The idea of one day withdrawing from the world to prepare for
immortality is a very pernicious one; and, like all other
worldly hopes and plans, may never he realized. Use the present
hour if you would make your calling and election sure. If God
has placed you among the pomps and vanities of the world, fear
not; do your duty amongst them, nor suppose that you may defer
seeking your Creator until you obtain a retired situation.
Fenelon.
The re-union of the family at Oxford furnished ample topics for pious
and affectionate gratitude. Barton's praise was re-echoed by every
individual except Mrs. Mellicent, who yet went so far as to say, it was
a pity he was a roundhead. A friend of Dr. Beaumont's accommodated his
family with apartments in one of the colleges; his academical sinecures,
and the relics of his private fortune, afforded him a decent support; he
was surrounded by people of his own principles; and as all the strength
of the King's cause was concentrated about the seat of the court, every
apprehension of personal insecurity was at an end. He was now,
therefore, in a state of comparative comfort; man is seldom placed in a
better; and in times like those I describe, a good subject could not be
happy.
Eustace felt much chagrin that all his expectations were not realized.
He was indeed at liberty, and with his uncle, but still forbidden "to
flesh his maiden sword." His father had again eluded his search, and was
still withheld from procuring an explanatory interview with the
sovereign whom he faithfully served, which, he determined, should
precede his son's taking the field. His troop had been recalled from the
royal escort, and ordered to rejoin the Marquis of Newcastle, who, after
having long successfully opposed Sir Thomas Fairfax, was in imminent
danger of having his laurels blasted by the threatened invasion of the
Scots Covenanters, now gathering to assist their English friends, and
compel an universal adoption of Presbyterian government, and abjuration
of constitutional monarchy. It was impossible, therefore, for Eustace to
obtain the permission for which his soul panted; and academic repose ill
suited the self-devoted soldier. His retirement was spent in a somewhat
similar way to that of Toby Shandy. He read descriptions of battles and
sieges; he planned ravelins and counterscarps; and he braced his frame,
and exercised his muscles, by every athletic exertion which could inure
him to toil, or facilitate his success in arms.
Constantia felt quite happy. She was surrounded by all whom her heart
best loved; she had leisure and opportunity to improve her taste in the
fine arts; and she was allowed that limited and distant view of the
world which informs the mind and polishes the manners without
endangering principle. Her exquisite beauty could not fail to attract
attention; but the scanty income of her father, and the prudence of Mrs.
Mellicent, alike forbade that it should be ostentatiously exposed to the
public eye. A few select friends were admitted as intimates, and only
these knew that Dr. Beaumont had a superlatively lovely and enchanting
daughter. She seldom appeared in public except at church, where her face
was so shaded by her hood, that its attractions were rather guessed at
than discovered. Thus this fair rose-bud expanded in the soil best
suited to perfect its attractions, the sheltered vale of domestic
privacy, where, unconscious of its super-eminence, and screened from
every blast, it preserved the undying fragrance of modest worth, and the
soft elegance of unassuming beauty.
Isabel was almost as happy as usual; her adoration of her father would
not permit her to be quite so while he was in danger. Beside, she could
not help thinking how shocking it would be, were the chance of war to
oppose him to the noble young officer who had so admirably planned and
faithfully executed their deliverance. If he should fall by the hand of
her father!--the bare possibility of such a cruel return for his
goodness often brought tears into her eyes; and she lamented that the
incautious impetuosity of Eustace prevented Barton from entrusting them
with his name. She fancied the preservation of their deliverer was her
only motive for wishing to trace his identity, till she recollected how
little could be gained towards that end by knowing who he was. In these
perilous times messengers oftener miscarried than arrived in safety; and
the sanctity of private correspondence was violated by either party as
often as opportunity served. All, but the exemplary Lord Falkland,
thought the least doubt of the fidelity of an adherent a sufficient
vindication of breaking open his letters; and therefore, since, if she
knew the stranger's name, she could not repeat it without endangering
his safety, it was better she should remain in ignorance, and trust the
event to Providence. She sometimes thought Williams knew him, because he
once accounted for Barton's secrecy by observing that his pupil might be
sprung from parents whom he was ashamed to own. Isabel answered that the
faults of the basest could not contaminate so perfect a character.
"Would you say so," returned Williams, "if he were the son of Lord
Bellingham?" "I know nothing of Lord Bellingham," said she, "except that
when my dear father was discomposed, he often called him by very harsh
epithets; but as at these moments he knew neither me nor Eustace, nor
even my mother, till her sobbings attracted his notice, and told him she
was his faithful wife, I think I should not conclude Lord Bellingham to
be a very wicked man on such testimony."
Williams asked her if she ever heard him mentioned while she was with
the rebel detachment.
"Our good Barton," returned she, "sometimes spoke of him as one who was
reputed too be a godly man, and who filled his house with devout
ministers, yet was of a very pleasant companionable humour, steady in
the good cause, but willing to come to terms with the King, whom he
wished not to be pushed to extremities. Barton seemed to think Lady
Bellingham was too much wedded to a vain world."
