None but the guilty are long and completely miserable.
Goldsmith.
The convulsions which seized Lady Bellingham, at again beholding what
she still supposed was the apparition of her brother, had a speedy and
fatal termination. The apparent reconciliation between herself and her
lord had been effected for the purpose of revenge. Their enmity was the
interminable feud of co-partners in iniquity, the hatred which ever
exists between the contriver and the executor of horrible enormities.
Their mutual recriminations and accusations were suspended; their
aversion was made to look like grief, and they walked together into the
court, as affectionate parents to prosecute the supposed murderer of
their only child. But the sympathy which softens affliction, and even
soothes despair, was here unknown. Lady Bellingham's false views of
religion had, indeed, so far skinned over the wounds of her ulcerated
conscience, as to produce a stupefaction, which might last as long as
health and prosperity continued. But when, what she conceived to be a
supernatural visitation, had terrified her into a dangerous
indisposition; the anchor of absolute election trembled in her grasp,
and her bodily weakness was rapidly increased by the wild agonies a soul
roused to a sense of its danger, when the bridegroom called and the lamp
of faith, unsupplied with good works, was extinguished. Her troubled
spirit saw nothing but darkness in its future prospects, while, with a
dying voice, she continued imploring her physicians to save her life,
and wondering why this judgment was fallen upon her.
The most illiterate and presumptuous of the fanatical preachers crowded
round her bed, and by the canting verbiage of delusion strove to revive
the raptures of enthusiasm. Not one had the honesty to tell her that the
figure which so appalled her, was her living brother. They feared the
assurance of his existence acting upon her present terrors might induce
her to do an act of justice, and to make an effectual effort to restore
him to his ancient rights. They were equally silent as to the safety of
her son, and careful to keep her husband out of her apartment. It was
their aim to prevail upon her to bequeathe her large possessions to
promote the interests of their party. With the spirit of the false
prophets of old, they sounded in her ears, "The temple of the Lord."
They reminded her of her prayers, alms, mortifications, and zeal for the
good cause. They required her to recollect the time and circumstances of
her conversion; the pangs she then suffered; her subsequent experiences
and convictions of having received saving grace. They proceeded, as they
termed it, to buffet Satan with prayers, while with impassioned hymns
they endeavoured to awaken in the trembling sinner, the raptures of
divine love. All sense of contrition for past offences, all disposition
to be reconciled to her lord was prevented by their assurances of her
safety, and their prayers for his conversion, which ran in the style of
craving that he might no longer halt between two opinions, but
renouncing the fears of the carnal man be perfected in faith and love.
Every Scripture narrative, which, by falsifying some circumstances,
could be made to answer their purpose, was presented to her remembrance.
The murder, adultery, and acceptance of David; the liberality of Solomon
to the church; the preservation of Rahab the harlot from the general
massacre of her people, on account of her saving faith; the supposed
profligacy of Magdalen's early life, atoned for by her sitting passive
at the feet of her Lord.--All these instances were produced to prove the
false and scandalous tenet, that a course of sin was a better
preparative to conversion than a life of comparative innocence.
Arguments were bandied from tongue to tongue; each one cavilled at the
assertions of the other, yet all united in the purpose of pacifying an
alarmed conscience, and changing despair into ill-founded confidence.
The groans of Lady Bellingham, the consternation of her attendants, the
fierce disputes of her ghostly assistants, occasionally suspended by
ejaculations and hymns, exhibited a scene of distracting confusion, in
which it would have been impossible for the firmest mind to have
preserved its recollection. Lady Bellingham was soon induced to say that
she knew she had once been in a state of grace, and this acknowledgement
was welcomed as her pass-port to heaven[1]. She was informed that her
salvation was unalienable; that grace could neither be resisted nor
forfeited, and that though the saints might appear to sin, yet their
offences were not imputable to them.
