see the difficulty, my lord,” said Christian, who well knew
that if he wished to secure attention from this volatile nobleman, he
must first suffer, nay, encourage him, to exhaust the topic, whatever it
might be, that had got temporary possession of his pineal gland.
“Why,” said the Duke, “I had caused my little Quodling to go through his
oration thus--‘That whatever evil reports had passed current during the
lifetime of the worthy matron whom they had restored to dust that day,
malice herself could not deny that she was born well, married well,
lived well, and died well; since she was born in Shadwell, married to
Cresswell, lived in Camberwell, and died in Bridewell.’ Here ended
the oration, and with it Sedley’s ambitious hopes of overreaching
Buckingham--ha, ha, ha!--And now, Master Christian, what are your
commands for me to-day?”
“First, to thank your Grace for being so attentive as to send so
formidable a person as Colonel Blood, to wait upon your poor friend and
servant. Faith, he took such an interest in my leaving town, that he
wanted to compel me to do it at point of fox, so I was obliged to spill
a little of his malapert blood. Your Grace’s swordsmen have had ill luck
of late; and it is hard, since you always choose the best hands, and
such scrupleless knaves too.”
“Come now, Christian,” said the Duke, “do not thus exult over me;
a great man, if I may so call myself, is never greater than amid
miscarriage. I only played this little trick on you, Christian, to
impress on you a wholesome idea of the interest I take in your motions.
The scoundrel’s having dared to draw upon you, is a thing not to be
forgiven.--What! injure my old friend Christian?”
“And why not,” said Christian coolly, “if your old friend was so
stubborn as not to go out of town, like a good boy, when your Grace
required him to do so, for the civil purpose of entertaining his niece
in his absence?”
“How--what!--how do you mean by _my_ entertaining your niece, Master
Christian?” said the Duke. “She was a personage far beyond my poor
attentions, being destined, if I recollect aright, to something like
royal favour.”
“It was her fate, however, to be the guest of your Grace’s convent for
a brace of days, or so. Marry, my lord, the father confessor was not at
home, and--for convents have been scaled of late--returned not till the
bird was flown.”
“Christian, thou art an old reynard--I see there is no doubling with
thee. It was thou, then, that stole away my pretty prize, but left me
something so much prettier in my mind, that, had it not made itself
wings to fly away with, I would have placed it in a cage of gold. Never
be downcast, man; I forgive thee--I forgive thee.”
“Your Grace is of a most merciful disposition, especially considering it
is I who have had the wrong; and sages have said, that he who doth the
injury is less apt to forgive than he who only sustains it.”
“True, true, Christian,” said the Duke, “which, as you say, is something
quite new, and places my clemency in a striking point of view. Well,
then, thou forgiven man, when shall I see my Mauritanian Princess
again?”
“Wherever I am certain that a quibble, and a carwhichit, for a play or a
sermon, will not banish her from your Grace’s memory.”
“Not all the wit of South, or of Etherege,” said Buckingham hastily, “to
say nothing of my own, shall in future make me oblivious of what I owe
the Morisco Princess.”
“Yet, to leave the fair lady out of thought for a little while--a very
little while,” said Christian, “since I swear that in due time your
Grace shall see her, and know in her the most extraordinary woman that
the age has produced--to leave her, I say out of sight for a little
while, has your Grace had late notice of your Duchess’s health?”
“Health,” said the Duke. “Umph--no--nothing particular. She has been
ill--but----”
“She is no longer so,” subjoined Christian; “she died in Yorkshire
forty-eight hours since.”
“Thou must deal with the devil,” said the Duke.
“It would ill become one of my name to do so,” replied Christian. “But
in the brief interval, since your Grace hath known of an event which
hath not yet reached the public ear, you have, I believe, made proposals
to the King for the hand of the Lady Anne, second daughter of the Duke
of York, and your Grace’s proposals have been rejected.”
“Fiends and firebrands, villain!” said the Duke, starting up and seizing
Christian by the collar; “who hath told thee that?”
“Take your hand from my cloak, my Lord Duke, and I may answer you,” said
Christian. “I have a scurvy touch of old puritanical humour about me. I
abide not the imposition of hands--take off your grasp from my cloak, or
I will find means to make you unloose it.”