"And their son----"
"He never mentioned that they had a son." "Nor do I say they have," said
Williams; "but I know enough of Lord Bellingham to say, that if he has
one, he never ought to own his father without a blush." Isabel could
draw no more from Williams; and, on recollecting the conversation, she
saw that only a creative imagination could connect it with her
deliverer.
Winter now interrupted the operations of the King's armies in most
quarters. But the brave Lord Newcastle had to contend at once with
English and Scotch rebels. The hardy frames of the latter enabling them
to defy the severest season, they passed the boundaries of their own
country, and, fixing a label, importing their attachment to the "bloody
covenant," in their hats, began the work of desolation in the northern
counties, while the mountainous barrier which divides them from the
plains of Yorkshire, then covered with snow, reflected the horrible
beams of hostile fires. And in Wales, a body of forces, sent to the
relief of Ireland, had been recalled by the King, whose urgent
necessities compelled him to employ them to support the loyal Welsh,
who, with this aid, surprised several Parliamentary holds, and for some
time operated as a diversion to the army of Fairfax, preventing him from
joining the Scotch to crush the noble Newcastle. The King's cause at
this time wore a fair aspect; and no better proof could be given of his
having a chance of ultimate success, and of the divisions among his
opponents, than that the Lords Bedford and Holland, and other noblemen,
who had distinguished themselves as partizans of the Parliament, sought
shelter within the royal lines, and even presumed to attempt regaining
the confidence of their injured Sovereign.
Lord Holland, who had stood high in the Queen's favour, building upon
the prejudices she was known to entertain against many of the King's
most faithful adherents, imagined himself secure of regaining the office
he had once held through her influence, notwithstanding the unbleached
stains of his former treasons. Beauty is too apt to exert a peremptory
claim to absolute dominion; and, not content with conjugal affection,
requires obsequious dotage. The Queen's views being all limited to the
routine of a court, unhappily indisposed her from acting the part of a
faithful wife in this critical emergency, and induced her to use all her
power to make the King depend more for advice upon herself and her
favourites, than on those sages who presided at the council board, or
those warriors who contended in the field; in other words, to prefer
shallow courtiers, known only for polished manners, habits of
dissipation, and an excessive regard to their own interest, to men who
knew the strength and disposition of the enemy, who, by deep researches
into past times, could judge of the present, and were too noble-minded
to build plans of self-aggrandizement on the future. Misled by smooth
flatterers, the Queen manifested a fatal dislike to all those whose
minds were too much occupied to pay her particular court. Opposition to
her opinion, was, in her estimation, high treason. The uxuriousness of
the amiable King towards his fascinating Princess (who to all her sex's
charms united all their foibles), exceeded justifiable attachment to an
engaging and faithful partner. He gave her credit for qualities she did
not possess; and the malice of the Parliamentary leaders against her, on
account of her religion, increased his eagerness to support and defend
her; nor could his most attached friends counteract her fatal influence.
Her fidelity and wishes to serve him were indeed unquestioned; but in
some characters, a forbearance from interfering in our affairs is the
truest test of friendship.
The strange circumstance of noblemen, who had even borne arms against
the King, boasting that they possessed the Queen's confidence, suggested
a fear that further accommodations with individual traitors were on the
tapis, and that Oxford would no longer remain a sacred asylum to a
persecuted court, where unblemished loyalty was sure of safety and
esteem; but a sanctuary to which terrified iniquity might retreat, and,
grasping the horns of the altar, defy justice. The influence that Lady
Bellingham once possessed over the Queen's mind was recollected by Dr.
Beaumont; and, as Her Majesty had given proof that her friendships were
indelible, he could not but apprehend that some project might be formed
by that artful woman to secure her husband a retreat, in case his
reported moderation should really proceed from his secret alienation
from the rebel cause, and from a wish of reconciliation with the King.
The conviction that such an adept in treachery could never really serve
his Prince, determined Dr. Beaumont to act as the representative of the
absent Evellin, request a private audience with his Sovereign, and
reveal the secret history of the house of Neville, at the same time
presenting young Eustace as its true and lineal heir. The affability and
justice of the King prompted him to listen to all his subjects. He
heard, with horror, a narration of the arts by which he had been imposed
on when he was unversed in the intricacies of government, and too
sincere and noble to suspect deceit in others. That Allan Neville, whose
person and merit he well remembered, whose rashness and reported
criminality he had lamented, and whose supposed death he had deplored,
was still alive, and no other than the renowned Colonel Evellin, whose
address in forwarding to him the supplies procured from Holland, and
whose brave exploits with the Northern army, had endeared his name to
him, even while he deemed him a stranger, excited wonder, grief,
self-reproach, and admiration. He readily promised Dr. Beaumont that no
solicitations should ever induce him to bestow confidence on a man whose
crimes marked him out as an outcast from society; and, with the most
gracious expressions of sorrow for the past, he as firmly assured him
that, in the event of his being again able to exercise his royal
authority, one of his first acts should be to re-instate Neville in all
his hereditary rights. He offered to put into the Doctor's hands a
patent for that purpose; but as that would only bestow title without
restoring the estates which De Vallance enjoyed under the protection of
the Parliament, Dr. Beaumont declined a mark of favour which would not
essentially benefit his friend, but rather point him out to the
inveterate malice of his enemies if he should happen to fall into their
hands. He only requested a private recognition of Evellin's right; this
the King gave in a letter, written by himself, addressing him by the
name of Bellingham, expressing his satisfaction at hearing he was alive,
and innocent of the crimes laid to his charge, acknowledging the deceits
that had been practised upon himself, and avowing his great anxiety to
possess the power of redressing his wrongs; then, warmly thanking him
for his services, the King concluded in these words, "Your assured
friend, Charles R."