This pious conflict (for in an age when fanaticism and hypocrisy were
misnamed religion, these solemn mockeries passed for charitable
assistance to the dying,) was interrupted by the presence of Monthault,
now become the favourite and confidant of a chief leader of the
fanatical party. This renegade-Loyalist had served Cromwell with
conspicuous bravery in the Irish wars, and once, when a division of the
army was thrown into great danger, by the retreat of the forlorn hope,
before it had accomplished its purpose, he rushed forward, killed the
commanding officer with his own hand, and seizing the colours, led them
back, undismayed, by a grove of pikes and a shower of missile weapons.
With desperate but successful valour he carried the redoubt and escaped
with life. All this passed under the immediate observation of Cromwell,
whose retentive memory never forgot any signal action, and whose
discriminating policy generally placed the man who performed it in a
situation suited to his character. He soon found Monthault to be as
perfidious and unprincipled as he was daring and ready to undertake any
office which would gratify his passions, which (being now past the
heyday of youth) were diverted from licentious indulgence by the more
substantial enjoyments of avarice and ambition.
At this time Cromwell was secretly panting to add the name and
paraphernalia of a King to the authority which he actually exercised.
The fanatics, whom he had so long courted, were the most active
opponents of this project. The other sectaries had been long convinced,
by experience, that their views of republican felicity and perfection
were illusory. The respectable dissenters always professed themselves
friends of a limited monarchy; many staunch royalists thought the
renewal of kingly power would gradually turn the public eye on their
exiled Prince; and some selfish ones would have been content with such
an approach to the old order of things as would give them back their
sequestered estates. Some parties would be brought over by seeming to
fall in with their views, others cajoled by bribing their leaders, but
the levellers and fanatics were invincible. They had been Cromwell's
agents in subduing his enemies, and a consciousness of their power made
them unmanageable; they were determined on owning no King but Jesus, and
on thinking the regal title, when assumed by man, the mark of the beast
and the seal of reprobation to its supporters. "The Protector's
son-in-law, Fleetwood, kneeled and prayed publickly, that the Lord might
spit in his face if the unrighteous mammon tempted him into this sin;
and his brother Desborough anathematized him, and vowed to devote his
own sword to Charles Stewart sooner than to him, if he persevered in
longing for the forbidden spoil." Lambert, who was in the entire
confidence of these two, had seduced the affections of the army;
Cromwell, therefore, had a difficult game to play. His passionate desire
of royalty combated those secret fears that arose from a mysterious
warning which he received when he first meditated on the designs
afterwards realized by his lucky and unprincipled ambition. A vision, or
day-dream, impressed his enthusiastic imagination, detailing the steps
by which he was to rise, and assuring him, "that he should be the
greatest man in England, and near being King." Yet, though this seemed
to warn him of an impassable bound to his greatness, the pageant of
royalty which he had so often vilified and derided, on a close view
appeared so irresistible, that he became enchanted with its
fascinations, till, in aiming at the decorations of power, he nearly
sacrificed the substance.
At this juncture the daring character and versatility of Monthault
marked him out to the Protector as a proper instrument to negotiate with
Lambert, whose talents were far more dangerous than the fanaticism of
Fleetwood or Desborough's virulence. It was plain that though Monthault
wore the enlarged phylacteries and sanctified demeanour of the sect he
had lately adopted, he was more a hypocrite than an enthusiast. It is
well known, that Cromwell found means to discover every private incident
in the lives of his agents, and thus penetrated into all their views.
While pleading for the imprisoned Beaumonts, the Protector read the soul
of the former lover of Constantia, now known to be nearly allied to the
true stock of the house of Bellingham. Cromwell therefore took occasion
to commend the filial piety and courage which he heard that this young
lady had exemplified; and declared himself resolved, not only to show
Dr. Beaumont favour, but also to consider the case of Neville;
intimating, that he looked on an hereditary and uncontaminated nobility
as the strongest link between the people and the government; and from
this acknowledgment he took occasion to glance at the benefit of a
partial restoration of old usages, as most likely to unite all parties,
and heal the wounds of the three kingdoms. The stress laid on the last
word, (the use of which had been for some time interdicted,) shewed
Monthault what was expected from him, and he left the presence,
persuaded that if he would assist to gird the austere brows of the
Usurper with the kingly diadem, the hand of his mistress, and a large
portion of the Bellingham property, if not its reversionary honours,
would be his reward.