The Duke, who had kept his right hand on his dagger-hilt while he held
Christian’s collar with his left, unloosed it as he spoke, but slowly,
and as one who rather suspends than abandons the execution of some hasty
impulse; while Christian, adjusting his cloak with perfect composure,
said, “Soh--my cloak being at liberty, we speak on equal terms. I come
not to insult your Grace, but to offer you vengeance for the insult you
have received.”
“Vengeance!” said the Duke--“It is the dearest proffer man can
present to me in my present mood. I hunger for vengeance--thirst for
vengeance--could die to ensure vengeance!---‘Sdeath!” he continued,
walking up and down the large apartment with the most unrestrained and
violent agitation; “I have chased this repulse out of my brain with ten
thousand trifles, because I thought no one knew it. But it is known, and
to thee, the very common-sewer of Court-secrets--the honour of Villiers
is in thy keeping, Ned Christian! Speak, thou man of wiles and of
intrigue--on whom dost thou promise the vengeance? Speak! and if thy
answers meet my desires, I will make a bargain with thee as willingly as
with thy master, Satan himself.”
“I will not be,” said Christian, “so unreasonable in my terms as stories
tell of the old apostate; I will offer your Grace, as he might do,
temporal prosperity and revenge, which is his frequent recruiting money,
but I leave it to yourself to provide, as you may be pleased, for your
future salvation.”
The Duke, gazing upon him fixedly and sadly, replied, “I would to God,
Christian, that I could read what purpose of damnable villainy thou hast
to propose to me in thy countenance, without the necessity of thy using
words!”
“Your Grace can but try a guess,” said Christian, calmly smiling.
“No,” replied the Duke, after gazing at him again for the space of a
minute; “thou art so deeply dyed a hypocrite, that thy mean features,
and clear grey eye, are as likely to conceal treason, as any petty
scheme of theft or larceny more corresponding to your degree.”
“Treason, my lord!” echoed Christian; “you may have guessed more nearly
than you were aware of. I honour your Grace’s penetration.”
“Treason?” echoed the Duke. “Who dare name such a crime to me?”
“If a name startles your Grace, you may call it vengeance--vengeance on
the cabal of councillors, who have ever countermined you, in spite
of your wit and your interest with the King.--Vengeance on Arlington,
Ormond--on Charles himself.”
“No, by Heaven,” said the Duke, resuming his disordered walk through the
apartment--“Vengeance on these rats of the Privy Council,--come at it
as you will. But the King!--never--never. I have provoked him a hundred
times, where he has stirred me once. I have crossed his path in state
intrigue--rivalled him in love--had the advantage in both,--and, d--n
it, he has forgiven me! If treason would put me in his throne, I have no
apology for it--it were worse than bestial ingratitude.”
“Nobly spoken, my lord,” said Christian; “and consistent alike with
the obligations under which your Grace lies to Charles Stewart, and the
sense you have ever shown of them.--But it signifies not. If your
Grace patronise not our enterprise, there is Shaftesbury--there is
Monmouth----”
“Scoundrel!” exclaimed the Duke, even more vehemently agitated than
before, “think you that you shall carry on with others an enterprise
which I have refused?--No, by every heathen and every Christian
god!--Hark ye, Christian, I will arrest you on the spot--I will, by gods
and devils, and carry you to unravel your plot at Whitehall.”
“Where the first words I speak,” answered the imperturbable Christian,
“will be to inform the Privy Council in what place they may find certain
letters, wherewith your Grace has honoured your poor vassal, containing,
as I think, particulars which his Majesty will read with more surprise
than pleasure.”
“‘Sdeath, villain!” said the Duke, once more laying his hand on his
poniard-hilt, “thou hast me again at advantage. I know not why I forbear
to poniard you where you stand!”
“I might fall, my Lord Duke,” said Christian, slightly colouring,
and putting his right hand into his bosom, “though not, I think,
unavenged--for I have not put my person into this peril altogether
without means of defence. I might fall, but, alas! your Grace’s
correspondence is in hands, which, by that very act, would be rendered
sufficiently active in handing them to the King and the Privy Council.