Dr. Beaumont now introduced his nephew, after previously stipulating
that no hint should transpire of his being the rightful heir of an
earldom; but that he should be welcomed only as the son of a gallant
officer now fighting in the Royal army. The fine figure and ingenuous
manners of Eustace so pleased the King, that he wished him to pay his
duty to the Queen also, an honour Dr. Beaumont could not decline. No
Princess was a more consummate judge of beauty, grace, and native
politeness than Henrietta Maria; they were qualities which ever gained
her favour; and she piqued herself on having introduced into the English
court the polished manners which had long distinguished that of France.
Conversing with Eustace, she found nature had been as liberal to his
mind as to his person. Pleased with his wit and gallantry, she asked
him, with that air of condescending dignity which seems to confer a
favour while it requires a service, to become one of her pages of
honour, and a volunteer in her troop of guards. Dazzled with the
attention of his Royal mistress, still beautiful, and most fascinating
in her affability, Eustace never considered that the request wedded him
to her fortunes. He saw in her who made it his sovereign Lady, the
consort of that excellent Prince whom he had been taught to reverence in
prosperity, and adore in misfortune. Inflamed with the ardent spirit of
chivalry, he panted to defend the title of his King, and the beauty and
virtue of his Queen, against all impugners. To suffer for her was
glorious. Perish the base worldling who thought either of danger or
remuneration! He immediately declared his rapturous acceptance of her
invitation; and, kneeling, sealed his vows on the fair hand of his
illustrious mistress.
Nothing could be more contrary to the wishes and principles of Dr.
Beaumont, than this connexion. The Queen's retinue was composed of that
refuse of the old court, who not having talents for an active situation,
nor virtue enough to make them sensible of the baseness of impoverishing
dependence, continued to hang like leeches on the exhausted frame of
Royalty, and to drain its decayed resources for their own support. While
the King and his counsel were debating how to equip an army without
money or credit; while the great and the good were disarraying their
noble mansions, parting with every moveable, mortgaging their lands, and
alienating even the treasured heir-looms which had for centuries
attested their high descent, to support their falling Sovereign; the
courtiers, who surrounded the Queen, were engaging their mistress to
forward their intrigues for places and titles, and inticing her to
pervert the scanty resources of the public treasury to feed their
rapacity. Thus, when, after a painful summer spent in martial toils and
dangerous conflicts, the King came to his winter-quarters, he found the
fatigues of his public duties aggravated by those private cabals which
were ever at work to counteract the decisions of his council, and to
balance the advantage of a few sycophants against a nation's weal. The
faction of whom I speak were incapable of judicious conduct either in
prosperity or in adversity, mistaking a few successful enterprises for
the former, and thereupon becoming insolent and sanguine, talking of
unconditional submission from the rebels, and an intire reinstatement of
themselves in the luxurious ease of their former sinecures; yet as
easily discouraged by a few adverse events; without resources, without
firmness; actuated by the evil spirit of selfishness which forbids any
good or noble determination to enter the impure heart, that submits to
its influence.
To these summer-flies which infest royalty, and often turn greatness to
corruption, were added the gay, volatile, voluptuous part of the
officers, who had obtained leave of absence from their respective
cantonments, and who thought the hardships of a soldier excused the
excesses of a libertine. These were chiefly young men of high birth,
neglected education, and unsound principles; unacquainted with the
nature of the church and government for which they professed to fight,
and so ignorant of religion and morality, as to be perpetually
confounding them with fanaticism and hypocrisy, those constant topics of
their abuse and ridicule. With them to be a republican or a sectary, was
to be a knave, a cut-throat, nay, a devil; and to fight for the King
conferred the privilege of violating those laws, which his supremacy was
designed to guarantee. How dangerous was such society to the impetuous
Eustace Evellin, whose passions unfolded with an ardour, proportioned to
his quick vivacious temper. Dr. Beaumont would have preferred seeing his
charge in the field of battle, to beholding him in this scene of moral
peril, particularly if he could have placed him under the command of the
noble Lord Hopton, who was alike skilled to subdue the enemies of his
King, and to suppress his own resentment at the injuries which he
suffered from those who should have been his coadjutors.