It was with a further view of securing this prize that Monthault visited
the dying Lady Bellingham, to whom their party-connexions gave him free
access. Pretending he had received a special revelation, which he must
impart to her alone, he dismissed the ministers, and assured her of the
actual existence of her brother, whose pardon her again-alarmed
conscience seemed most anxious to secure, even at the price of
relinquishing to him those possessions which her increasing weakness
told her she could not long retain. Monthault assured her it would be
greatly for the benefit of her soul, if she would sign a deed
bequeathing to Allan Neville the inheritance of their ancestors; and
produced a prepared instrument, which Lady Bellingham was not in a state
to read, or indeed to listen to its recital. Relying on the veracity of
one whom she considered as a saint upon earth, and catching eagerly at
every thing which would allay those inward terrors that had been rather
benumbed than pacified, Lady Bellingham was induced to consent, and the
ministers were re-introduced to certify her being in a sound mind and to
witness the execution of a deed, which they trusted was to promote the
good cause, but which in reality bequeathed the Bellingham estate, after
the demise of Allan Neville, to Constantia Beaumont, provided she
consented to marry Monthault. Thus cheated and bewildered in her last
moments by those whom she believed to be endowed with super-human
perfections, this wretched woman terminated her miserable and guilty
life.
Monthault's next care was, to discover if his apparent reformation of
manners could so far impose on the simplicity and candour of the
Beaumonts as to make them strain the principle of Christian forgiveness,
and receive him as a friend. They were still in prison, but the
Protector had given orders, that they should be provided with handsome
apartments, and every comfort compatible with confinement at the public
expence. But though Monthault took on himself the merit of this lenient
treatment, the prejudices of the whole family against him formed an
insuperable bar to his designs. His change of conduct was too pointedly
obtrusive; his piety and penance too ostentatious to pass on a man who
was thoroughly conversant with the marks of genuine repentance. Dr.
Beaumont did not approve of an elaborate and unnecessary disclosure of
the secret enormities of his early life, which seemed to him more like
the wantonness of a depraved imagination wallowing in its former
abominations, than penitence shrinking, with horror, from its
recollected transgressions. But when Monthault proceeded to talk of his
present sinless rectitude, certainty of acceptance, rapturous exercises,
and experiences of future beatification, (the common cant of those
times,) the sound divine saw the once audacious sinner covering his
adhesive wickedness with the Pharisee's cloak, exchanging libertinism
for spiritual pride, and the excesses of debauchery for ambition and
malevolence. Though no one was more adverse than Dr. Beaumont from
colouring gross sins with the name of amiable frailties, he thought
Monthault more horrible with his Scripture-appellative and precise
habits, than when as a drunken cavalier he toasted the King and the
Church, while he disgraced the one by his rapine, and the other by his
profaneness.
Monthault was equally unsuccessful with Constantia. In vain did he
assure her that the awakening change in his soul had been expedited by
his yearnings after her. She coldly told him, she hoped for his sake the
reformation was real. He assured her he had disposed the Protector to
befriend her relations. She thanked the Protector's justice, and
relapsed into silence. He spoke of the identity of her uncle as being
indisputable, and that he was likely soon to be removed from a prison to
an earldom. She answered, that would be miraculous, but no irradiation
of her countenance implied her belief that such an event was probable.
