THE SUPERIOR OF THE JESUITS.
While Guy Fawkes held converse with his daughter, the five gentlemen
he had left at Percy's house were soberly discussing the weighty
matters which had drawn them together. The sun had already gilded the
dome of St. Paul, when Winter, Catesby, Wright and Digsby made ready
to take their departure. On the threshold of the chamber Catesby
paused, and turning to Percy, said: "'Twill mayhap be two days ere I
again come to thee, for it is my purpose to make a journey into the
country, that I may gain better understanding concerning certain
matters which rest heavily on my mind; therefore marvel not if for one
night I be absent."
"Thou goest then to Worcester?" asked Winter.
"Aye, to Hendlip that, in its wisdom, the counsel of the Church may
direct me. Having gone so far 'twere ill to draw back, yet methinks
there is another whose words we must not treat lightly."
"Garnet!" burst forth Digsby.
Winter started. "Not here," he whispered quickly, "name not one whose
zeal hath banished him from England. Let James once know that he is
yet among us, and not a hiding place in Britain could shelter him."
And a wise precaution it was that the name of Henry Garnet should not
be brought to the King's notice. Balancing the advantage of being
neither Catholic nor Protestant, the accusation that he was about to
favor the Papists, had so angered James, that he cast aside all
pretentions of toleration to the adherents of Rome. Coming to the
throne with promises of favor to the Catholic nobility, he had renewed
with great severity the laws of repression, and the banishment of the
Jesuits. Many of the latter had sought refuge in the houses of the
more zealous Papists, and among them Henry Garnet, Superior of the
Order of Jesus in England, an accomplished scholar, and a man of mild
demeanor, though an uncompromising adherent to his faith. 'Twas to
Garnet, that Catesby, troubled in spirit and, perhaps, uncertain of
the undertaking which lay before him, had resolved to turn, that the
advice of the wily Jesuit might strengthen his purpose, or check for a
time, his zeal in the desperate venture which at present filled his
mind.
Some two hours after leaving his companions, Catesby, mounted upon a
powerful chestnut mare and wrapped closely about with a fur lined
cloak, cantered slowly through the streets of London which led to the
outskirts of the city facing the northwest. The storm of the previous
night had ceased, and the country side lay wrapped in a mantle of
white, broken here and there by the gray wall of some silent
habitation from whose chimneys the first blue smoke was rising in
circling clouds through the crisp morning air.
Having reached the open country, the rider set his horse into a
gallop, for his destination lay many leagues away, and it was his
purpose to reach it ere nightfall. Hendlip House stood near the middle
of a spacious park thickly studded with trees; the structure itself
was surrounded by shrubbery, and contained within its walls many
secret hiding places, trap doors and double wainscotings. It had been
constructed by one Thomas Abington, a devoted recusant of the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, and the dwelling was a famous resort for those whose
desire it was to conceal themselves from the authorities. 'Twas there,
the Superior of the Jesuits, together with a clerk of that Order,
Oldcorne by name, and Owen, a servant, had been taken by certain of
the Catholic gentry, among whom were Lord Rookwood and Sir Everard
Digsby.
That precaution had been observed to guard against surprise was shown
by the presence of a watchman, who, on the arrival of Catesby outside
the manor grounds, stepped from his lodge that he might hold converse
with the new comer, and if an officer, or one attached to the
Parliament, might give warning to those within the house.
Upon perceiving, however, that it was Sir Robert Catesby who came thus
unexpectedly to Hendlip, the man doffed his cap, returning a civil
greeting to the rider's remark upon the coldness of the weather.
"Has my Lord Rookwood passed this way?" inquired he, reining in his
horse.
"He has, in truth," replied the servant, catching dexterously the
silver piece tossed him. "Even now, together with Mistress Vaux, he is
within the house."
"Vaux! Anne Vaux!" muttered Catesby, "there must be then some weighty
matter afoot that she comes to Hendlip." And touching his horse with
the spur, he galloped up the avenue which led to the main entrance of
the mansion. Being well known by its inmates he was at once conducted
to an upper chamber, the door of which was unbarred by Owen, who
motioned him to enter.