But the die was cast, and there was no retreating; Eustace had accepted
the Queen's invitation, and now complained, with less deference than he
usually shewed for his uncle's judgment, of the superfluous caution
which kept him wrapped up like a shivering marmoset, and even refused to
expose him to the slight hazard of an holiday soldier. Could he not
mount guard, go through the manual exercise, or gallop at a review
without endangering his precious life? Isabel, who had parted with some
valuable trinkets, to purchase materials for his regimentals, and was
now busy in working his ruff, declared it would be hard to restrain him.
Constance had embroidered a scarf, which she tied around him; and after
seeing him in his hat and plume, thought he looked so like a hero, that
he might be indulged in just such a circumscribed sphere of glory as
Andromache would have allowed to Hector, namely, to brace on his arms,
and defend the walls of the city. Even Mrs. Mellicent observed, that her
nephew made a very comely soldier. Dr. Beaumont, therefore, finding that
he could not withhold Eustace from the temptations which surrounded him,
had only to counsel him to resist them.
He did not commence his instructions with general invectives against a
court-life; but admitted that good and wise men were often called to it
by duty. He observed, that injunctions against entering into that or any
other public station, savoured more of monastic or puritanic austerity
than true piety. The concerns of government must be performed by human
agents, and in representing eminent stations as incompatible with
honesty, what do we but leave public business in the hands of
unprincipled persons, and thus really encourage the depravity and
knavery we affect to deplore. A nation must suffer, as well in a
political as in a moral sense, when its rulers are weak or wicked; and
how dare we pray that the will of God may be done upon earth, when we
discourage those from directing worldly affairs, who feel a true zeal
for his glory? This is, indeed, to accomplish the lying boast of Satan,
who said that the kingdoms of the world were his, and he gave them to
whom he chose.
The Doctor further observed, that every situation had its temptations.
The Hermit in his cell is haunted by spiritual pride, and even when we
perform those active duties of benevolence which our religion requires,
we must beware lest we are guilty of ostentation. If, when we rise from
our knees, we have judged harshly of our brother, the volume of
inspiration assures us, that we have sinned in our prayers. The same
vigilant examination and lowliness of heart which Christians in private
life require, will prevent those who inhabit courts and camps from
displeasing their Creator. Or admit that the latter have greater
temptations to offend, are they not amenable to a judge, who determines
actions by relative circumstances, who awards brighter crowns to those
who have endured sharper conflicts, and pardons the offences of
over-tried frailty. From the private citizen, who is blessed with
leisure and security to consider his ways, he requires those passive
virtues, that humble and grateful spirit, which in evil times are yet
more rarely seen, than integrity and ability in rulers, who, walking
among briars and thorns, harassed by public and private enemies,
calumniated and misrepresented, exposed to numerous temptations,
dangers, and snares, will, doubtless, if guided by singleness of heart,
receive from God that pardon for their errors, which is denied them by
those who reap the fruits of their labours.
"We may," continued he, "live in the world[1], without either shewing a
haughty contempt for its enjoyments, or being devoted to its delights;
without being intoxicated with its flattery, or depressed by its
misfortunes. A court-life must, at your age, seem pleasant, but should
you in future become weary of it, and regret that you have not
sufficient time to devote to God, and to cherish the thought of him in
your heart, recollect that wherever he places you, you are as sure of
his favour and acceptance, as if you passed every hour of your life in
meditation and prayer. God is served, not merely with the words of the
mouth or the bending of the knee; it is the pure and upright heart which
he requires, and with which alone he will be satisfied; with this
upright frame of mind we may live in the world, without either
singularity or affectation, and cheerfully conform to its customs and
amusements, yet preserve the most strict subjection and duty to the
Almighty."
"Suffer not, dearest Eustace, pleasure or business to prevent the solemn
duties of self-examination and prayer. These are spiritual antidotes,
which preserve an endangered soul from the contamination of evil customs
and loose society. When leisure permits, add religious reading, and
above all the study of the Holy Scriptures. Never allow this world to be
balanced against the next: eternity outweighs all that time can offer;
be it pleasure, wealth, advancement, or glory. Keep these things in
mind; serve thy Creator in thy youth; remember innocence is preferable
to repentance, and I shall then see thee like assayed gold purified by
trial."
Eustace promised a strict observance, and Dr. Beaumont now esteemed it
his duty to send the faithful Williams to Colonel Evellin to acquaint
him with what had passed, and to receive further directions for the
disposal of his son. He also privately informed the King of the solemn
promise he had made to Evellin, and obtained an assurance that the
service of Eustace should never be required so as to incur a breach of
that obligation; and further, that if no other restrictions could
prevail, his own commands should confine the volunteer to the defence of
Oxford, which was now threatened with a siege by the advancing armies of
the Earl of Essex and Sir William Waller.