He inquired if her cousin Isabel was still devoted to Sedley. Constantia
could here speak with energy, and replied, "She is." Monthault reminded
her, that whatever became of his father, he was necessarily proscribed;
having violated the bond of private friendship, as well as of public
trust, with the Protector. Constantia answered, that Isabel saw nothing
infamous in banishment or poverty, but much in breaking her early vows
to a man whose misfortunes were his praise. "But," replied Monthault,
"your early vows have been dissolved by death; and celibacy is one of
the popish snares of Satan. Marriage was divinely appointed, and it is
sinful to neglect the godly ordinance." "To marry with an unconsenting
heart is more so," replied Constantia; "I was betrothed to Eustace
Evellin, and living or dead, to him will I ever be faithful. His genuine
integrity, his frank affectionate disposition won all my heart; and
since I have lost him, I live only to the claims of filial duty and
sisterly affection. I have been long familiarized with fear and sorrow,
but hope and joy can only visit me in his form."
Monthault told her, that this persevering regret was a mark of her being
in an unsanctified rebellious state. He quoted many texts to prove that
the saints would eventually inherit the earth; declaring that the
wonderful success which attended Cromwell, first pointed him out as an
instrument of Providence, designed for an especial purpose. Constantia
expressed her belief that he was; but silenced Monthault's intended
allusions to a millennial state of felicity under his government, by
declaring her conviction that he was the sword of vengeance, rather than
the renovating sun of mercy.
Monthault withdrew sullen and offended, planning schemes of vengeance,
all pointed at Arthur de Vallance, whose retreat he determined to
discover. He questioned the keeper of the prison, who had access to the
Beaumonts, and was by him directed to Jobson. His talkative simplicity,
and the danger that would result from his being sifted by Cromwell's
spies, had obliged them to dispense with the services of the faithful
trooper, who now earned his bread by manual labour, and only came
occasionally to inquire after their health. Though care was taken to
represent him as a porter occasionally employed, the jailor suspected he
had been an old servant. Monthault immediately recollected him as
attached to Eustace a little before their separation at Dartmoor, and
recommended himself to the affectionate creature, by recognising him as
one who leaped with him into the moat, and climbed the wall at his side,
when Prince Rupert stormed Bristol. Taking him apart, he avowed himself
to be a stanch royalist, watching every opportunity to serve a cause he
still wore at his heart. He declared that he accepted the office of a
judge at Dr. Beaumont's trial, with a resolution of saving him; he
praised his firm demeanour, the beauty of Constantia, the goodness of
Isabel, and the noble self-devotedness of Neville; assuring Jobson, that
he was most sedulous in employing the interest he possessed with the
Protector to the advantage of this family. But he lamented that there
existed one obstacle to Neville's becoming Earl of Bellingham: the
Protector's betrayed confidence required a victim, and Arthur de
Vallance must be given up to his vengeance.
The honest countenance of Jobson fell at this information. "Ah, worthy
sir," said he, "there is no washing the black-a-moor white; Old Noll
will continue Old Noll, dress him up how you will. There's no putting a
King's heart into a scoundrel's body; and a tailor never yet made more
than the clothes of a gentleman. I say, the man that can't forgive a
brave young gentleman, never ought to wear the crown of England. You had
half persuaded me to forget the true King beyond sea, and to think, as
this ruler would do justice, we might go on as we are, but when you talk
about harping on old grievances, and taking vengeance for private
fallings-out, I say, though Old Noll may do for a Lord-Protector, Kings
must never have any enemies but the enemies of their country."
Monthault, seeming to enter into his feelings, uttered many encomiums on
young De Vallance, whom he said he really thought one of the finest
gentlemen in England. "Aye, in England _now_, I grant you," returned
Jobson; "but there is another before him, Mr. Eustace Evellin; we used
to call him the true Lord Sedley, for the other is but a make-believe.
Very good-humoured and generous, and fair-spoken I allow; but the right
lord, O! he has an eye like a hawk, and so open and daring, and
spirited--I wish, noble Sir, you had seen him."