There were three occupants of the room. Before the great fireplace,
ablaze with logs, sat Henry Garnet. Scarce past middle age, the
learned prelate was a striking figure, clad though he was in the
simple, dark-hued garb of his Order. Beneath a brow white and smooth
as a child's, shone a noble countenance, gentle almost to effeminacy,
but redeemed by firm lines about the mouth, and the intensity of the
steel-gray eyes. As Catesby entered, these eyes, which had been gazing
abstractedly into the fire, lighted with a smile of welcome.
One of the Jesuit's companions was a personage whose dress and manner
proclaimed him a noble of the period. He leaned indolently against the
frame of the wide window facing the avenue, through which the horseman
had come, and he it was, Lord Rookwood, who first announced to the
Prelate that a visitor approached.
The third occupant of the apartment was a woman. Born and bred in
luxury, the daughter of a peer of England, Anne Vaux was numbered
among the most devoted followers of the Superior. Scarce six and
twenty, she had passed her minority at the court of Elizabeth, and the
accession of James the First had marked no change in the life of the
lady-in-waiting. Anne of Denmark, pleased with the loveliness of the
daughter of Lord Vaux, had retained her near her person.
Pausing on the threshold, Catesby took in the three personages at a
glance, but it was to the Jesuit that he offered his first salutation,
dropping on one knee as Garnet extended his hand, upon a finger of
which glistened the signet ring denoting his holy office.
"Welcome, Sir Robert Catesby!" murmured the Prelate, motioning the
cavalier to draw near the fire. "'Tis, indeed, a most happy
circumstance which brings to Hendlip so devoted a servant to the cause
of God."
"The more happy," replied Catesby, "that I find your Reverence of good
cheer, and in converse with my Lord of Rookwood and Mistress Vaux."
"They are truly of much comfort to me in my solitude," said the
Superior, "and with the help of God I have patience to remain in
idleness, that at the time of harvest I may be ready."
Catesby cast a quick glance at Rookwood, but the imperturbable face of
the latter told him nothing. It was Anne Vaux who spoke.
"'Tis but little, indeed, the followers of this most holy man can do
to comfort him," she said softly, "yet it seemeth fit that such of us
as may, shall make known to him that even the court of James----"
Garnet smiled. "Anne!" said he, turning his gray eyes affectionately
upon her, "'tis a comfort beyond human utterance." Then to Catesby:
"But thou hast ridden hard, good son?"
"That I may benefit by thy wisdom," replied Sir Robert, "for my soul
is troubled."
"A confession!" cried Anne, rising quickly. "Therefore I will retire
with my Lord of Rookwood."
The latter shrugged his shoulders; evidently it but poorly fitted his
desire that the conversation with the Superior should be unheard by
him. Catesby noted his displeasure, and signaled him to remain. Garnet
comprehended the matter.
"Not so!" said he, "I warrant me, good Catesby seeketh not the
confessional, but to render certain reports concerning that which hath
transpired in London, and of which Lord Rookwood hath some
understanding. Yet, lest our discourse weary thee, good Anne, thou
mayst retire, and if it please thee, return when our conference is
ended." So saying, he arose and conducted her to the door.
When alone with the two gentlemen, the Prelate looked fixedly at
Catesby.
"It were fitting," said he "that Mistress Vaux, zealous though she be,
know not too much concerning the temper of our following. Now tell me
quickly what hath arisen to disturb thee."
Catesby walked thrice about the room, then stopped before the Jesuit
and said soberly:
"That which agitates my mind is, perforce, the same matter which
troubles thee--a holy father of the Church, my Lord of Rookwood, and
some tens of thousands of loyal Catholics in England. 'Tis the broken
promises of James--the overthrow of our religion, the----"
Garnet checked him.
"Thou speakest as a true Catholic," said he, "yet has thy grievance
been long endured. There are many men whose childhood witnessed these
selfsame wrongs."
"Aye!" cried Catesby, seizing the hand of the Superior, "our
sufferings have, indeed, been of long duration, but we looked to the
ascension of the new King to lessen evils which have pressed so hard
upon us. 'Twas to James of Scotland----"
The eyes of the Jesuit blazed fiercely.