When we contemplate the miseries incident to civil war in a remote age,
our views are fixed on the effects of discord, as visible in the
contentions of two great opposing parties; we do not consider either the
minor factions into which each body is split, or the distracted counsels
and inefficient measures which constantly occur, when it is known that
the restraint of prescriptive authority is necessarily relaxed, and that
he who ought to govern and reward, is compelled to submit to controul
and to sue for favour. When the head of a community is humbled, every
member thinks he has a right to pre-eminence; and thus a war, begun
under the pretence of subduing a tyrant, eventually creates multitudes
of petty despots, only contemptible, because their sphere of oppression
is small. In the King's council, the wisdom of Southampton, the
moderation of Falkland, and the integrity of Hyde, had to contend with
the pride and petulance of those who would not lower their own
pretensions in deference to the public good, or forgive a private wrong
for the sake of that unity which alone could secure the whole. In the
army discord was equally prevalent; the generals accusing each other on
every mischance, panting for superiority, and all offended at the
hauteur of Prince Rupert, and jealous of the influence of Lord Digby.
The Parliament was still more divided; in it that party was now
ripening, which finally overturned every branch of the constitution, and
founded a most oppressive but vigorous tyranny on its ruins.
The old republican leaders, or commonwealth's men, as they were called,
began to see that self-preservation required their re-union with the
King; but the aspiring Cromwell and his crafty adherents, relying on
their numbers and influence in the army, resolved to clog every proposal
of peace with terms which they knew the Sovereign must from conscience
refuse. Of the generals who commanded their armies, the Earl of Essex
was already known to have seen his error, in suffering pique at supposed
slights and unintentional negligence to stimulate his pride into that
rebellion which his principles condemned; and it was believed, even by
his own party, that nothing but a dread of having sinned beyond sincere
forgiveness, induced him to reject all overtures from the King. The
disorderly bands commanded by Sir William Waller were like their
general, distinguished only by greater insolence to their Prince, and
even by personal attempts on his life; but this army had been dispersed
early in the summer, and the leader had fallen into contempt. "The Earl
of Manchester was of their whole cabal the most unfit for the company he
kept, at first induced to join, what was then called, the patriotic
party by filial piety, and led step by step to countenance those
disorganizing counsels, which ravaged the country he loved with too
unskilful a tenderness:" yet, unwilling to oppress any, he used the
power his ill-acquired authority gave him, to preserve individuals from
the distress which his fatal victories occasioned. This moderation
ruined him in the eyes of his employers; and about this time there
appeared in his army that dark malignant spirit, whose subtile
machinations soon deprived him of all power of restraining the torrent,
which, when he helped to raise the flood-gates of contention, he hoped
he should always be able to direct and control. Sir Thomas Fairfax, the
Parliamentary general in the north, was, by nature, a lover of
moderation, and by education enlightened and liberal. He also strove, as
far as his influence extended, to lessen the miseries of civil war; but
that influence soon sunk under the daring preponderance of Cromwell,
whose ultimate designs he wanted penetration to discover, and whose dark
machinations he was always too late in his efforts to counteract.
Such was the state of the kingdom, when the Queen, terrified at the
apprehension of being besieged in Oxford, fled to the west of England,
and soon after to France, her native country, leaving an infant daughter
to increase the anxieties of her Royal husband, but relieving him from
the perplexities originating in the contentious faction, by whom she was
surrounded. Through the injunctions of the King, Eustace had been
prevented from accompanying his Royal mistress, and by enrolling his
name among the bands who garrisoned Oxford, he in some degree discharged
his sense of duty. Dr. Beaumont, besides, allowed him to take part in
the enterprizes by which those vigilant warriors shewed their zeal and
fidelity, as soon as they were relieved from their apprehensions for the
safety of that important post, by the retreat of the rebel army.
As Williams did not return with an answer from Colonel Evellin, it was
concluded that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy, a misfortune
too common to the Royal expresses. One however arrived from the north,
charged with most dolorous tidings of the fatal overthrow at
Marston-Moor, the loss of York, and of its whole province, which had for
so long a space resisted the incursions of the republican party, under
the auspices of the Marquis of Newcastle. These direful events, which
resulted from want of concord between the King's generals, were followed
by Lord Newcastle's quitting the kingdom in a hasty sally of passionate
despair, and by the dispersion of the army which his influence had
raised, and his munificent loyalty had maintained. Only one small band
of Loyalists under the command of Sir Thomas Glenham remained, who,
after the reduction of York, threw themselves into Carlisle, and bravely
defended it eleven months against a victorious enemy, without prospect
of assistance. To this fragment of a powerful army Colonel Evellin
attached himself. He sent a letter by the same person who brought the
dispatch to the King, informing his friends that he was unwounded either
in his person or his reputation, and ready to suffer every thing but
dishonour for his injured Monarch. He gave a lively description of the
respective armies, and of the misfortunes of the Royal cause, in being
intrusted to men who suffered passion to prevail over judgment, and
chose to sacrifice their King sooner than quell their private
resentments. But he complained in the tone of a man who had made his
choice, and though hopeless of success resolved to persevere, and
welcomed self-denial and sorrow. He assured Dr. Beaumont that the rebels
had gained no victory over his principles; his enmity to their
undertakings remained the same; "and if," said he, "the little remnant
of my days is cut off in the next engagement, I shall live in my
children; and they will, I doubt not, see the destruction of these
'covenanters', who cause the ruin of families and the decay of common
honesty; changing the former piety and plain dealing of this nation into
cruelty and cunning. When I see all they have done, I thank God that he
prevented me from being one of the party which helped to bring in these
sad confusions[2], and I pray him to preserve my son to see their just
punishment."