Monthault affected to brush a tear from his eye, lamenting that an
interview was now impossible. Jobson had an inveterate antipathy to
giving any one pain, except in the field of battle. He caught Monthault
by his cloak, pressed him to be secret, and whispered he might have that
pleasure before he died. "Mum," said he, "for your life; Mr. Eustace is
alive and merry, and only waits for the King's coming over to be among
us."
Monthault vowed secresy, and readily drew from Jobson all he knew
respecting the preservation and subsequent history of the heir of
Neville. Fortunately, he had never been intrusted with the place of
their retreat, and could only say, that he and De Vallance were
somewhere very safe, and ready to drub Old Noll into better manners than
authorizing the shooting of men in cold blood.
Monthault then informed Jobson, that he possessed a large fortune, and
secretly devoted ample remittances to the service of the King, and the
most eminent Loyalists. As the state now liberally supported the
prisoners, the exiles had the first claim on his purse. Unintentionally
he feared, he had been of great disservice to Eustace, and therefore
justice, as well as humanity and admiration, pointed him out as the
first person whom he ought to assist. He would most willingly send
Jobson with a sum of money to these illustrious friends, and he
entreated him to discover where they had taken shelter, and say he was
commissioned to supply their wants. But as he was ever attentive to the
rule of doing good in secret, his own name was, on no account, to be
divulged, nor would he press Jobson to inform him where the fugitives
resided. The language of loyalty, unostentatious generosity, and warm
attachment to Eustace, was, to Jobson, a sure pledge of the honour and
sincerity of Monthault. He readily promised to get the whole secret out
of Mrs. Isabel, and discover none of his intentions. "I see, noble sir,"
continued he, "you are a true gentleman, and know, that a gentleman like
yourself hates to be thought poor, and had rather starve than have money
given him; whereas we poor men never care how much we get from our
betters. But trust me for managing the business cleverly."
Happily for the exiles, Jobson was equally deficient in finesse and
secrecy. The first question he put to Isabel respecting the place of
their retreat, discovered that he had a mysterious reason for wishing to
be informed, and she soon drew from him that the benevolent unknown was
a tall, solemn gentleman, who turned up the whites of his eyes, and was
dressed like a round-head, though a stanch Loyalist in his heart. This
description, so applicable to Monthault, excited her liveliest terrors.
It was impossible to convince Jobson, that a man who talked so kindly
could have any insidious design; and thinking it best not to combat this
delusion, she thought it expedient to misdirect the wily traitor, and
observed, that the inhabitants of the mountainous parts of Cumberland,
where she and her father had so long lived, were well affected to the
King, and disposed to shelter and protect her brother. From the manner
in which Jobson communicated this intelligence, Monthault was convinced
that Isabel had penetrated into his designs; and he resolved to suspend
his machinations till he could extort, by terror, what intrigue had
failed to procure.
When Isabel communicated this intelligence to her friends, their
apprehensions of some fatal snare which might blast all their hopes,
determined them to send the faithful and discreet Williams to the
exiles, advising them of Cromwell's designs to get them into his power,
and entreating them immediately to quit their present abode. But whither
to point for a safe retreat was the difficulty, since at that time this
extraordinary man seemed to extend the scorpion fangs of his tyranny
over the continent, as well as the British dominions. He had, at every
court, not only an accredited minister, but a subordinate host of spies
liberally paid, who gave him an account of every stranger of distinction
that sought a refuge from his cruelty, and contrived also, by false
accusations or threats to the affrighted sovereigns, to have the victims
he had marked for destruction delivered into his power. Cromwell had
formerly made a close league with the Queen of Sweden, between whose
successor and his neighbour the King of Denmark, a furious contest had
commenced. As all hope of serving his native Prince was for the present
suspended, Neville advised his son to draw his sword for the royal Dane,
and Williams was charged with many affectionate remembrances. "Tell my
son," said he, "never to disgrace the name, to which, at hazard of my
life, I have proved his title." Constance whispered a tender assurance
that the tidings of his preservation had reconciled her to life. "Yet
tell my Eustace," said she, "that though time and sorrow have so changed
the face he used to admire, that he would now hardly know his Constance,
they have improved the heart, which neither calumny, nor suspence, nor
despair, could alienate from its only love." Isabel, too, had a brief
encouraging remembrance for her lover: "Tell my De Vallance," said she,
"I live for him and for happier times. Bid him remember me in the hour
of peril and the moment of temptation; assure him I count the years of
our separation, and endure my present sorrows in the confidence that
they will serve for sweet discourses in the time to come." The message
of Dr. Beaumont was pious and prudential.--He rejoiced that an
opportunity was afforded them of serving a Protestant King, and he
advised them, if their successful services allowed them an honourable
establishment in Denmark, to withdraw their views, though not their love
or their prayers, from England.