What say you to the Moorish Princess, my Lord Duke? What if I have left
her executrix of my will, with certain instructions how to proceed if I
return not unharmed from York Place? Oh, my lord, though my head is
in the wolf’s mouth, I was not goose enough to place it there without
settling how many carabines should be fired on the wolf, so soon as my
dying cackle was heard.--Pshaw, my Lord Duke! you deal with a man of
sense and courage, yet you speak to him as a child and a coward.”
The Duke threw himself into a chair, fixed his eyes on the ground, and
spoke without raising them. “I am about to call Jerningham,” he said;
“but fear nothing--it is only for a draught of wine--That stuff on
the table may be a vehicle of filberts, and walnuts, but not for such
communications as yours.--Bring me champagne,” he said to the attendant
who answered to his summons.
The domestic returned, and brought a flask of champagne, with two large
silver cups. One of them he filled for Buckingham, who, contrary to the
usual etiquette, was always served first at home, and then offered the
other to Christian, who declined to receive it.
The Duke drank off the large goblet which was presented to him, and for
a moment covered his forehead with the palm of his hand; then instantly
withdrew it, and said, “Christian, speak your errand plainly. We know
each other. If my reputation be in some degree in your hands, you are
well aware that your life is in mine. Sit down,” he said, taking a
pistol from his bosom and laying it on the table--“Sit down, and let me
hear your proposal.”
“My lord,” said Christian, smiling, “I shall produce no such ultimate
argument on my part, though possibly, in time of need, I may not be
found destitute of them. But my defence is in the situation of things,
and in the composed view which, doubtless, your Majesty will take of
them.”
“Majesty!” repeated the Duke--“My good friend Christian, you have kept
company with the Puritans so long, that you confuse the ordinary titles
of the Court.”
“I know not how to apologise,” said Christian, “unless your Grace will
suppose that I spoke by prophecy.”
“Such as the devil delivered to Macbeth,” said the Duke--again paced the
chamber, and again seated himself, and said, “Be plain, Christian--speak
out at once, and manfully, what is it you intend?”
“_I_,” said Christian--“What should I do?--I can do nothing in such
a matter; but I thought it right that your Grace should know that
the godly of this city”--(he spoke the word with a kind of ironical
grin)--“are impatient of inactivity, and must needs be up and doing. My
brother Bridgenorth is at the head of all old Weiver’s congregation;
for you must know, that, after floundering from one faith to another, he
hath now got beyond ordinances, and is become a Fifth-Monarchy man. He
has nigh two hundred of Weiver’s people, fully equipped, and ready to
fall on; and, with slight aid from your Grace’s people, they must carry
Whitehall, and make prisoners of all within it.”
“Rascal!” said the Duke, “and is it to a Peer of England you make this
communication?”
“Nay,” answered Christian, “I admit it would be extreme folly in your
Grace to appear until all is over. But let me give Blood and the
others a hint on your part. There are the four Germans also--right
Knipperdolings and Anabaptists--will be specially useful. You are wise,
my lord, and know the value of a corps of domestic gladiators, as well
as did Octavius, Lepidus, and Anthony, when, by such family forces, they
divided the world by indenture tripartite.”
“Stay, stay,” said the Duke. “Even if these bloodhounds were to
join with you--not that I would permit it without the most positive
assurances for the King’s personal safety--but say the villains were to
join, what hope have you of carrying the Court?”
“Bully Tom Armstrong,[*] my lord, hath promised his interest with the
Life Guards. Then there are my Lord Shaftesbury’s brisk boys in the
city--thirty thousand on the holding up a finger.”
[*] Thomas, or Sir Thomas Armstrong, a person who had distinguished
himself in youth by duels and drunken exploits. He was
particularly connected with the Duke of Monmouth, and was said to
be concerned in the Rye-House Plot, for which he suffered capital
punishment, 20th June 1684.
“Let him hold up both hands, and if he count a hundred for each finger,”
said the Duke, “it will be more than I expect. You have not spoken to
him?”
“Surely not till your Grace’s pleasure was known. But, if he is not
applied to, there is the Dutch train, Hans Snorehout’s congregation, in
the Strand--there are the French Protestants in Piccadilly--there are
the family of Levi in Lewkenor’s Lane--the Muggletonians in Thames
Street----”
“Ah, faugh!--Out upon them--out upon them!--How the knaves will stink of
cheese and tobacco when they come upon action!--they will drown all the
perfumes in Whitehall. Spare me the detail; and let me know, my dearest
Ned, the sum total of thy most odoriferous forces.”