As this letter proved that the Colonel had not met with Williams, it
operated as a renewed inhibition on Dr. Beaumont to prevent Eustace from
rushing into the field, for which he had now a fresh incentive in the
friendship he had formed with Major Monthault, a young man of birth and
fortune, who had been attached, like himself, to the Queen's suite. This
youth had seen actual service, and spoke with enthusiasm of the
character of Lord Goring, then just appointed general of the horse in
the west. He described him as the soldier's darling; a Mars in the
field; an Apollo at mess; a Jove in council, and a Paris among the fair.
It was evident that Monthault piqued himself on being the counter-part
of the excellence he commended, especially in the last particular. His
intimacy with Eustace allowed him to visit Dr. Beaumont's family, and
his attentions to the fair Helen of the group were certainly more marked
than delicate, and would have excited the fears of Eustace, had he not
taken care to inform the Major that he was betrothed to his lovely
cousin with the entire approbation of herself and their mutual friends,
though their union was deferred until a riper age and happier period. To
admire and praise, or even to gaze passionately on the promised wife of
a friend, as Monthault did on Constantia, seemed to Eustace an implied
commendation similar to that bestowed on a house, gardens, or any other
beautiful and valuable possession, innocent in itself and flattering to
the taste of the owner. He knew not that there existed such a character
as a seducer, who could teach an unsuspecting mind to despise solemn
engagements; he felt no tendency to treachery in his own heart. No one
was more susceptible than he of the power of beauty, but he thought
honour was the only means by which its favour could be won, and even his
ardent passion for heroic fame derived an additional stimulus from his
love to the amiable and innocent Constantia.
The circumstances of my narrative oblige me again to recur to the state
of public affairs. The treaty of Uxbridge was now pending; the
necessities of the King compelled him to enquire on what terms his
subjects would sheath the sword, and the rapid ascendancy of the fanatic
party in Parliament, added to the mutual accusations and recriminations
of their generals, induced the moderate Presbyterians to try if, by
reconciliation with their Sovereign, they could gain strength to oppose
the power which openly threatened their destruction and his. The
artifices of Cromwell and his adherents need not be minutely detailed in
a work intended only to give an admonitory picture of those times. In
one point those men differed from the majority of modern Reformers, or
rather the manners of that age were different from ours. Religion was
then the mode; men and women were in general expounders and preachers;
ordinary conversation was interlarded with Scripture phrases; common
events were providences; political misconstructions of the sacred story
were prophecies; and a fluency of cant was inspiration. No man (to
borrow one of their favourite terms) was more _gifted_ this way than
Cromwell; he had discerned the current of the public humour, and could
adopt the disguise which suited his ambition. Every step which led him
to the summit of power was prefaced by what he called seeking the Lord;
that is, attending sermons and prayers, by which the suborned performers
of those profane and solemn farces prepared their congregations to
desire what their employers had previously determined to do; thus giving
an air of divine inspiration to the projects of fraud, murder, and
ambition. By such a perversion of public worship, joined with an
affectation of disinterested purity, that celebrated preparative for
military despotism, the self-denying ordinance was introduced into the
Commons. After numerous prayers and sermons, intreating Providence to
strengthen the hands of the faithful, by choosing new instruments to
carry on the godly work, an agent of Cromwell's inferred, that the Lord
had indeed prompted their counsels, and proposed that henceforth no peer
or member of Parliament should hold any public office. By these means,
every man of rank and eminence who had been distinguished by a
constitutional struggle against arbitrary acts of power, and afterwards
reluctantly led into open rebellion, was cashiered and dismissed from
the army and from all official situations, which were thus left open to
the fanatical party.
Alarmed at the high hand with which this ordinance was carried, the old
commonwealth's men strained every nerve to renew a pacificatory
intercourse with the King, which they effected; but their power extended
no further; the preliminaries were clogged with terms wholly destructive
of the church, and virtually tending to abolish regal power. The ruin or
death of all the King's adherents was resolved on; and in proof that the
fanatics could not only threaten but act, the venerable Archbishop Laud,
after suffering a long imprisonment, was dragged to the scaffold. Thus
the Parliamentary commissioners set out for Uxbridge with their banners
dipped in the blood of the highest subject in the realm, the head of the
Anglican church, and His Majesty's personal friend.