Charged with these endearing recollections Williams departed, but on his
arrival at Jersey found the fugitives had long left the island. Their
protectress was dead, and her husband had removed to the South of
France. Dr. Lloyd was well remembered for his medical skill, and his
pupils for their correct manners and exemplary friendship. A lady,
daughter of one of the first people in St. Helier, had formed a strong
attachment to one of the gentlemen, and as she left the island about the
time they did, it was supposed a marriage had been solemnized. Williams
durst not be very minute in his inquiries; he gathered however that the
place of their retreat could not be discovered, though the friends of
the lady had taken every measure to regain her.
This intelligence greatly increased the dejection of Constantia, and
almost clouded the sanguine mind of Isabel. "Has mutability," she would
often say, "entirely usurped the earth? No. Inanimate nature is not
changed; the sun-beams steal through these grated windows at the same
hour this year as they did last. Summer and winter, day and night,
return at stated periods; the animal organs present the same objects,
and excite the usual sensations; nor are my moral feelings altered;
truth and honour continue to delight me; vice and falsehood are as
odious to my soul as if good men still triumphed, and guilt held its
alliance with infamy. Yet are not subjects transformed into traitors and
rebels; lovers forsworn; do not Christians renounce their baptism and
abjure their faith; and is not friendship become a cloak to conceal the
informer and assassin? Whom shall we acquit of inconstancy, if either
Eustace or De Vallance are false? How shall we depicture fidelity and
honour if they dwell not in the open front of heroic candour, or the
mild suavity of undeviating rectitude? Away!--the report of Williams is
a gossip's tale, forged to explain a mystery of their own forming.
Constance, I shall live to arrange your jewels and fold your robe, when
you walk at the coronation as Countess of Bellingham, and you shall be
sponsor to my little Arthur. At least I will cherish these day-dreams,
till I know Cromwell has done a disinterested generous action; I will
then resign you to Monthault, and employ myself in clear-starching and
crimping bands for the conventicle."
Thus rallying her own spirits, and endeavouring to animate the hopes of
others, Isabel contrived to lighten the burden of voluntary captivity,
as she had used to alleviate the hardships of poverty. Her mind, equally
firm and innocent, feared nothing but the reproaches of her conscience
and the despair of her father. Happy in the resources of an active
disposition, she soon convinced Constantia that even confinement does
not proscribe utility. While Dr. Beaumont administered to the spiritual
wants of his fellow-prisoners, Isabel contrived to promote their
comforts, often with the labours of her hand, always by the un-failing
cordial of her hilarity, and sometimes with her slender purse,
cheerfully abridging her own wants to supply the need of others. Nor was
she wholly disinterested in this conduct; she found it the best method
of diverting anxiety and suppressing doubt; of resisting that
misanthropy which a long continuance of adversity is apt to engender in
the tenderest hearts; and of preserving those social feelings of general
good-will, which, to austere dispositions, render even prosperity
distasteful.
[1] Many of these circumstances are copied from the death of
Cromwell.