“Fifteen hundred men, well armed,” said Christian, “besides the rabble
that will rise to a certainty--they have already nearly torn to pieces
the prisoners who were this day acquitted on account of the Plot.”
“All, then, I understand.--And now, hark ye, most Christian Christian,”
said he, wheeling his chair full in front of that on which his agent
was seated, “you have told me many things to-day--Shall I be equally
communicative? Shall I show you that my accuracy of information matches
yours? Shall I tell you, in a word, why you have at once resolved to
push every one, from the Puritan to the free-thinker, upon a general
attack of the Palace of Whitehall, without allowing me, a peer of the
realm, time either to pause upon or to prepare for a step so desperate?
Shall I tell you why you would lead or drive, seduce or compel me, into
countenancing your measures?”
“My lord, if you please to form a guess,” said Christian, “I will answer
with all sincerity, if you have assigned the right cause.”
“The Countess of Derby is this day arrived, and attends the Court this
evening, with hopes of the kindest reception. She may be surprised amid
the mêlée?--Ha! said I not right, Master Christian? You, who pretend to
offer me revenge, know yourself its exquisite sweetness.”
“I would not presume,” said Christian, half smiling, “to offer your
Grace a dish without acting as your taster as well as purveyor.”
“That’s honestly said,” said the Duke. “Away then, my friend. Give Blood
this ring--he knows it, and knows how to obey him who bears it. Let
him assemble my gladiators, as thou dost most wittily term my _coup
jarrets_. The old scheme of the German music may be resorted to, for I
think thou hast the instruments ready. But take notice, I know nothing
on’t; and Rowley’s person must be safe--I will hang and burn on all
hands if a hair of his black periwig[*] be but singed.--Then what is to
follow--a Lord Protector of the realm--or stay--Cromwell has made
the word somewhat slovenly and unpopular--a Lord Lieutenant of the
Kingdom?--The patriots who take it on themselves to avenge the injustice
done to the country, and to remove evil counsellors from before
the King’s throne, that it may be henceforward established in
righteousness--so I think the rubric runs--cannot fail to make a fitting
choice.”
[*] Charles, to suit his dark complexion, always wore a black peruke.
He used to say of the players, that if they wished to represent a
villain on the stage, “Oddsfish, they always clapp’d on him a
black periwig, whereas the greatest rogue in England [meaning,
probably, Dr. Oates] wears a white one.”--_See CIBBER’s Apology_.
“They cannot, my Lord Duke,” said Christian, “since there is but one man
in the three kingdoms on whom that choice can possibly fall.”
“I thank you Christian,” said his Grace; “and I trust you. Away, and
make all ready. Be assured your services shall not be forgot. We will
have you near to us.”
“My Lord Duke,” said Christian, “you bind me doubly to you. But remember
that as your Grace is spared any obnoxious proceedings which may befall
in the way of military execution, or otherwise, so it will be advisable
that you hold yourself in preparation, upon a moment’s notice, to put
yourself at the head of a band of honourable friends and allies, and
come presently to the palace, where you will be received by the victors
as a commander, and by the vanquished as a preserver.”
“I conceive you--I conceive you. I will be in prompt readiness,” said
the Duke.
“Ay, my lord,” continued Christian; “and for Heaven’s sake, let none of
those toys, which are the very Delilahs of your imagination, come
across your Grace this evening, and interfere with the execution of this
sublime scheme.”
“Why, Christian, dost think me mad?” was his Grace’s emphatic reply. “It
is you who linger, when all should be ordered for a deed so daring.
Go then.--But hark ye, Ned; ere you go, tell me when I shall again
see yonder thing of fire and air--yon Eastern Peri, that glides into
apartments by the keyhole, and leaves them through the casement--yon
black-eyed houri of the Mahometan paradise--when, I say, shall I see her
once more?”
“When your Grace has the truncheon of Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom,”
said Christian, and left the apartment.
Buckingham stood fixed in contemplation for a moment after he was gone.