No true Englishman could have expected, or indeed wished, that the King
should purchase permission to become a state-puppet, shackled in all his
movements, obliged to sanction the cruel and illegal acts of his enemies
by a breach of his coronation-oath, and compelled to abandon the
established church and the lives of his faithful friends to their
inveterate animosity. In vain was it privately suggested by the most
moderate of the Parliamentary commissioners, that it was expedient to
close on any terms, and unite with than to humble a party whose
desperate purposes, supported by the popularity of their pretensions,
threatened destruction to all their opponents. The King determined never
to seem to barter his conscience for personal safety. He at that time
foresaw what he afterwards so affectingly expressed in a letter to his
nephew Prince Rupert, "that he could not flatter himself with an
expectation of success more than to end his days with honour and a good
conscience, which obliged him to continue his endeavours, not despairing
that God would, in due time, avenge his own cause. Yet he owned, that
those who staid with him must expect and resolve either to die for a
good cause, or, which is worse, to live as miserable in the maintaining
it as the violence of insulting rebels could make them." The treaty
terminated without hope of being again renewed. Cromwell carried his
ordinance; the army and the state were governed by his own creatures;
while, by a master-piece of cunning, he contrived to be exempted from
the restrictions of his own decree, and continued to act as general and
legislator without a rival. Afterwards, when his packed representatives
had effected all the purposes for which he kept them together, he put
himself at the head of a file of soldiers, destroyed the engine by which
he had overthrown the constitution, and turned the pantomimic Parliament
out of doors, laden with the odium of his crimes as well as of their
own.
The melancholy presentiments of the King, when he found all hopes of
honourable reconciliation futile, confirmed his determination to send
the Prince of Wales into the west of England, where his arms still
triumphed, that in case either of them fell into the hands of the
rebels, the freedom of the other might tend to secure their mutual
safety. To preserve the principles of the royal stripling, the King
parted with several of his most faithful advisers. He constituted Lord
Hopton commander in chief of the western district, but by fixing him
more peculiarly about the person of his son, he unhappily gave too much
power to the subaltern generals, among whom the apple of discord seemed
to have been thrown, for they agreed in nothing but hatred of each
other, and mismanagement of their trust.
Major Monthault belonged to the western army, and was ordered to leave
Oxford in the Prince's suite. He had employed the leisure season of
winter in cultivating an intimacy with the Beaumonts, and not being one
of those who can look at beauty with disinterested admiration, he
employed every art to ensnare Constantia. Simple, innocent, and mildly
gay, she saw no danger in conversing with the friend of Eustace. He had
spent much time in foreign courts; she led him to talk of celebrated
beauties whom he had there seen; he found in all of them some glaring
defect which forfeited their claims to supremacy. She laughed at his
fastidiousness, and bade him describe what he would admit to be an
irresistible charmer; he drew her own portrait, but she so rarely
consulted her glass, that she knew not the likeness. He once advised her
to arrange her tresses in what he deemed a more becoming braid; she did
so, and then immediately asked Eustace if he approved the alteration;
when, finding he disliked it, she resumed her former costume, and
frankly avowed her reason for so doing. Monthault was piqued, and made
several sharp remarks on the versatility of women.
"I fancy," said Constantia, "your's is a most invulnerable heart; we
poor women are in your eyes either destitute of attractions to gain, or
of merit to retain your affections. But don't be too sure of always
keeping your boasted liberty. Aunt Mellicent says, men begin to doat at
fifty, and then they do not love but idolize."
"The age of dotage and adoration begins earlier," answered Monthault,
with a look which crimsoned the cheeks of Constantia; "but while you
falsely accuse me of being invulnerable, have I not cause to deplore
your impenetrability? I find it is impossible to agitate that tranquil
bosom with so impetuous a guest as love."
Constantia was offended at the suggestion. "You know," replied she, "I
am engaged to Eustace; and do you think I would marry him if I viewed
him with indifference?"
Monthault observed, that a contract made at a premature age must
originate in indifference, and never could be considered as
indissoluble.
"I consider it so," answered Constantia; "nothing can dissolve it but
death, or some palpable proof of gross unworthiness."
"Suppose," said Monthault, "a more enlarged view of mankind should
discover to you a worthier lover; one whose passion for you is founded
on discriminating preference, not the cold impulse of satiated habit;
one who could give distinction to beauty, and lead it from obscurity
into the splendour it deserves; should such a one sue for the favour of
the divine Constantia:"----
"I would answer, if I aim perfidious to Eustace, I cannot be divine."
"But love is a potent and untameable passion, disdaining the narrow
limitations of preceptive constancy. The acknowledged privilege of
sovereign beauty is to inspire and encourage universal love."
Constance looked offended, and expressed a hope that she might never
possess an empire which could only gratify vanity and pain sincerity.
Monthault found he had gone too far, and tried by badinage to divert her
resentment. "If," said he, "praise is only timeable to your ear when
uttered by one voice, I must not tell you, even if I heard our young
Prince, who is an acknowledged worshipper of beauty, speak in raptures
of the unparalleled loveliness of Dr. Beaumont's daughter."
"No," said she, sternly, "indeed you must not. My humble station
prevents him from saying any thing of my person but, what would be
offensive for me to hear; and I wish not to have the loyal attachment I
feel for my Sovereign's son diminished, by knowing that he indulges in
any improper licence of conversation."