"Wretched country!" cried he, stretching out his arms, "thou hast in
truth suffered long, and the blessing of Most Holy God hath gone from
thee. Thy soul is troubled, Sir Robert Catesby, thou, who art free to
live as suiteth thee! Thinkest thou then that I, whom the Holy Church
hath appointed to teach her children, suffer nothing being thus a
prisoner behind the walls of Hendlip House? If thou art vexed at
thought of penalties, and cruel enactments against thy brethren, what
thinkest thou of the happiness of one to whom banishment without voice
or trial, such as are granted to the lowest criminal, follows from so
unjust a law? What have I done, wherein lieth the crime of all the
priests in England, that the hand of James is turned against us? If
thou seek out the King, or question the Parliament, and ask wherefore
we are driven from our churches--they will answer thee, 'Ye are
Catholics.'"
During his words, spoken with the fire of an ardent spirit, the
slender form of the Jesuit seemed to tower, as an enraged deity, above
the persons of his two companions. But having poured out the
bitterness of his soul, the meekness of the man asserted itself, and
sinking into a chair he buried his face in his hands. The sight
aroused Catesby to madness.
"Aye!" cried he, advancing to the Prelate's side, "I will go to James,
but 'twill not be to test his arguments. One thrust and thou, with all
Catholics, will be free."
Drawing out his sword he threw it at the feet of the silent Jesuit.
"Bless thou therefore this trusty blade, good Father, that it may do
its work quickly. Bless it, and me, for ere night comes again 'twill
have drunk the blood of the heretic!"
The recklessness of the other's purpose roused Garnet from his
lethargy.
"Thou art mad, good Catesby," said he sadly; "that thou thinkest to
kill the King of England. Put up thy sword! 'Tis not through the
violence of one man that England will be freed. We have waited long
already; pray for patience that thou mayst bear with meekness the
burden which rests heavily upon thee. Thinkest thou I groan not under
it?"
Catesby might have replied in anger, but the voice of Rookwood
forestalled him.
"There are many gentlemen in England this day who from waiting have
grown weary, and who hope no more for indulgence from the King and his
Parliament. Some there may be, who, even as good Catesby, have in
their minds resolved upon most desperate measures. If it be then a sin
to----"
Garnet turned upon him saying:
"A sin! A sin to slay the King of England?"
"Yet one who hath broken his promises, forsaken the religion of his
mother, and who, blind to the mercy of God, doth seek to uproot this
holy cause!" cried Catesby.
Whatever might have been the ultimate purpose of the Jesuit, whether
as an Englishman he recoiled at the thought of the assassination of
his King, or, as a Catholic, his zeal overbalanced his loyalty, he saw
that it was quite time to curb the fanatical tendencies of his
companions. The very life of the Catholic religion in England, his own
safety, and that of his fellow priests, might be sacrificed by a
premature attempt on the part of Catesby, or some of his followers, to
end their wrongs by the murder of the King. With the keen perception
which Garnet eminently possessed, he saw that the desired change in
the religious policy of the government could only be brought about by
a farther reaching blow than the removal of the person of James. Nor
would a decided objection on his part to their purpose serve his ends,
for it was his policy to draw about him the leading Catholic gentry of
the kingdom. He therefore cast about for a middle course whereby those
whose zeal had overcome their discretion might be pacified. The
remembrance of Anne Vaux suggested an expedient.
"Good Catesby, and thou, Lord Rookwood," said he blandly, "your zeal
in the cause hath much endeared you to me, yet, it were well to
proceed with due caution in so grave a matter. Perchance King James
hath it in his mind to extend to us that kind indulgence which we
crave for. Ye know that the Parliament of England is composed of many
who prate much about their liberties, and if James seek to aid us by
dissimulation, 'twere an ill thing to cut the unripe corn."
"What then, good Father?" asked Catesby.
"Thou knowest," replied the Jesuit, "that Mistress Vaux is closely
united to the Court. Maybe thou knowest, also, that there is a certain
gentleman, close to the King, who would make Anne his mistress. 'Tis a
truth that the wit of woman worketh much, and it comes to me that this
courtier, to please Anne Vaux, might seek to discover what is in the
mind of his master regarding the Catholics of England."
"'Tis a happy thought," said Rookwood, "if we be benefited."
"All is in the hands of God," replied Garnet solemnly, and rising he
touched a bell which summoned Owen from the ante-chamber.
"Good Owen," said he, "bear to Lady Vaux my desire for her presence;
our conference is ended."