“Should I have done this?” he said, arguing the matter with himself; “or
had I the choice rather of doing aught else? Should I not hasten to the
Court, and make Charles aware of the treason which besets him? I will,
by Heaven?--Here, Jerningham, my coach, with the despatch of light!--I
will throw myself at his feet, and tell him of all the follies which I
have dreamed of with this Christian.--And then he will laugh at me, and
spurn me.--No, I have kneeled to him to-day already, and my repulse was
nothing gentle. To be spurned once in the sun’s daily round is enough
for Buckingham.”
Having made this reflection, he seated himself, and began hastily to
mark down the young nobles and gentlemen of quality, and others, their
very ignoble companions, who he supposed might be likely to assume him
for their leader in any popular disturbance. He had nearly completed it,
when Jerningham entered, to say the coach would be ready in an instant,
and to bring his master’s sword, hat, and cloak.
“Let the coachman draw off,” said the Duke, “but be in readiness. And
send to the gentlemen thou wilt find named in this list; say I am but
ill at ease, and wish their company to a light collation. Let instant
expedition be made, and care not for expense; you will find most of them
at the Club House in Fuller’s Rents.” [*]
[*] The place of meeting of the Green Ribbon Club. “Their place of
meeting,” says Roger North, “was in a sort of Carrefour at
Chancery Lance, in a centre of business and company most proper
for such anglers of fools. The house was double balconied in
front, as may yet be seen, for the clubbers to issue forth _in
fresco_, with hats and no perukes, pipes in their mouths, merry
faces, and dilated throats for vocal encouragement of the
canaglia below on usual and unusual occasions.”
The preparations for festivity were speedily made, and the intended
guests, most of them persons who were at leisure for any call that
promised pleasure, though sometimes more deaf to those of duty, began
speedily to assemble. There were many youths of the highest rank, and
with them, as is usual in those circles, many of a different class, whom
talents, or impudence, or wit, or a turn for gambling, had reared up
into companions for the great and the gay. The Duke of Buckingham was a
general patron of persons of this description; and a numerous attendance
took place on the present occasion.
The festivity was pursued with the usual appliances of wine, music, and
games of hazard; with which, however, there mingled in that period much
more wit, and a good deal more gross profligacy of conversation, than
the talents of the present generation can supply, or their taste would
permit.
The Duke himself proved the complete command which he possessed over his
versatile character, by maintaining the frolic, the laugh, and the jest,
while his ear caught up, and with eagerness, the most distant sounds, as
intimating the commencement of Christian’s revolutionary project. Such
sounds were heard from time to time, and from time to time they died
away, without any of those consequences which Buckingham expected.
At length, and when it was late in the evening, Jerningham announced
Master Chiffinch from the Court; and that worthy personage followed the
annunciation.
“Strange things have happened, my Lord Duke,” he said; “your presence at
Court is instantly required by his Majesty.”
“You alarm me,” said Buckingham, standing up. “I hope nothing has
happened--I hope there is nothing wrong--I hope his Majesty is well?”
“Perfectly well,” said Chiffinch; “and desirous to see your Grace
without a moment’s delay.”
“This is sudden,” said the Duke. “You see I have had merry fellows about
me, and am scarce in case to appear, Chiffinch.”
“Your Grace seems to be in very handsome plight,” said Chiffinch; “and
you know his Majesty is gracious enough to make allowances.”
“True,” said the Duke, not a little anxious in his mind, touching the
cause of this unexpected summons--“True--his Majesty is most gracious--I
will order my coach.”
“Mine is below,” replied the royal messenger; “it will save time, if
your Grace will condescend to use it.”
Forced from every evasion, Buckingham took a goblet from the table, and
requested his friends to remain at his palace so long as they could find
the means of amusement there. He expected, he said, to return almost
immediately; if not, he would take farewell of them with his usual
toast, “May all of us that are not hanged in the interval, meet together
again here on the first Monday of next month.”
This standing toast of the Duke bore reference to the character of
several of his guests; but he did not drink it on the present occasion
without some anticipation concerning his own fate, in case Christian had
betrayed him. He hastily made some addition to his dress, and attended
Chiffinch in the chariot to Whitehall.