"Nay," replied Monthault, "what he observed was only in reply to one who
is your most devoted slave, predicting that the chains you formed never
could be broken."
"I perceive," answered she, rising to leave the room, "that if I give
you more time for the fabrication you will contrive a very amusing
fiction. I must therefore silence you by saying, that, little as I know
of court-gallantry, he who talks to me in this style, cannot be the
friend of Eustace."
Monthault flew into heroics, and struggled to detain her. "Cruel
Constantia," said he, "know you not that love is an involuntary passion
which reason vainly tries to subdue? Cannot you, who see the conflict in
my soul, pity me without doubting my friendship or my honour?"
"I confess I do doubt both," was her reply; "but provided you no more
offend me with such language, I will not mention my suspicions to
Eustace. I am, 'tis true, a simple girl, yet not so weak as to value
myself on an extrinsic appendage which, if I possess, I share with the
butterfly. If beauty renders me more amiable in the eyes of those I
love, it is a welcome endowment; but I never will patiently hear it
commended at the expence of any better quality."
It is probable that, after this repulse, Monthault would never more have
thought of Constance if some other pursuit had intervened. But, in the
leisure of suspended warfare, a vacant understanding and depraved
appetite sees no resource from _ennui_ but gallantry. He had tried
flattery; but it failed to excite vanity, or to lead his intended prey
into the toils of ambition. He resolved to pursue another scheme, by
which he hoped that beauty might be separated from its plighted love.
While Oxford resounded with preparations for the removal of the Prince
and the commencement of the campaign, Monthault affected regret at
leaving Eustace. "I wish," said he, "you could accompany me to see
actual service; you would then feel a just contempt for military
martinets and parade exercise. Goring would, I know, delight in bringing
forward a spirit like yours. But it is impossible. The barriers which
detain you are insuperable. I myself know too well the power of beauty;
yet, if you knew all that was said, even for Constantia's sake you might
resolve, for a few months, to tear yourself from her arms."
"I cannot understand you," answered Eustace. "True, I am contracted to
Constantia; but it is not she who detains me at Oxford. We are not to be
married till we are both at full age; nor even then unless the times
wear a happier aspect."
"Her character!" retorted Eustace; "can that need any other vindicator
than my honour? or rather, does any man impugn it? We have loved from
our childhood; but it has been with that innocence which enables us to
look forward to years of happiness, unembittered by reproach."
Monthault smiled, said he rejoiced at this expurgation, but added, "Can
you wonder Oxford is now the metropolis of slander, since it is full of
court-ladies who have now no revels or maskings to amuse them, and never
leave reputations in quiet when they are out of humour. But, to put a
stop to defamation, let me advise a military excursion."
Eustace explained, that it was the will of an absent father, and not
amorous dalliance, which kept him from the field. It was doubtful
whether that father lived; for he was engaged in most severe service.
"Meantime," added he, "my uncle is bound by a promise to keep me from
dangerous enterprises; but as I now begin to think it is disloyal for
any one on the verge of manhood to refuse rallying round the King at his
greatest need, I trust the prohibition will soon be removed. The last
time that I urged Dr. Beaumont on the subject, he answered, that it was
not courage, but bravado, to buckle on the sword, while the discussion
of a pending treaty afforded a prospect of its being speedily ungirded.
But as the Parliamentary commissioners are returned to London, I am
determined again to ask leave to join the army."
"And if refused," said Monthault, "would you stay at Oxford, like a tame
lion in a chain, caressed by old women, and wondered at by spectacled
fellows of colleges." Eustace paused. "I see, my brave fellow," resumed
the tempter, "you are determined to be one of us. I know your heart, and
can predict that the consciousness of positive disobedience will make
you miserable. Go, then, in the hope that your uncle would not have
restrained you. Are you not old enough to judge for yourself? They have
permitted you to chuse a wife; why not also choose your profession?"
"You have determined me," said Eustace, "I will only bid adieu to
Constantia."
"A most lover-like determination!" was Monthault's reply, "and made with
a right prudent command of the impulses of valour. I anticipate the
result. In another hour you will return; press me to your heart; look a
little ashamed; wish me good success; and then sigh out, 'I cannot bear
to leave her.'"
"No," said Eustace; "to prove that I am not a woman's slave, I will only
look the adieu, which may be our last, without telling her my purpose.
Had you a treasure, Monthault, which you valued more than life, would
you not bathe it with a parting tear as you placed it in a casket, while
about to enter on a dangerous undertaking, where your first step may be
to meet death?"
Monthault answered, that soldiers never thought of dying. They
separated; Eustace, to bid a mental farewel to his kindred, home, and
love; and Monthault, to prepare the Prince and Lord Goring to welcome a
pleasant addition to their party in a spirited youth, who had resolved
to escape from the restrictions of austere friends, and to try the
agreeable freedom of a military life. In this view these defenders of
the Crown and the Church of England looked on the last resources which a
falling King committed to their care.
[1] This paragraph is copied from Fenelon.
[2] Walton's Lives.